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One day a very good friend of mine, now of Salt. Lake City, Utah, called me and said he had something he wanted me to see. My friend’ s name was BILL PETERSON, and we had horse-traded together for several years. I told him frankly that I wasn’ t interested in buying anything, and he promised me faithfully he wasn’ t trying to sell me anything. He just wanted my opinion on ' something.’ So 1 drove to his home. We sat and talked for a few minutes, and I asked him what it was he wanted my opinion on. He told his daughter CHERYL to go get ' it’! Cheryl went into a stall and came out leading something 1 could never recall seeing before, although I had seen many. What she came out with was the blackest, most dazzlingly beautiful horse I had ever seen. Believe me, 1 was flabbergasted. She was so shiny that she sparkled like one huge diamond. I think Bill and Cheryl must have been up all night polishing her just for my benefit. She was tall, 16-1, and long-legged. Her head was proud and her neck arched and she held her tail up high. The only white on her was a star. I never noticed that she walked differently from all the other horses I had known. 1 only knew ' that here-was one of the finest animals 1 had ever seen. I was so awe-stricken that I bought her before I knew what I was doing. It didn’ t dawn on me until after I got home that 1 didn’ t even get on her. I looked at my receipt for the down payment and it read: " part payment for one black Tennessee Walking Horse Show mare names Judy Gleaves.” 1 asked myself what in the devil was a Tennessee Walking Horse? I had never even heard of one before. This was 1954, and I believe she was seven years old at that time.
I went out the next day with my own saddle and bridle to ride my " surprise” horse. I didn’ t know what she had been trained for. In fact, I knew less than nothing about her. When I got her saddled, Bill told me to watch her because she had a habit of running away with people. I thought, '' Oh, boy! I not only bought a pig in a poke, I bought a runaway!” Well, I mounted and started around the ring. We went around about twice and Bill yelled for me to speed her up. I dug my heels in a little and took hold of the reins. 1 don’ t really know ' what I expected, but whatever it was, it wasn’ t what I got. We speeded up all right. I lost my new hat and my breath at the same instant. She was running away wdth me and I felt like a blithering idiot. I tightened my grip on the reins and she seemed to be flying low, while I seemed to be flying right out of that saddle. I can’ tbegin to describe the feeling I had right then. 1 finally got her stopped. Bill told me I looked just great and how did I like that running walk? I could only utter " fine” and I was surprised to find she hadn’ t run away with me, but had just been doing a little of that running walk. I knew right then and there how this breed became known as the Tennessee Walking Horse. I never did admit that 1 thought she had run away wdth me. It took me some time to learn how to ride her, the hard rvay. I didn’ t know a blasted thing about how she was trained, or how to get her into a canter, but
I never really had any trouble with her. She was really a marvelous mare. She tried her best to do everything I asked of her, and gave more than any horse I had ever owned before. Eventually I learned to ride her right. 1 still rode western, and she loved it. The mountains and trails were a breeze for her, rounding up stock she took to quite readily, she packed kids all over the place and refused to say she was tired. Whenever I took someone riding with me, they were allowed to ride her and I rode my quarter horse, but I found it was getting harder all the time to make myself ride him. Not that I didn’ t love that old horse. It was just that I found that.... well, in plain English, he trotted! I never noticed that before. I had the mare’ s name changed from Judy Gleaves to Cheyenne Maiden and she gave me a beautiful chestnut colt which 1 sold, then later bought back. He became known as Cheyenne Thunder. I sold the mare, with a lot of misgivings, to people in Santa Ana, California. I then traded my quarter horse, with my heart breaking, to a woman in Chico, California for a two-year-old palomino gelding which I named Chief Yellow Sun, and then sold him to a gentleman in Woodside, Calif. It wasn’ t easy to sell a horse I raised from a colt, but my quarter gelding found himself standing in the pasture most of the time because I didn’ t want to have to endure that trot- and hehadan easy-going jog-trot, at that! Up until the time I bought the mare, his trot didn’ t faze me. I broke and trained all kinds of horses that trotted for thirteen years: Morgans, Arabs, Standardbred, quarter horse, just plain horse, etc.; forwestem pleasure, parade- you name it. I think I would have to be pretty desperate to ride or break a trotting horse now. I am afraid the Walker has ruined me for any other breed of horse. Not that I don’ t admire a beautiful horse of any kind, for I can still pick out a good horse of any other breed; but own one? Never!! I’ m hooked but good on the Tennessee Walking Horse. There isn’ t anything a Walker can’ t do, and I, for one, am glad.
A gloomy Sunday morning hangs over the Celebration grounds after the big show.( Photo by AusbarJ
12 VOICE of the Tennessee Walking Horse