Friday night - bringing the human back down to earth

By Friday night, I had worked myself into a woefully piteous state. Standing at the door of the camper, staring into the darkness nursing a whopping case of dramatic despair worthy of any 16-year-old, I had an "I-just-want-to-be-with-my-mule" moment.

My friends, beware such moments. Just because you want to be with your mule, does not mean your mule wants to be with you.

Under the dim light and dark shadows of a quarter moon, I clambered over the gate and picked my way down a trodden path along the pasture fence. Where o where has my mulie gone? Aha! There he was, a darker larger shadow moving against the deep blackness of the far pasture. I softly called his name, just loud enough for long ears to hear. Walter, Walter... Come comfort me...

Now, mules like routine. They are not overfond of things being out of place. Such as their human, normally known to visit during the day and leave the pasture at night, suddenly showing up - in the middle of the night - in the darkness - with not even a feed bucket - in a part of the pasture normally reserved for equines - this is cause for deep suspicion. Something must be wrong.

Instead of walking right up to me, Walter made a wide circle, checking out all of the surroundings on his way for aliens and other nefarious characters. He finally tiptoed up. Then he tucked his big head into my armpit, his body quivering nervously. [Warning: Beware a nervous mule.] I stroked his muzzle and pressed my forehead against his with a sigh. Ah, my little longeared partner.

Suddenly Walter startled at something behind him, threw his head around, and -

WHAM!!

I'm on my behind, blood exploding out of my snout like a fountain. A flurry of legs goes by as I struggle to stand. I lean far over with my back to the fence, trying not to get blood all over my clothes.
"Walter, you little #*!!#, aaagh, you BROKE my NOSE!"

Just then I feel myself get goosed. I leap forward, swing around -
There's TK the mare. She'd just nipped me in the butt.

This indignity, mind you, after spooking Walter into whacking me in the nose.

I stomped back to the camper, all romantic despair and warm fuzzies vanished. The only iced item in the trailer was a package of frozen chicken tenders.

Remember the last post? How I mentioned getting a haircut and pretties on Thursday so that, as a friend put it, "you'll feel good about yourself"? (Not that I felt bad, but others might have felt bad on my behalf.)

Well, there I sat, a wad of cotton stuck up each nostril and a bag of frozen chicken tenders on my nose and fat lip, thinking "Hmmm, the best-laid plans..." BUT, at least I had a good haircut to offset the prizefighter look!

As it turned out, it wasn't broken, just real bruised inside, and the swelling is already almost gone. Kinda like my ego. Ha!