1966-Voice Of The Tennessee Walking Horse 1966 July Voice RS | Page 28
They say that every adult’s life
is strongly influenced by things that
happened in childhood days, and I
guess there is some truth in that,
for I can well remember Papa had
a sharp knife. It was often in use
to peel an apple, to plug a melon,
to cut a switch, or to whittle with.
I recall one incident as though
it were yesterday, yet more than
a half-century has passed since that
day. Papa sat on the front step
whittling, Mama was in a chair patch
ing britches, Aunt Lou was reading
the Bible, and my little Granny was
rocking away. As I approached the
side of the rocker, my bare toe
was placed under the chair just right
to accidentally catch her right in
a forward rock which took off the
hide and cracked the bone. We did
not know what a hospital was, but
kerosene and hog lard was applied
with loving hands. My point is: I
learned then and there wrhat hurt
can do to the heart and mind. You
see, that cracked bone hurt so much
I thought I would die, but Granny
said, "Son, you are too big of a
man to cry” (I was six), so I just
hurt and choked and hurt and
learned life goes on. And I after
wards learned no matter how bad
the hurt, things always manage to
get better somehow.
28
What I am getting at is the fol
lowing story. Three years ago, Pearl
and I bought a yearling filly. Before
the final purchase was made, we had
our trainer look her over and pass
his judgement on her fitness and
potentialities. He said she was by
Midnight Delores, whom he remem
bered as a beautiful, high-stepping
fast-going black mare, the daughter
of Midnight Sun, who was bred to
Merry Go Boy. He said. "You can’t
do much better,” so we paid for
her and proudly named her "Go
Boy’s First Lady.” She was a fine
horse but our trainer said all along
we would have to take it easy, let
her get beat a few times, win what
ribbons we could, and have her ready
as an age mare for the big show in
’66. Right there, I almost lost a
trainer! What different ideas we had!
I thought: "Whoever heard of spend
ing $100.00 per month, plus train
ing for three or four years, on a
horse and then not showing her
every Saturday night?” Our trainer
says you can push her beyond her
endurance as a two-year-old and
maybe capture the big blue, but she
won’t be worth much thereafter, or
take three years training and care
ful showing and come out with a
top mare. You know, I learned he
knows more about training horses
than I do, so we now make a good
team. So comes the ’66 show season,
and she is ready for tough compe
tition, sound as a dollar, pretty as
a peach, with three fine gaits —
not a run-away big lick, but rhythm
you love to see!
It was with a great deal of con
fidence and pride that we went to
a horse show a few weeks back and
entered her in the Junior Mare Class.
We hope it pleased the judge be
cause he let his eye follow her just
a little longer than usual in all three
gaits. When she was presented with
the blue ribbon, Pearl said, "We
ought to get many blues this summer
and head for Shelbyville in Sep
tember.
I would like to end this story
right here, but tragedy struck the
morning after the show. Quite un
expectedly, our pride and joy fell and
severed her spine. After hours of
pain, with our faithful veterinarian
by her side, we had to watch her
pass away. It has been my opinion
that "whittling” was good for the
nerves and that day I sat on a bale
of hay and, looking at a growing
pile of shavings through watery eyes
put my theory to the test. I well
remembered my broken toe as a
boy and my little Granny saying,
"You are too big a man to cry.’’
As our mare lay on her side heav
ing with the pain, I kept saying
to myself, "Get up, girl . . . show
’em what you’ve got. Get up!” She
would look around and roll her eyes
at the familar surroundings. She had
been broken in this hallway as a
yearling filly. Her first step of the
flat foot walk was made right here.
She had perhaps traveled many-a-
mile from end to end ... in freez
ing cold and sultry hot weather.
And for what? To make a willing
effort to do her job to please man.
No matter what he demanded . . .
she would try hard to please! This
had always been a place of comfort
to her. She wondered why she hurt
so much and why we didn’t help.
Whittle . . . whittle . . . whittle!!
My stick kept getting smaller and
smaller and the stack of shavings
bigger and bigger. There were tears
and shocked expressions we were all
trying to hide and when the vet got
up, put on his cap and said "Sheriff
. . . I’m sorry,” it was almost too
much. I supposed we all looked at
it from a different viewpoint. Our
trainer could see three years of hard
work going down the drain. Our
groom and ground man would see
the empty stall and miss feeding
her and caring for her and me . . .
well, I just plain ol’ miss her. She
was a good horse!
As I sat there with the remains
of a cedar stick, I could not help
but think of Carl Hengen, Deedy
Decker, Otto Heggie, the Chitwood
children and many many others that
have lost a favorite horse. I won-
dered if they found any consolation
in a whittling stick ... I know I did!
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Sheriff Ledford |
WOODLAND
RFD #1, Box 230
Call 703-293-5820
Charlottesville, Va. 22901
Horses ready for training
Young stock futurity eligible foals
trail horses
AT STUD
BUDDY HANCOCK
Fee $100.00 with return privileges
in season to veterinary approved mares.
VOICE of the Tennessee Walking Horse