My trusty steed of thirteen years has suffered one too many visits to the metal horse repairer lately. Since it was getting harder and harder to shift into reverse without crunching the stirrup each time, I have let poor Mossy (so named because of the moss growing behind the side trims) go to pastures new.
My faithful companion has been exchanged for the same breed, and I saw a beautiful rainbow in the sky on the day I took young Wish Maker out for a test ride. This was a sure sign that our adventures together would be as happy as the ones with Mossy, and I collected my new steed on the day of luuuurve. Hoorah!
(Do you suppose medieval adventurers ever traded in their trusty steeds for a newer model?)