Day 5 - Friday, March 8 - mule!

Needless to say, by Friday things were looking grim. Sea and I were discussing options: her going on ahead with the hope we'd meet up later, me sending packs ahead and accompanying her on foot, packing both ponies and us both on foot (NOT), the utterly depressing prospect of my flying home (which I secretly had decided was not an option).

Friday late afternoon, Bonnie bangs on the door of the back bedroom where Sea and I are trying to be optimistic while we glumly stare at the silent phones.

"Katie, get out here, we've got a horse."

I jump up and run out the door pulling on my coat, leaping into the cab of Dale's truck as he sits with engine running. He puts his big hand on Sadie's curly head where she rests it next to him and stares straight ahead as he steers up the drive.

"Man got a young horse, says it's a bit poorly but he's put wieght on 'im and it might suit you."

"Where is this horse? How far?"

"'Bout a hundred miles."

It was my turn to stare straight ahead, stupefied. I was so stunned that this man would drive a hundred miles to show me a horse that might or might not work, Ididn't know what to say.

The horse turned out to be... um... unsuitable.

But I just happened to have, in my fanny pack/purse, the name and number of a man who said he had a mule in the same town, a few miles away. I hadn't followed up on it because the guy was a hundred miles away, he wanted more than I could afford, and a few other reasons.

We found him and went to see the mule. It was getting dark. Dale and I looked at eachother on the way and both voiced the opinion that this was my absolute last chance at a mule in Louisiana.

After about 15 minutes spent catching with a bucket of grain, the man brough out a good looking midsize dun john mule with big beautiful feet. I asked what he called him. After a slight hesitation while the owner thought this over, his face brightened, he playfully pulled the mule's ears and said "Flop! Because his ears flop when he walks."

 He saddled up and rode off down the road, "Flop" not so much as glancing at a big logging truck roaring by.

Dale looked at me. "How much you say you're short his price?" He pulled out his wallet.
"Buy that mule."

Thankfully, no loan was needed. I got on and rod and was well pleased. The man came down to my price. Before I even had a chance to say "Okay" Dale gruffly ordered, "Let's load up this mule!" and they had the back gate shut. The man asked if I wanted him to guarantee anything besides the Coggins results, I started making noises about my farrier looking at the feet, and (I swear) trying not to laugh and choke at the same time, Dale says "You don't want that farrier! Don't worry about the feet, they're fine - let's go!" And practically dragged me into the truck.

As he peeled out of there, Mr. Fannin says to me, "When you're stranded at the side of the road, you don't care if the vehicle come to get you is a Toyota or a Dodge truck. You just get in and go."

Also on the way back, Dale remarked that he was sure this mule was Walter, a mue belonged to someone he knew about 10 years ago. The age was right - 12-14 years old.

We unloaded Walter in the dark, into a small pen to catch him the next morning. I had left my notebook with all of my local contacts, including the name and number of the man I just bought walter from, on the ground at the pasture a hundred miles away.

No turning back. I had me a new mule!