Okay, so I didn’t get a lot done on my writing assignment, Teacher, but I have an excuse.
First, I had a 9 o’clock appointment to help D move his old generator out. Believe it or not this will end up a charitable contribution on his tax return: I don’t know the story but there’s this hermitty guy who’s on oxygen and needs backup electricity but doesn’t have any. So D’s contributing this very nice generator that needs its periodic rebuild, and the local electric guy is contributing the rebuild. All I contributed was a very little labor helping get it out of the generator room.
Then I was home working! I was! Sort of, when I got another call from D.
“[H] is rescuing a horse from [a town many miles away,] and we’re going to board it here. Can you help set up fence panels?”
What do you mean ‘rescue?’ I hadn’t noticed, until I set out to go put up fencing, that things had gotten a bit smoky out there. It’s that time of year…
…which means people in the possible path of the fire are calling other people who aren’t, and finding places to board livestock. Shortly after D&L and I had a round pen set up, H showed up with this bewildered sweetheart…
Pay it forward, I guess, because you never know when you’re going to need somebody else to pay it back.
Right pretty mare–and I don’t even like horses; more of a mule man, myself.
Keep your hillbilly bestiality jokes to yourselves, please (unless they’re funny, of course). Hell, I’m a guest at Joel’s, too, so let ’em fly. I’ve probably heard ’em all, though, most likely with a hillbilly named “Achmed” as the protagonist.
It’s taken a while – but I’ve developed a tremendous respect for the mule – to a point where I consider most horses I see to be impractical. Horses are fine if you like ’em, and they’re pretty to look at, but the characteristics of a mule tend toward reliability. I’ve come to appreciate that.
When I was a kid my uncle would let me ride his big jenny whenever I wanted – but he wouldn’t let me near the pretty brace of Palimino that he had. I used to detest that mule, and I wasn’t too happy that my uncle made me ride that ugly beast. Later I did come to appreciate what he did and why – and he also confessed that he didn’t want me ruining the mouths of his fine horses – which as a dumb kid I was bound to do. That same uncle now raises some fine draft mule – uses them to haul his Cadillac Conestoga Wagon around.
To be honest I’m probably just waiting for the right set of coincidences to come up and I’ll wind up owning one or three. They say a man with a good riding mule and a couple pack mule can just about disappear off the face of the earth. Always nice to have that option…
A new shit shovelling gig? She is a pretty thing, but my theory on horses is that they’re beautiful, high maintenance manure machines, best enjoyed at a distance or on a rent to ride basis. When we had horses, they knew I wasn’t an enthusiast and they never missed an opportunity to mess with me. The mule, Flash, didn’t care what I thought of him as long as I appeared with food, and he and I got along just fine. DH would ride the mule and pack a horse on his adventures into the wilderness. It was a happy day, IMO, when we got rid of all of them. Anyway, I’m glad this mare has a good rescue place to be.