Be careful when arguing with a mule man

 

           Many of my citified friends chuckle when they find me in the barn, trimming Maggie’s mane or cleaning her hooves. Few could distinguish among a mule, a horse and a donkey. Over the past 30 years, I have kept a variety of all three in our pastures.

Randy Leggett sold me my original mules, Ruby and Rose. As long as they lived, the mammoth mules were star attractions for visitors. And today, folks want to feed Maggie to feel her velvet nose snuffle food from their outstretched hands.

But from the beginning of my mule era, friends would ask, “Why don’t you just get a Harley or a sailboat or an RV?”

My answer is always the same, “Thanks, but mules suit me just fine.”

And then some friends remind me that I have a set of golf clubs. I do, somewhere. But that’s when I tell them about my friend Gene.

Don’t be fooled by Gene’s overalls, his boots or his cheek full of chaw. He grew up on a farm on a red-clay road. But he’s made a handsome living up on the hard road, selling tractors and equipment. That’s how I got to know him and learn about his mules.

If you want to talk mules or horse-drawn farming, Gene’s your man. If he doesn’t have what you need, he knows where to get it. Under his cap is an encyclopedia of mule-related knowledge.

When Gene goes to mule events, he draws a crowd. People congregate to admire his blue-ribbon mules. They want to hear what he has to say. His advice is blue-ribbon, too. Gene is not one of those Texans who are, as they say, “All hat and no cattle.”

Years ago, Gene got the itch to have a team of 20 mules, similar to the ones in the long-ago Borax TV ad. He already had the big-rig truck and trailers to transport his dream. But his wife pushed back.

Frustrated, she blurted, “Why don’t you just play golf like other men your age?”

Gene thought a minute and replied, “Well, Honey, I could, but then I’d have to join the country club.”

“Gene, as much as you have spent on your mules, you could certainly afford the dues.”

“But then, Hon, I’d have to learn to drink.”

“Why’s that, Gene?”

“For some golfers, their favorite hole is the club’s bar, the 19^th.”

“Well, Gene, you are a well-disciplined man. You have never drunk alcohol, and I believe you can still reject that temptation.”

“But then, Hon, I’d have to buy a new Lincoln Town Car.”

“Gene, that’s crazy. I already have a new Lincoln Town Car.”

“That’s right, Hon, but a few of those golfers have girlfriends. I might get one, as well. And if my girlfriend saw all those other girlfriends with a new Lincoln, then she’d want one, too.”

Throwing up her hands, the mule man’s wife surrendered, “Gene, why don’t you just keep those durn mules?”      

dnesmith@cninewspapers.com