I have been informed many times in my life I’m as stubborn
as a mule. Thank you. I take that as a complement.
I like mules. They
are extremely intelligent, strong, protective, and gentle. It’s much easier to ride a mule than a
horse, and the mule is always looking to make that ride as enjoyable as
possible. A horse will try to scrape
off a rider with a low hanging tree branch, while a mule will make room for
you. A pig or a snake can easily spook
a horse, whereas a mule will just acknowledge its presence and continue about
its business.
I grew up with mules, and I even rode one to school for most
of the third grade. I was about six or
seven years old when I was braiding a bridle for the owner of the farm next to
ours, and Curly came into the barn to watch me for a while. Curly was the smallest of our four plow
mules, but at over seventeen hands high, he wasn’t exactly small. He, and Moe, Larry, and Shemp, were bred
from a Mammoth Jack and Percheron crossing, so small is a bit relative. But Curly was always the most curious of the
four.
After looking over my shoulder for a few minutes, Curly
walked over to the wall where an ancient McClellan saddle was hanging on a peg,
grabbed it with his teeth, and dropped it beside me. Then he knelt down and nudged the saddle a little closer to
me. I couldn’t believe it. He was telling me he wanted to go for a
ride. He was a plow mule and had never
been ridden in his life. I had him stand back up while I went in search of a
saddle blanket, bridle, and anything else I might need to make this work.
I couldn’t find much of anything I needed to take Curly out
for a ride, but I did find an old piece of rug that would serve as a saddle
blanket. Trial and error finally
succeeded in saddling Curly, and he knelt back down so I could climb on. I didn’t have a bridle and reins, but I
could grab onto his mane, and he knew all the plowing commands for right, left,
go, and stop (Gee, Haw, Giddup, Whoa), so I thought I could make this work.
There was a learning curve for both of us. The first time I said “Giddup,” Curly
lurched forward like he was in the plow harness, and I discovered the barn
floor wasn’t very soft. But we tried again
and again until we understood how the process would work for us. It was a great summer riding Curly around
whenever he wasn’t pulling the plow, but when school started, our fun was
quickly curtailed and confined to the weekends.
It took a while for me to find out just how Curly got the
idea of being ridden. After I completed
the bridle for farm owner next to ours, Levi (the owner) told me Curly had
spent a lot of time watching him ride his horses. Each time he would saddle up, Curly would come over to the fence
to study the process.
School was a few miles away, and usually I walked both
directions, although on occasion someone would take pity on the little kid
walking along the dirt road and give him a ride. But it was a long walk (10 miles uphill both directions and
always snowing). I left home about 5:30
each morning and usually returned about 5:30 in the evening. Then there was the homework.
I don’t know why I didn’t notice the hitchin’ rails in front
of the school until the year was almost over, but the next year, I decided to
ride Curly to school one morning. Curly
wasn’t really needed until spring plowing began again, so, Why Not? When I arrived, I tied him to the rail and
went into the classroom.
My school was a 4-room building. Grades 1 and 2 were together.
3 and 4, 5 and 6, 7 and 8. Two
grades per room. This was my first time
in the 3rd and 4th grade room, and my first time with
this teacher. About two hours into the
morning, she called me aside to ask about my mule. “Does he have food and water?”
I hadn’t thought about these things.
Mrs. Stephenson (I don’t remember her name, but this one
works) brought me out to her truck where she peeled a flake from a bail of hay
she had. We brought it along with Curly
to the old barn in back of the school where she placed him in a stall, gave him
the hay, and filled a bucket with water for his thirst.
“David, every two hours I want you to check on him. It doesn’t matter what we are doing in
class, just make sure your mule is happy.
I’ll bring a couple of hay bails tomorrow, but after that, you will need
to provide something for him to eat.”
Wow. I thought I was
going to be in trouble for riding my mule to school, but it turned out everyone
was jealous of me, including the teacher.
I never did need to bring food for him to eat. Someone, and I never found out who it was, always brought hay and
feed for Curly.
When my third grade ended, so did my time with Curly. We sold the mules and bought a tractor. My parents moved into the city and I changed
schools. My grandfather still had the
farm, and I would visit on weekends and summers, but it was never the same
after the mules were sold.