Toby Cross — Texas
It’s not a single day adventure but, rather, getting an arena-sour, runaway horse safe and solid enough for me to rope on for a branding and arena ropings. It has been a 2-year process, and I am still on the adventure with him.
Cynthia A Sitko — Ohio
I was living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and running on my Bold Ruler Appendix that was given to me by the Peters Gallery owners around 1999. I was running on an arroyo when, suddenly, my horse slid and stopped in his tracks at a 90 degree corner.
A real cowboy was riding the other direction and I said, ”Hi, my name is Cindy.” He said, “Boy, you’re a pretty good rider! My name is Henry McKinley and this is my land!” Oops. We continued to ride together and he invited me to his ranch to watch him rope cattle. It became a great friendship. I moved longhorns with him — 400 cattle on 35,000 acres of BLM land. I always rode English and the cowboys would say, “Boy, you sure can ride!” I couldn’t believe I had to go 1,500 miles from Ohio to get a compliment!
McKinley was famous for being one of the last cowboys to move cattle from Texas to New Mexico. He was in a magazine in Europe for his exploits. He grew up on a ranch next door to Georgia O’Keefe and his dad had movie stars like John Wayne come to see what real ranching was like. The day I put my Appendix down, he took me to his cattle ranch and showed me around to keep my mind off my heartbreak. He died a few years back. I will never forget him. My roommate teased me that he put me to work instead of shooting me for trespassing!
Oscar — Missouri
I have recently acquired several stories involving my father’s equestrian history, coming from his best friend and fellow jockey of old, Jimmy Collins. His stomping grounds were Park Jefferson Race Track in Sioux City, South Dakota. They first met while racing each other back in the 1950s. It was exciting to hear these stories right from the horse’s mouth (sorry, had to do it), and you could tell Jimmy remembered them vividly by the way he told them — with much life and with much color.
At Park Jefferson Race Track, Jimmy and my father were in a post parade before a race. Jimmy, getting a bit parched, asked my father if he wanted to race to the gate for a beer. My dad stopped at the gate with no problem, while Jimmy flew past it. Only moments later, they had to race the same horses in an actual race.
Another time at Park Jefferson, my dad had won the first race. There was a horse in the 8th race that couldn’t run due to a leg injury, so they had switched that horse with the one my father had just jockeyed for the win seven races prior. He won it again.
These next stories are ones I had forgotten to mention earlier, but are certainly worthy of noting:
My father gave me a girth that belonged to Triple Crown-winning jockey Johnny Longden. He received it in the 1950s on the day of Kentucky Derby. I donated this girth to the Kentucky Derby Museum, where they also displayed a picture of my father for the donation. In the fall of 2010, my family and I went to see the presentation of his picture at the museum in a glass case beside another picture of Nick Zito. It was wonderful to see him get the honor he so greatly deserved for his dedication to the sport and talent at training fantastic jockeys. He trained people such as Keith Asmussen (his son, Steve Asmussen, is currently the No.1 trainer in the world, and his other son, Cash, is a very famous jockey). It was a heart-wrenching experience. After the day was winding down, we had watched a film at the museum about the deep history of the Kentucky Derby and its participants. Before the credits rolled, it faded into a blanket of roses. I could not help but think and smile knowing my father finally got the shower of roses he deserved.
When my parents were living in Indian Town, Florida, my dad was training horses in Fort St. Lucie, Florida. It was there that he exercised horses for the famous Ogden Phipps and Lloyd “Boo” Gentry. He was close friends with Boo Gentry, so one Thanksgiving evening, my parents had dinner with Boo as well as George Oliver, the leading professional polo player from the 1940s into the 1960s, at another exercise jockey’s home. They stood outside in the yard that evening, watching army tanks come by as the Cuban Missile Crisis was going on in 1962.
Jimmy Pam Walker, I have a funny story for you. Oscar, years ago at Ponca, my dad raced your dad. My dad was on a bicycle & your dad was riding one of Clayton’s horses. They raced 30 yards and my dad got a 15-yard head-start. My dad said as Oscar went by him, hit him in the back of the head with his whip, and he fell of his bike. Dad told me Oscar won all 10 races at Newkirk, Oklahoma, in the same day. Oscar, your dad was one of the best riders that ever threw his leg across a horse, and all you ever saw was his ass!
Miranda N. Prather — Maryland
My favorite journey is the entire time I spent with Blue Blue Sea. Although he was born of racing royalty, he never caught on as a racehorse. When we found each other, I bought him right off the track. The plan was to do some jumping and dressage, and it all started out fairly well. Then, in 2006, he experienced five colics in 4 weeks, without any understanding of what was causing it. I took him to a teaching hospital that diagnosed him as suffering from a Crohn’s-like disease in horses. I was told he would only have 2 years at the most, and encouraged to euthanize him.
Instead, I took him home and, with the support of my local vet, I began to reach out to many vets and researchers from Georgia to California. Finally, we found a nutritional vet from University of California, Davis in Davis, California, who worked out a special diet. Blue went on to live another more than 7 years. During that time, we worked on tricks he could learn, and we shared his story on social media, where he inspired people all over the world to follow their dreams and never give up. He was my heart-horse and the years I had him were the best horse years I’ve had in a lifetime of horses.
Piper Bennett — Texas
This is a story about my grandad and his buckskin, Cinammon. Cinammon was an Oklahoma-bred ranch horse. My grandad rode him in the 1970s, working cattle on his ranch in Cimarron County, Oklahoma. I grew up on stories of Cinammon and grandad’s ranching adventures. That horse and my grandad were to me what Roy Rogers and Trigger were to the Western world. When my grandparents retired and moved to town, grandad gave Cinammon to me to keep at my Dad’s farm in Texas. I was about 12. Cinammon was my first horse and my absolute favorite! I rode him as often as the sun allowed and he took great care of me and taught me how to take care of him. In July of 1987, my grandad celebrated his 88th birthday. I was 20, and Cinammon was 25. My cousin and I drove down to my dad’s place, picked up Cinammon and drove him back to Oklahoma, so my grandad could see him. He was so happy to see his old horse. He got out his gear, oiled down his bridle and saddled up that horse with the same Potts Ingerton saddle he had made for him in the ’70s. He rode him to the church to show everyone. We all followed closely in the car in case one of them had a heart attack. I don’t know who had more pep in their step, Grandad or Cinammon. That horse was so happy to see my grandad and they almost trotted the whole way. At the end of the day, we all cried as we had to convince Cinammon to load back up so we could take him back to the farm. He had to be led in by my grandad, because he refused to load on his own that evening. It was the last time we saw them together. I left that month for the Air Force. Cinammon lived until he was 28 and my granddad lived until he was 92. Seeing them together was the best day of my life. I now have the saddle, bridle with the Crockett Renalde bit and the Crockett spurs and chaps he always rode with. While stationed in Japan, I found a guy who was talented enough, in my eyes, to draw a copy of my favorite picture of my two favorite things in this life. I had this one commissioned and another from the day in ‘87 with the same gear.
Krystal Cates — Texas
Well well well, where do I begin? I must’ve been about 12 at the time. You could say my childhood was a little less-than-ordinary: dysfunctional family, tossed in foster care and finally adopted by my half-brother’s family.
Fast forward: I am about 10 years old, and my dad purchased a Quarter Horse gelding yearling for my stepmom. She had no real interest in him, but I was head over hooves. He was sorrel, flaxen mane and tail and three white socks. He had a sense of adventure they couldn’t get enough of. My dad lived about a half-mile from my grandparents, and we live next door to the greatest horseman I know to this day — Uncle Tom. Uncle Tom has two older daughters, my cousins that always let me tag along. I would ride with Uncle Tom and my cousins, and I was telling him how much I really wanted to start Bear, the new horse my dad had gotten. Of course Uncle Tom started his magic. Next thing I knew, that horse is over at our house. For more than a year, I worked hard, paid for his hay and, with the help of Uncle Tom, put a good start on him. The gentleman at the local feed store let me put some tack on layaway and even let me use it before I had it fully paid off. We had an unbreakable bond; I couldn’t help but believe he was my soul-horse.
Convinced this guy was mine, I came home one day after school to notice that he wasn’t in his pen. Upon investigation, I found out my dad had given a cowboy in town permission to use him, and he was over at the bar my dad and stepmom ran. I asked Granny for a ride over and, sure enough, there was my pride and joy standing tied and saddled, hitched up at the bar. I boldly walked inside with my hand on my hip and publicly announced the cowboy who mistakenly came over and got my horse could remove his saddle or I would leave it on the ground for him.
I’ll never forget that lanky cowboy wheeling around to see this little munchkin with all the attitude in the world staring him down. He kind of giggled and said, “Well excuse me, ma’am, but your father said that I could use the horse.” I replied, “I pay for his feed, therefore, here in the state of Texas, I own him via bill of feed rights. So, like I said, you can take your saddle off yourself, or I’ll leave it on the ground for you.” He just smiled and patiently followed me outside where he apologized for borrowing my horse. He took the saddle and his bridle off. We had such a bond, all I needed to use was a halter. He offered to give me a leg up, but before he could finish his offer, I was already on Bear’s back and we were on our way home.
Never get in between a girl and her horse.
