THERE are 16 stables in total at our livery yard, but when one suddenly stands empty, what a huge impact it makes.

We have known for a little while now that this day was approaching and that ultimately, there would only be one decision to make; the best, the kindest, most sensible and selfless decision; but that really didn’t help much at the time.

Toban’s box stands in the corner at the top of the yard and even now, it is still his box. The sign on the door says so. The sign that I painted when he arrived 10 years ago. It’s a bit faded, a bit chewed around the edges, but it still bears his picture. It’s just that now, there is no matching head above, looking out over the door with ears pricked; and the yard is too quiet.

He was just four years old when my daughter and her husband bought him. Eldest granddaughter was only a baby and for her, Toban became an integral part of family life. Her baby buggy was a familiar fixture outside his box, while mum mucked out.

A Welsh Cob from the Balnecroft stud, in East Yorkshire, Toban’s showing career began as a two year old and this was a discipline that he enjoyed up until last summer. Flat classes, both in-hand and ridden, working hunter, showjumping and even a little dressage, over the years Toban did them all.

He was never the sort of horse that would have been happy to spend his days standing in a field doing nothing, he enjoyed his work far too much for that.

In the show ring, he could and did hold his own with the best, and yet he could also be trusted to look after the youngest, or most novice rider at home. Ears always pointing forward, he knew his job and it was a job that he loved. Safe, sane and so very comfortable to ride, sitting astride Mr T was like sitting in an armchair.

Looking back, there were only two things that he ever objected too and they were cows and tractors. Both were given a substantially wide berth when out on a ride, but he never dignified the manic turkey on the next farm with more than a second glance. This was the bird with a death wish that liked to lay in wait for hapless riders using the bridle path that ran through his yard.

Back in the day, Toban was ever the undisputed "king of the field". Turning him out, the herd would invariably part, allowing him to walk directly through their middle on his way to the water trough. Not that we ever saw him chase another horse without provocation or indeed instigate a fight in the field, but if necessary, he was more than capable of ending one.

It’s not as if we are the only ones feeling his loss either, for animals grieve too and Diamond, his field companion for a number of years, still stands by the gate, waiting for him to join her when she is turned out on a morning. Youngest granddaughter, thankfully, is satisfied that Toban is in heaven, playing with her guinea pig Blossom, but unfortunately her elder sister is not finding comfort quite as easily; not just yet at any rate.

But, as my son would say, there are far worse things happening to horses every day in this country other than being put to sleep and sadly, of course, he is right.

A big guy, with an even bigger personality, you will never be forgotten my friend.

Run free, no more pain.