I no longer have a mule. I no longer have a cat. I no longer
have a wagon or cart. Nor do I have a daily job. I am drifting, unmoored, like
a late autumn leaf caught up in the chill breeze of a winter’s day. *cue sad music...*
Okay folks, you can put away the violins!
I have a strong life. I know I’m blessed, and I have faith.
Why? Faith in what?
I am blessed to have loved deeply enough to feel ripped by
grief and loss as the trailer disappeared down the dusty road, carrying Butch
mule to his new home. I am blessed to have had the strength to act on the
knowledge that he needed another kind of life, one more suited to who he is,
and to have found him that home. Same with Pita the cat, a few weeks earlier.
In both cases, I struggled for months and months against
what I knew deep down had to be done. Plus in both cases, I struggled with not
just my low opinion of myself if I didn’t provide a “forever home,” but also
(I’m ashamed to admit) with what others would think of me. Did I pray about it?
I’m not a church person, don’t belong to any religion, but I do have my private
faith based on my own experience, and you bet I did. But it wasn’t until I
finally put the needs of my animals ahead of my pride – until, cringing, I
listed them in ads – that, in both cases, they found a home.
Instantly. Within hours. With homes that, miraculously, were
absolute perfect fits.
(And yes, in both cases I did go check the homes and people
out first!) I am so grateful, beyond words, for that gift of grace.
I had my first cat for 20 years, til she died of old age. My
life has changed. I know now that a solo traveller has no business adopting a
pet; I don’t plan to ever get another.
I don’t know where I’m at with looking for another equine. I
got Butch for the cross-country drive-turned-ride, figuring afterwards I’d
either retire him to life with me as a trail mule, or plan more adventures,
depending on how it went. Spent 3 years grooming him for the big ride. Starting
him under saddle, 3 years earning each other’s trust and respect, 3 years
learning all his little quirks, 3 years learning his favorite and
not-so-favorite things, 3 years of love and exasperation and laughter and tears
and pride in what a brave and fabulous mule he turned out to be in so many
ways.
But in the end, it turned out I couldn’t give him the one
thing he needed most: A herd.
48 hours before I was scheduled to haul Butch to Austin to
join the Free Range Rodeo, he had a full-blown repeat of his meltdown last
spring. I had taken him up to Jack the saddlemaker’s for some last-minute
fitting. Alone in a strange place on five acres for 2 nights and 2 days...
Butch lost his mind again. He paced the fence nonstop the entire time, frantic,
sweating. He refused to eat or drink. When caught, the moment the halter was on
he’d throw his head up and try to plow right through his human to get back to
pacing the fence. Tied to the trailer, he pulled back wild-eyed, frantically
swinging around and searching for the familiar. Nobody but me wanted to go near
him – it was clearly not safe.
Jack declined to finish the saddle. This is a man who has
worked with hundreds of mules, from the best to the most rank, over a lifetime.
In his gentle way, he said “Katie, I know you haven’t asked my opinion and I’m
not one to tell people what they should do. But I have to tell you this. I’m
afraid for you. In all my life I’ve only seen 2 or 3 mules that were not mean
but could be dangerous, and that mule is one of them.
“He’s a good, good mule most of the time. But you cannot fix
this. You can’t train him out of his herd-bound-ness. When he’s alone he
panics, and when he panics his instincts take over and he’s a danger to himself
and to you. He’d be a wonderful mule for somebody else – someone who knows
mules and can handle him well, in a place where he’ll have a job, be used and
be kept with a herd, never off by himself. But he’s not mentally suited for
what you’re asking him to do, go alone across the country. I truly fear if you
take this mule someone is going to get hurt or worse – and it’ll probably be
you.”
I was devastated, because I knew it was true. I’d known it
last May, when I brought him back from Texas. I knew it when I tied him to a
trailer at a show and all the people (including me) and other equines left for
an arena, and he blew up so frantically he yanked the trailer and bent the door, bucking wildly.
And I think what was left unsaid because Jack was too kind
to point it out, is that Butch was simply too much mule for me... not for
somebody else with more experience and confidence. But I was the typical green
trainer with green animal, bad combination. And unfair to my young mule. He needed a
home that would bring out his full potential.
Butch went to a hunting outfitter. To be ridden, not packed.
He will spend half of each month climbing steep hills and chasing things, his
two favorite occupations. And he’ll always be in the company of their four
other mules. The new owners know Butch’s issues and history, and assured me my
good mule will never be kept alone.
So where do things stand now with getting another mule, or even a (gasp) horse, the ride,
or a wagon, work, life, the future? I don’t know. I do know I still intend to follow the dream, somehow, in some form. Until Butch Henry was gone, I
didn’t realize how hard it would be to picture doing the journey with another
companion. I can’t imagine getting to know any other equine the way I knew that
mule.
I can’t imagine loving any other equine the way I loved that
mule.
Yet, so much magic in the world! It’s been an incredible, intense, wonderful three years. I
wouldn’t trade one minute of it. And now I’m sure it’s going to be another
incredible, intense, wonderful year. However it unfolds. The future is wide
open.
I know I’m blessed, and I have faith.
