On the Habits of Mules

We sat in oak rockers on his back porch and watched the August sun descend into the haze. A South Georgia sunset, along with a cold, long-neck beer, helps one’s perspective. So does the smell of fried chicken.

His name is Billy Parks, but folks call him B.P. He’s a South Georgia cowboy who looked like he had walked out of a Ralph Lauren catalog…lean, square jawed, faded Levi’s, a sweaty Stetson, silver belt buckle, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows and dusty lizard skin cowboy boots. He’s amiable, slow to anger unless you cross him. He lifts 50 pound grain sacks in each hand and can rope a cow blindfolded. He’s a good friend.

We sat and sipped, whining about the economy and cursing all evil bankers. It’s good to have someone else to blame. We soon moved on to religion and reached no consensus with this topic. The conversation drifted to politics and politicians. We opened another beer and beat this political mule lifeless, ending up where we started ~~ frustrated.

“You wanna see my mules?” he said. “Do I have to?” I answered. “Aw, c’mon,” he said. I relented, remembering my great-grandfather had once farmed 11,000 acres with mules a century ago. “I always wondered about the habits of mules,” I said. “Good critters, if you train ‘em right and beat ‘em a little,” he said. “Aren’t we all?” I responded.

He continued, “Mules are a cross between a male donkey and a female horse, ya know. Male donkeys are called jacks, in case you’re wondering where the term ‘jackass’ comes from.” I admitted to wondering about this in moments of extreme boredom. He smiled and said, “Ok, Ok, I know whatcha thinking…who knows why the attraction, but these things happen.” I asked, “What if you crossed a banker with a preacher, would you get a teller-vangelist? Or maybe a politician and a nun ---a preying menace?” He looked me in the eye and said, “Man, you just ain’t right.” We laughed.

“First, all male mules are infertile. This is a good thing, because they don’t have wandering eyes.” I knew what he meant…wandering eyes are trouble. “Plus, they’re less obstinate and more intelligent than their donkey fathers,” he said. “They have a family trait of ending their conversations with a hee-haw,” he added. “Good thing they’re infertile…no female would put up with such snorts,” I said.

We leaned on the corral fence and spit, just like in the movies. Two disinterested mules stared back at us. “Biggest problem ya have is poor training when they’re young,” he said. “Molly there, she was bad to kick when I got her,” he said. “Thing about it is she can kick in any direction, even sideways.” Yeah, I thought…I’ve heard of females with this bad habit! “Mules are more intelligent than their parent species,” he said. “Why Betsy there, she understands what I’m thinking” he boasted. “That’s nothing,” I said. “My wife always knows what I’m thinking. Men are easy to read, they’re only interested in two or three things.”

“This might be a dumb question,” I said, “but why are blinders used to shade a mule’s eyes?” He shook his head, saying, “Son, didya fall off the turnip truck? You’ve been off the farm too long. Look, do you know what mischief a 1,000 pound stubborn mule can get into if he ain’t focused? You gotta keep his eyes on his business. Good lesson for us all, huh?” Hey, who could deny that?

We walked back to the house in the twilight for some fried chicken and another round. Apparently, looking at mules makes one hungry and thirsty. He said, “Ya know, you got me to thinkin’. Why would any political party choose a jackass as a mascot?” A sly grin formed on his lips as he spit the last of his Skoal into the dust. “Well, I get your drift. It might explain a lot of things, huh?” I said.

I left after dinner, but not before leaving this cowboy with something to ponder. From my car I shouted,”Hey, B.P., speaking of mascots, what if you mated a donkey with an elephant? What political party would you get?” I heard him laughing for a mile down the road!

Nothing like mules and a quiet afternoon on the farm to get one to thinking. Gee, Haw!

Bud Hearn
August 26, 2010