A Mule Story - Post 96

Whodathunk that a sweet, gentle blog such as mine would receive an award such as the one above? My erudite and clever blogging buddy rhymeswithplague received this award back in August, and per instructions, he passed it to others, among them myself, a most unworthy recipient. But, thanks, anyway, rhymeswithplague. I've taken a long time to acknowledge my award publicly, and I apologize.

As I thought about the award's title, it called to mind an experience of my days on the farm. Our next door neighbors (if you can call almost a mile away "next door") had a huge gray mule which was used to pull whatever farming equipment needed to be pulled. Occasionally, J.D., one of the younger teenaged boys of that family, would put a bridle on the beast and ride over for a visit. As I recall, we were the only kids of their ages for about 5 miles, at least.

I once had an opportunity (I use the word jestingly) to ride this behemoth. He stood about 17 hands at the shoulder, which was about the same height I was at the time. I had to stand on a barrel in the yard to get up on his back. And, "back" it was... no saddle. Although I was tall, I was skinny. I weighed only about 90 pounds, soaking wet. The mule probably didn't even realize I was there... until I kicked him in the ribs to get him to "go."

To my remembrance, that's the only time I ever "kicked ass."

Post Script: Yes, I realize that technically this mule was not a true ass, but its donkey daddy was an ass. I suppose this mule was only half-ass.