Well, all my experiences with tack rooms aren't as beautiful as Wilmeth's.
At the DuBois headquarters there was an old wooden barn with a room at the north end. That room housed tack and feed.
That wasn't all it housed. My uncle kept a bull snake in there to protect the feed, and there was a square notch cut out of the bottom of the door for the snake.
I can't tell you how many times I've reached for the little wooden bar to open the door and that damn snake would crawl out of that notch and right on the top of my left boot.
You knew the snake was probably in there, you knew it was just a bull snake and you knew he would skedaddle when he heard the squeakin' of the wood bar.
But all of that didn't matter, it would still scare the bejesus out of me.
I'm convinced my multiple sclerosis was caused by that damned old bull snake.
I'll have to admit, though, he did teach me how to dance.