The Miracle in a Mule

There are miracles we can find in animals.  This is a story about how a mule closes the distance of half a continent.  My dad, Ken, lives in Grand Junction Colorado.  He grew up on a farm in Southwest Michigan.  It was about fifteen miles from where I grew up.  Until he was twelve, Dads early years were focused on a bit of God's acreage in Kendal, Michigan.  He grew up hunting fishing and farming with his parents.  He was the average almost Huck Finn stereotype.    He was barefoot all summer riding a bike, walking or occasionally driving a pony to the one room school he and his two sisters attended.  I was nearly a teen when I figured it is impossible to be uphill both ways.  He literally used snowshoes hunting in the winter.   His tranquil existence ended when his parents separated.   He attended and graduated from Bloomingdale High School.   He did not have the quietest of teen years but he got through them.  He met my Mom, joined the Army and they were married.  My family had two girls and five boys.  Both my parents were born in 1928.  They went through the great depression as children.  They learned what an honest hour of work was.   The essence of hard work was ingrained and taught all of us. 

 I grew up and went to Michigan State University.  I got my Bachelors of Dairy Science, was accepted into Veterinary College, got married, graduated and moved to Milan in December of 1972.   After getting the practice up to speed it seemed I lost contact with Dad.  There was a divorce from Mom.  Dad being an Operating Engineer (a heavy-duty road equipment operator) he started working in different areas.  He worked in Pennsylvania, Canada and eventually worked in the West.  He built roads going around the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.  He helped build roads in other Mountain States.  He worked the last part of his career in Henderson Nevada.  He Retired and moved to Grand Junction next door to my brother Terry. 

They started back into farming.  Terry would go off to his Chiropractic practice and Dad would play with the mules and riding horses.  He would help farming by using a "land plane" to smooth a field.  A water creaser has to be chiseled in for water to flood across.   The land is irrigated from the Colorado River.  The area they farm has to let water out on one end of a field and it has to soak across it.  Water will spread out from a crease and go laterally.  This is noticeable when you run a piece of equipment across or against the crease.  The primary crop put up is hay.   They put up the equivalent of 130,000 or so small bales.  They also do custom field land planning.  They have recently started planting corn as a crop also. 

Somewhere in Dad's retirement hobby he fell in love with a mule named Ginger.  Ginger is a red mule indicating a Belgian in part of her background.  Dad loved all six mules, but he had a soft spot for Pat, Porky and Ginger.  I went out to visit once and rode Ginger on the way up a Mesa to Blue Lake.  The ride up was an experience; the ride down was tough.  The muscle exertion to stay in the saddle was incredible.  It was ten minutes after we got back to the trailhead before my legs would work.   Flatlanders are not used to that.

Dad has a hard time talking directly about a subject.  A phone conversation would eventually get to the subject at hand.  Ginger would come up very directly.  He asked me how he could get a foal out of this Jenny.  I explained the odds of that happening were about one in a million.  He was hoping with my knowledge I could shorten the odds in her favor.  Some things are beyond our dreams.   Promising this would be a trap. 

The mules helped me communicate with Dad.  This conversation skill is one that some times helps with clients.  They are emotionally linked with their animals in times of trouble.  Sometimes they also have a hard time expressing their emotions. 

Dad had a stroke four years or so ago.  He was having a rough time being in the hospital and rehab facility.  He had some setbacks with a bout of pneumonia and what-not.  You might have had a relative go through something similar.  They are almost better, then things get to them and they lose focus and determination.  I would call most every night and talk.  One night Dad was down so I wrote him a letter and told him if he did not get with the program somebody else would be taking care of his mules.  He eventually was through rehabilitation, released and went home.   He was using a golf cart to get around the farm with.  Two years ago, we went out to visit for his birthday.  No one was home when we pulled in.  The next thing I saw was four mules clomping up the lane.  They had gotten out and Dad was heeling them with his golf cart.

This is background for the rest of the story.   Dad called me Saturday afternoon.  Ginger had become cast or down in the paddock.  Attempts to get her back up did not go well.  She would eat hand fed hay.  In her attempts to get upright, she would become uncoordinated and would go back down.  She was covered in late fall wet snow and laying in red-gray Colorado soil.  They conceded it was time to say goodbye.  

It is amazing the range of emotions you go through when one of your loved ones is having a bad day.   The ache they feel is a measure of how much they loved.  Dad asked me to write this down.  "If all mules were patterned after Ginger there never would be a Jackass". 

Ginger gave thirty-seven years of comfort and love.  She gave me a vehicle to get back in touch with my past.  I hope you can take advantage of your opportunities.  

For more information about a specific case, consult your veterinarian.                   
The outside of a pet is good for the inside of a human.