Eulogy for my biggest friend

I buried a friend Tuesday night in the dark during a soft rain. She had only been a friend for about 10 years and she was only about 25 years old but she had seen a lot through her big eyes. There wasn’t a big gathering at her burial; just three people, a horse, a donkey, a miniature horse and two Black Angus heifers. Did I mention her name was Kate and she was our draft mule?

It was a very sad occasion for all of us and we miss her dearly.

Kate had been suffering from what is sometimes called “stove pipe leg”. Her right rear leg had at times swollen to double its usual size and had even swollen so much that the skin burst to let the serum ooze out. She had been visited by 2 different vets and the cause of this malady was unknown; probably trauma of some sort. Both vets ruled out snakebite.

The old girl had been on antibiotics and hot Epsom salts bathes for over a month and while she still had some swelling it had improved immensely. The horse doctors advised that the best cure beyond the antibiotics was cold water bathes but when the temperature dropped to the single digits and low teens around here she balked at that remedy and the guy who had to administer those bathes didn’t think much of it either. Then one of the vets agreed that perhaps warm Epsom salts baths would be helpful and it looked as if we might be onto something. This not only seemed to improve her condition but the attitude of the bath administrator as well. Last Sunday she was fine and my momma saw her walking in the pasture without a limp at 3:00. At 5:45 she was down and couldn’t get up. It was pretty obvious what had to be done. I made the call to the vet.

We acquired her from a somewhat nefarious mule trader but the deal turned out alright for us. We had no idea what her name was so we called her Kate.

She was a big girl and could probably have been called gangly even though she was filled out nicely. Horse and mule people have always measured and probably always will measure their animals by “hands” which is exactly four inches. I have no idea why they still say “she’s 15hands 1” instead of “she’s 5 feet 1 inches” at the withers (shoulders). Anyway, Kate was a big girl. She was 17 hands and 2 (5 feet 10 inches) of beautiful light red mule flesh with white highlights. Her eyes were dark and sparkly and her teeth always needed brushing. Of course her ears were long but they were always on the move listening for anything and everything. When it came to her shoe size she could easily wear an extra, extra, extra large in anything but I never tried any on her.

She was a smart animal as mules often are. Once she was shown a task four or five times she would perform it again without coaxing and on command. When I wanted her to open the gate I would unlock it and say “exit”. She would nudge the gate open with her muzzle and walk through it. Once she passed through and I’d give her a “whoa” she would stop and wait for me to close the gate. When I was treating her I would tie her to a tree and feed her some grain and medications. On the third day I didn’t even have to put a lead rope on her. Once I closed the gate I said “come on girl” and she followed me to the tree to be secured. After that I would tell her “tree” and she would walk to the tree and wait to for her halter to be snapped.

Some mules make it through their lives without so much as a scratch. That wasn’t the case with Kate-Girl. Once she had a scratched eye and need medical attention. Part of her eye turned milky and the vet said she had probably suffered some vision loss. While she was healing I tried to make her wear a black eye patch like John Wayne in True Grit or Lee Marvin in The Comancheros but she wasn’t having any of that. She asked me when the last time was that I saw a mule wearing an eye patch and I could never remember seeing one so we nixed that idea. Also, I think her hearing was weakening. I noticed over the last few months that my commands had to be louder than I remembered. It was either that or she had heard all of the commands she wanted to hear from me or maybe my hearing is going and I have to talk louder so I can hear myself.

Kate wasn’t exactly material for a “My Friend Flicka” episode but she was sure near to our hearts. When summoned from the far end of the pasture you almost had time to smoke a cigarette and drink a bottle of beer before she made that quarter mile trek. She was never in a hurry. What she lacked in speed she made up for in gentleness and manners. She was never aggressive. She never had a bad attitude. She was protective too. Once one of our doe goats left her kid alone and Jackson, the pasture donkey, was trying to kill it as donkeys are known to do. Wherever Jackson went Kate positioned herself between the kid and him so he couldn’t kick it to death until the little one was rescued.

Only once can I remember her moving faster than the speed of smell. When we first got her I saddled and rode her between my neighbor’s ranch towards ours and all the animals in the pasture came rushing to see the new kid on the block. This spooked Kate and she turned and started running back towards her pasture but didn’t turn when she should have. Instead she was hell bent for election towards a stock fence and I could see it coming up fast. I thought for certain that she didn’t see it and I was expecting the worst; a collision with a five foot woven wire fence. After all, I didn’t think a big old 1300 pound mule that was accustomed to pulling surreys for a living could possible clear that obstacle. Murphy’s Law was applied and she did exactly what I did not expect but was still prepared for – she stopped. Now I don’t care who you are and how much saddle time you have, when a mule stops it stops on a dime and gives three cents change and you are coming out of the saddle. Even though I was somewhat expecting her to do this I found myself catapulted over her head and big ears like a rag doll and on the way I was screaming like a second grade girl. When I got my breath back I took a poll to decide which hurt the most – my back where I landed or my crotch where it made contact with that BIG old saddle horn. I decided it was a tie. To add insult to injury, I did not have my bucket that I had to use to mount this gentle giant so she and I had to walk back to her pasture. While I muttered strong language describing her ancestry I think she decided she had shown who would be boss in the future and that I was not to be taken seriously.

Earlier I mentioned 5’ 10”. Trying climbing on the top of your car by putting your foot on the seat. That is about what it was like trying to pop into the saddle with her. She didn’t like to be ridden anyway. After all, she was a draft mule; not a saddle pony! I didn’t know this when I spent a small fortune to buy a “mule saddle”. Mule saddle salesmen will let you know that “mules are not built like your horses and can’t use a reasonably priced horse saddle, you know. No indeed, sonny. You need this here specially designed mule saddle in order for your mule to be comfortable on the trail. Yessiree, and it only costs about twice as much as horsey saddle. Oh, and did I mention that mules’ mouths aren’t the same either so you gotta’ have this here special mule bit.” I think you get the idea. Then the doggone animal doesn’t even like it!!! Yep, and when I tried to sell it I told every potential buyer that it had less than three miles on it. None of them believed me.

Back to climbing on top of your car. Remember, Kate was close to six feet at the saddle area and add two or three more inches for saddle and blanket. The goal was to put my big old butt six feet above ground level. I have a thirty inch inseam, two prosthetic hips and two prosthetic knees: I don’t bend like I once did. Let’s just say the stirrup is three feet of off the ground and the most I can raise my left foot is 27 inches. That leaves a big gap between the bottom of the stirrup hole and the bottom of my foot but try as I might I never was able bounce up into the saddle like Rowdy Yates did on Rawhide and I damned sure couldn’t jump up over her butt like Gene Autry did on Champion every Saturday morning on TV in 1955. So I used a bucket to stand on until I had an extra stirrup made that would hang down and was supposed to make it easier to mount her. Let me ask you something. Have you ever tried to climb a stepladder while wearing full sized swim fins? That was what my mounting the saddle was described as by one of my close friend and neighbor. Both Kate and I were really happy the day the saddle, bridle, blanket and bridle went down the road – at any price.

Kate loved her treats. While she would shy away from the feed bunk when Connie, the horse, would barge in she would usually stand her ground when it came to horse (or mule) treats. And did she love fruits and vegetables. While she had a hankering for any kind of apples she definitely preferred pineapple, muskmelon and watermelon. She would chew an apple but she would savor the others. She would chew and chew and chew them until a yellow or green slime would drool from her mouth onto your hand, arm, leg and shirt and pants as well as your shoes. Man, did shoe love melons and pineapples. She would even eat the pineapple husks and be grateful for it.

When I bought Kate I didn’t have a horse trailer and didn’t know any one that did so I had to have her delivered. My neighbor, Forrest Britt, was kind enough to offer to let her reside with his horse, Connie, and his donkey Jackson. Connie had been a long time resident and Jackson had been delivered a year or so before. When he arrived we didn’t know anything about him except that he was a he and proud of it! In fact, he just showed up in a trailer and was dropped off at Forrest and Joy’s house with no idea who had made a gift of him. I got blamed but never admitted to it.

I digress.

When Kate was led off of the trailer Jackson went into a braying fit. He brayed and brayed and brayed some more. I think he thought he had found his mamma because he tried to nurse from Kate and she wasn’t having any part of that. He finally settled down and they became friends. After about two weeks he must have realized if that big, beautiful equine isn’t my momma the she must be my girlfriend! We all laughed at his attempts at carnal coupling but as I look back I think I was part of a cruel occurrence. After all, how would any of us like our attempts at satiating our sexual urges and desires chuckled at. I think none of us and I feel ashamed for my deportment. I have since apologized to Jackson and he has forgiven me.

Kate and Jackson had became inseparable even though they looked like the Mutt and Jeff of the donkey/mule world. They were never more than a few yards apart anytime they were in the pasture. I feel so sorry for him because he has lost his best friend. He has been just moping around out there for the last few days.

I could fill pages about good ol’ Kate but I’m certain my words would bore you. Writing this has been good therapy for me, though. Chris and I don’t have children but all of our “pets” are our children and it hurts a lot to lose one.

One last thing though. Her internment was sad but the aftermath was sadder. After the vet put her down Forrest brought the track hoe out into the pasture and I dug a big hole through watery eyes. When I put her in the hole Jackson brayed louder than I’ve ever heard him before. I covered her up, said a few words over her to myself and went home. The next morning all of the animals were standing on her grave and Jackson was braying as if to say “Where are you, friend? ”. I miss you too, old girl.