Bawanna's Mule Story

If we allow donkeys, a horse should be okay.

Mine was an Appaloosa. He had a liking for beer. You stand talking to someone, bottle in hand. He’d sneak up to the fence, extend his neck, bite the bottle neck, throw back his head, and chug-a-lug.

Once he stole my sister in law’s ice cream cone. He decided he didn’t like ice cream. He spat the mess onto her blouse.

Stupid horse. At least he liked beer.

One of his tricks got him into the local paper. Somebody snapped a picture of him standing on his hind legs, picking apples off a tree.
 
Well I reckon horses would be plumb fine. I certainly for one half man, got no issue with horse stories.
 
Moonw said:
You guys are all story-telling masters. I for one really appreciate you sharing all these experiences from another time; best thread in the Cantina so far as far as I am concerned.
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Yeah this is gettin good! Im still two stories behind tho! Mmmmm! Turtle is good for you:thumbup:
 
I was about 4 year old about then. My old man had hitched ol' Jacob up to the harra and we was down on the bottom following my Uncle Jim-Jim who was on the plow being pulled by Abner and Daisy Mae. I was actually bein' baby-sat by Dad and he really didn't want me down there with them as I was extra baggage fer'im. He plopped me down on the harrow and said to sit there. He needed the weight to keep the harra down so's it'd really bite inta them clods made by the plow. Now it was a hot spring day and ever one was sweatin'. Me too. Ridin' on the harra was dirty business cause all that dirt that got crumbled up come flyin' up at me and soon I was lookin' like one of them zebras you heard about. The old man looked back and saw what I looked like, so's next time around the field, we stopped at the bottom of the hill where the pump was and proceeded to worsh me off. Now Jim-Jim come by on the plow and said it sure was warm and he was shore gittin' a thirst. I figured that since he was home on leave from the Army paratroopers and he was so tough, I 'spected that was true. The old man said "You know Dad's off to the VA Hospital in St. Louie and ain't gonna get back until tomorry night. Reckon he won't find out we was in his squeezins."

With that, they commenced to lifting the platform up offa the pump. I watched with interest at that big, deep, dark black hole that'd just opened up afore me. I'd seen Grandpa put jars and kegs of home churned butter down there to keep it cool, but had never seed inside it. The old man pulled on a rusty war that was partially hidden in a crack in the stones of the well linin' and a small two gallon oak keg come up all drippin' with water. Had one of them winder sash weights on it to keep it under water. They pulled the cork and proceeded to take swigs and commentin' on how nice and cool it were. Also said that no, I couldn't have none. Make my mouth on fire. Jacob started movin' over under a tree to get in the shade and the old man set the keg down while him and Jim-Jim took care of the mules. Well, I was thirsty and decided I'd chance gettin' myself a drink like they did. That stuff hit my mouth and it was really cool and I had opened up my gullet wide and let'er flow. Then it hit. Oh-oh. I quickly set that keg down and looked around to see if anyone had watched me. LORDY! I WAS AFAR!! My eyes was waterin'. I had quit breathin' about a minute ago. My stomach was bein' kicked by some insanely rabid mule and I sat down. Sweat had really broke out on my forehead by this time.

Unbeknownst to me, the Old man had been watchin' me the whole time. Him and my uncle got them mules put in the shade and walked back over to the well. Dad says: "Jim, I reckon Steve's a man now. He's 4 years old and in kindygarden." That damn Jim-Jim was in cahoots with him and he says back, "You know Winifred, I believe you're right on that. He's down here helpin' us by holdin' that harra down." Dad looks at me and smiles. "Yes, I am shore proud of'im and the way he holds that harra down. Reckon he needs ta be treated like a man, now." Hey! I wasn't feelin' so bad now, me bein' a man and all that! Then the old man picks up that keg and takes a long pull, hands it over to Jim-Jim and he does the same, lowers the kegs and belches like old Jacob done farted. I smiled at that one and then he handed that keg to me and said "Yer turn."

That smile quickly, and you don't understand the full meaning of the word quickly, fell clean off my face. I shook my head no and the old man said "Yep. You shore are gonna git you a drink. I saw you with that keg a minute ago and you got yer choice. You take a big ol' drink or I'm gonna kick yer a$$ alla way ta the house!" I took a tiny sip and the old man was wise and caught on real quick like. Reached out'is hand and tipped that keg up. That stuff was goin' down my throat alright and it was comin' out my ears at the same time. My eyes was beyond waterin'. My brain was tellin' me to run. My stomach decided it had enough and then someone turned my stomach on. And I barfed. I power barfed. I barfed like a pro. I sat down as my head was beginin' to not know how to keep me from spinnin' around so fast. I know the old man sit me down and said to stay in the shade. Him and his evil brother went back to work.

Now I sat there a right long spell and was feelin' better and I was singin' the only song I knew. Hank William's Hot Rod Ford. Got me a two dollar bill...They'd finished the field and come over to where I was and the old man told me to git up on Jacob fer the ride to the house. Then he put me up there himself cause I couldn't figure out what I done with my feet. Jacob had'is nose down where I throwed up a smellin' that alcohol, I guess. We made it up to the lot and was puttin' ever thing away and he told me to go put Jacob in'is stall. I did. Somehow. You know, this here bein' a man weren't so bad. I was feelin' pretty good by now and everthing was funny. Got Jacob in'is stall and about that time I membered this fifth of Four Roses Grandpa kept hid. He wouldn't mind, since I was a man now, if I got a little drink of that, so I pulled'er out of it's hidin' place. Back in them days the cap was gold colored and just the size of a shot glass. I didn't know anything about shot glasses, but I seed right off it looked kinda like a glass and a poured myself a little. Hey! This wasn't so bad. Poured anuther one. Pretty smooth. Now Jacob was a watchin' me this whole time and I figured he could have a snort. I filled that gold water glass plumb full and held it up high. When Jacob raised'is head, I poured it down. CRIKEY!! Jacob brayed. Brayed loud, too. He kicked the sides of the stall and he brayed again! My eyes was open wide. As far as they could be. Funny, but Jacob's was too. It just so happened that Grandma had been to the hen house collectin' the eggs to take to the house and heard Jacob's tirade and come to see just what the ruckus was all about. The door was open so she walked in to see me down a whole shot of Four Roses in one swalla. She spun around and hollered down to the house, "Henry! Jim! You to get here to the barn right now!" I sort of thought she was mad about something, but I was more interested in giving Jacob anuther drink.

All of a sudden I was jerked up in the air and my old man was a shakin' me like a terrier with a rat, only I was the rat. My old man sure was funny! I was a laffin' the whole time. Uncle Jim had grabbed the bottle away and put it somewheres and the old man drug me along outside. Was gonna put his boot up my fanny perpendicular. Was yellin' at me and it was so funny I couldn't hardly stand up from laffin' at'im so hard. Grandma had her apron on and I seen her reach in the pocket and put her sewing thimble on. She thumped the old man on the head and told him that in no uncertain terms he wasn't gonna lay no hand on me. Him and Jim was goin' to Hell fer what they did to me. And she thumped'im again. Hoooo, that was too funny. I had tears in my eyes. Grandma grabbed me by the hand and off we went fer the house. My Mom was watchin' out the door and she was not a happy person. I was laffin' and tellin' her she should git a drink outta that bottle in the barn. I was also muddy from bein' in the field, so she put me on a chair and proceeded to worsh me up proper.....and that's all I member.

When I woke up, I felt good. Had rested real well, so I crawled out of bed to go to the kitchen. Hey, Grandpa was back early! I went over to tell'im about how I was a full grown man now and next time he drank any of that stuff in the barn I'd help with it. Grandma come up and told me they wasn't no bottle in the barn anymore....and they'd better never ever be a bottle in the barn again, either. I sensed she was mad about something, but didn't know what. Later that day, I found out that Grandpa had been home a whole day when I woke up. Guess I musta been tarred when I went to sleep. Went out to the barn and I coulda swore that Jacob was glad to see me fer some reason. Follied me around like a pup.
 
"Stories of the toughness of Gurkha skulls also do the rounds, with one story going so far as to claim that if a mule kicks a Gurkha's head, the Gurkha may suffer a headache, but the mule will certainly go lame."
abcnews.go.com


Gurkhas_hold_onto_their_mules_as_they_swim_across_the_Irrawaddy_River_in_Burma_during_the_advance_towards_Mandalay%2C_January_1945._SE1858.jpg

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gurkhas_hold_onto_their_mules_as_they_swim_across_the_Irrawaddy_River_in_Burma_during_the_advance_towards_Mandalay,_January_1945._SE1858.jpg
 
Being a truthful man and on the up and up with mankind, I feel it my duty to report on a little incident accidentally overheard one day last week while I was out walking my wife's little five pound fluff ball, Googi.

One morning Bawanna was riding his ol' mule to an illicit sporting event when he met Kamidog, against whom he had an old and concealed grudge. Bawanna knew that particular Texican's weakness lay in boozing, bragging, and betting. The light came on inside his head; so he greeted him with a warm and affectionate smile.

“How you doing, Kamidog? Nice day for a walk.”

“Jus fine, suh,” replied Kamidog in his polished and formal Texican accent. “Fine weather, too. Nice mule you're riding. How's he to bet on?”

“Bet on? Good. REAL good. I'll tell you, Kamidog, but don't tell no one, but he’s the best mule in the county.”

“Whoa! Is that so?” Kamidog asked excitedly.

“Solid truth. Yep, every word of it. Tell you confidentially, I am taking him down to Reno for betting purposes. I'll bet you he can kick a fly off any man without its hurting him.”

“Now lookie hyar, Bawanna,” said Kamidog, “A'hm not a betting man, but I’ll bet you on that myself!"

“'Dog, there’s no use---don’t bet,” said Bawanna. “I don’t want to win your money. Bookie's maybe...if he don't have his little sack of dolls with him.”

“Y'all don’t be alarmed now, Bawanna. Put yerself at ease. Ah take such bets like thet evah time.”

“Well, if you are determined to bet, 'Dog, I'll risk a small stake---say five dollars?”

“All right, Bawanna---you da man. But who’ll he kick the fly off? There is no one here but you and me. Guess y'all best do it.”

“No,” says Bawanna; “I have to be at the mule’s head in order to order him.”

Kamidog thought on that for a minute and came back with "Sounds like a bunch of mule sh1t to me, an' that makes me the man. Waal, pard. I’ll do it, but y'all are to bet ten against my five dollahs if I risk it.”

“All right,” said Bawanna. “Now there’s a fly on your shoulder. Hold still.” And Bawanna put his mule into position.

“O.K., Pugs! Kick!” said Bawanna.

Old Pugs, the mule, raised his heels with such velocity and force that 'Dog took off like a shot, climbed to altitude like he was a NASA Saturn rocket, flamed out, and landed on all fours on top of three illegal aliens in a muddy ditch, bang up against a barb wire fence.

Rising in a towering passion, he exclaimed: “Y'all thought thet was a pretty smart bet, eh? I knew your darned mule couldn't do it. Y'all jus ran yer mouth and ain't no way Ah'd be kicked like thet for fifty dollars. So now you can just fork that ten bucks right over.”

“Ain't no way, Kamidog!” said Bawanna; “Pugsy did just what I said he would. I said he'd kick a fly off a man without its hurting him, and he did. You'll notice ol' Pugs ain't hurt by the experiment at all. However, if you are not satisfied, we will try again.....as often as you wish.”

'Dog brushed the mud off, looked solemnly at the mule, and then, putting his hand thoughtfully to his brow, remarked:

“No, Bawanna. Ah don’t think Pugs is hurt none; but Ah jus didn't understand the bet. Y'all can keep the money. Ahm gonna go see if there's a DOTD posted yet.”
 
I for one can't get enough Bookie stories. Imagine how cool it would be if he had an imagination and didn't just share true stories.

If I could fix him up with a tutor ta teach him how to write, why he'd make a killin writing books and what not.

Keep em coming Doc.

You rock!
 
I think kamidog picked up that big ol' dogo for mule protection
 
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I remember it like it was yesterday. Was around four one Sunday afternoon in August. The telephone rang and Tucker's Dad was on the line. They lived at the bottom of the hill South of our place. Dad put the phone back on the cradle and told Mom to keep us kids in the house til he got back. Of course we all wanted to know what was wrong. He just growled, told Mom he had to go down to see the neighbors about something or other. Crawled into our old Chevy pickup and drove off. Very mysterious. At the time, we lived in this old, run down, farm house. Us boys' bedroom was upstairs so I went up there to look out the window to try and see what was going on down at Tuck's. The old man had picked up Tucker's dad and the two of them drove down the lane on the edge of our West corn field and into the yellowing cottonwoods and silver maples along the river and disappeared from view.

I waited at the window for some time. Didn't see anything, so I gave up the vigil and went downstairs to gather up stuff to clean and soften old leather. A little while later, the phone rang again and Mom told me to go throw a halter on Skipper and to go find my Dad. And take a rope. I was thinking that they had got the truck stuck on a sand bar again or something as I rode out the barn lot and headed down the gravel road. Turning off into the lane, it became evident more people than what I thought was there. They were standing around in two groups and no one was saying much at all. Yep. The old man had got "Old Blue" stuck alright. Saw Calvin. He nodded his head at me and then looked away. Had he been crying? There behind the truck, was the old man and was he wringing wet. Something was laying on the hood of Rick's '48 Ford sedan in a blanket. His car was stuck in the sand, too. Strange doings here. The old man told me to get down off Skipper, led him in front of the Ford and roped the two together. Skipper threw his head back, snorted, and got a little balky. Didn't really want to get too close to the old Ford. The old man was not in a mood to fool with Skip so he smacked him on the flanks and yelled "Pull, Skipper!" They got the pickup out and back on the lane. That chore being done, I jumped back up on Skipper's back and he began trotting down the lane-- unbid by me.

Half way up the hill I looked back to see the Ford driving very slowly down the lane and all those other people walking along behind it. Oh, well, we turned and headed for the barn. When we got there, Skipper appeared to be glad to be back home and went right into his stall. Mom saw I was back and yelled for me to come back into the house. She was fixing supper and ignored my asking as to what was the matter so I started oiling this old size 15 U.S. cavalry saddle. my prized possession. Found it hanging in the barn when we moved into the place a while back. The old man came home, washed up and sat down to eat. My parents didn't say anything throughout the meal and that set the mood for us kids. It was so quiet that you could hear the forks scraping on the plates!

After supper I got up from the table and went back to working on that saddle. Dad came out and said that Calvin and them had been down on the sand bar fishing and having a picnic. Said Calvin's brother waded into the river to run their throw lines, pulled out a pistol and shot hisself. The current took his body and jammed it in a couple of trees that had fallen in the river and it got hung up there. That explained why the old man had been all wet. They had taken his body, wrapped it up in the picnic blanket and laid it on the hood of the car. Skipper, when he got close to the front of the car had smelled that blood and didn't want to have any part in the matter. You know what? I can't say I blamed the mule one little bit. Sad way to end a beautiful late summer day, eh?
 
Man i got a splittin headache today? I dont remember a dang thing i did yesterday neither?
 
That un plumb near made me cry. Poor mule used to pull a car out of the river, they didn't have no Ford Pinto's back in those days.

I do recall another semi related mule story.

We was hunting Elk in Eastern Washington, had the same 2 mules and a horse, Molly W and Molly B, white and brown respectively.

We'd killed a deer for a little camp meat and unbeknownst to me the fellas had put it up in the front of the horse trailer in a small storage area.

Well I led ole Molly W (she's a fine ole mule) into the trailer and up to the front. She apparently got a whiff of that deer meat and all heck busted loose. I'll tell ya I felt like the sled behind a 100 huskies but there twernt no snow or ice to ease my path and I was be drug full steam horizontal like on my front.

I held on for probably a good 75 yards or better, then decided it was time to cut the cord and/or hit the eject button.

Molly W being the fine mule she was didn't go fur, but lordy she didn't want no part of that trailer.

We ended up putting her in the back.
 
The old man threw up a barn between fits of drunkenness one spring. Least that's what he called it. Even stole some telephone poles Ma Bell was puttin' up in our neck of the woods for the up rights. Had to have him some livestock so's he went over to the Colfax sale barn and bought'im a few sheep and some goats. Them critters was O.K. he reckoned, but they was on the small side and he wanted something much grander to fill up that "barn". Moe Blair come a drivin' up one day and asked the old man if he might be interested in a mule. Been usin'im fer coon huntin'. Was one of them "jumping mules" that goes over bob war fences on'is own. Dad's eyes commenced a sparklin' and glowing all pretty like and asked'im how much. Ended up tradin' Moe a double 12 gauge that was new when George Washington chopped down that cherry tree, six layin' hens, and a twenty dollar bill. We was shocked the old man would spend that much money on a dern mule! They put the mule in the barn and Moe drove off a mite faster'n what he drove in.

Ma and my two sisters come outta the house and the seven of us headed to the barn to take a gander at this long-eared rural unicorn. The old man was quite proud of his horse tradin' episode and had'is hand layin' on the top board of the stall. The mule came over, sniffed the old man's hand and then bit the crap outta'is thumb! Dad grabbed one of the mule's ears and bit it just as hard and the blood run. The mule let go and so'd the old man. In a flash the mule'd grabbed up the old man's arm and chomped down. Tried to jerk the old man inta the stall. Wrong maneuver fer the mule. Dad was kickin' the mule in the ribs with'is boots and it was dancin' around, but hangin' on to the old man. The profanity being used by both the old man and the mule would'da made a crow blush, so's Ma grabbed a shovel and smacked the mule about the head with monotonous regularity until he let go. He turned towards Mom and she caught'im right between the eyes and he backed off then and walked outta the barn.

Over the next several days we all figured out that that mule's name was Beelzebub! Fittin' anyways. We'd go out to feed'im and he'd bite. Go out to fill the water tank and he'd bite. Debbie was gonna play it cool and give'im an apple to eat. He bit. That mule just did not like people. It ended up toleratin' the old man probably because he was just as wicked and you know what they say about birds of a feather. Well, the old man hadn't give up on the mule just yet. Threw a saddle on'im and headed down the road to the highway. Turned West and headed towards the drive-in....Zombies from Chadanooga was playin'....beatin' that mule the whole way. The mule was tryin' to turn'is head and bite the old man, but just couldn't quite git'is head close enough. Turned'im around and was headin' back when we seen the saddle slip and the old man hit the ground hard. We drove over and loaded up Dad and took'im home. My youngest brother, John, he was 4 or so, grabbed the reins and started walkin' the mule fer home. Dad sat on the pump platform and I used a needle and black thread to sew the old man's scalp back together after takin' all the rocks and gravel out of that three inch hole. When I was done, he went inta the house and got himself a case of Hamm's Beer, sat back down on the pump platform, and opened one beer after another. I spect he was hurtin' a bit.

I went out and took Beelzebub from John and put'im in the stall. WHUMP! Dern! Did he kick me or what? I hurt. I couldn't breathe. He just looked at me with them ears a laid back like he was darin' me to c'mon back. He didn't git fed that night. Heck with'im. Musta been about six or so and the old man started yellin'. "May Bell! Git out here!" Ma figured he was havin' a relapse or somethin' and we all come runnin' out. "My Gawd!! D'jew see it?! Biggest damn caterpiller I ever seen!" We all looked at each other and winked our eyes knowin' the old man was pert well greased by this time and we turned to go back inna house. "Damn! There it is again! Looky!!" Had dropped that can of Hamm's and stood there pointin' to the sky. Sure enough, there is was. The National Guard had got'em some new helicopters that was long like bananas. I seen'em on the Whirlybirds show. Well, it did sorta look like a caterpiller.

Next mornin' I hobbled out to git the eggs. My two little brothers was carryin' the bucket we put'em in. Me and Gene was feelin' under the hens and grabbin' them eggs and John went inta the barn. We took the eggs inna house and Mom said to sit ye down and eat breakfast and where was yer brother John? I said John went inta the barn fer somethin'. Then it dawned on us. We all ran out to the barn, but no John. Mule was gone, too. We climbed over the stall and went outside. John was layin' on that mule's back, suckin' on a slice of bread he brung from the kitchen and they was in the far corner of the lot. We didn't know what to think. The mule was just walkin' around, goin' no where in particular and wasn't tryin' to bite John at all. We all knew John had a way with animals even if he was just a little kid, so we left'im there. Spect them two roamed around most of the day.

We let John do the feedin' and waterin' of that mule for the next couple of weeks and there was no problem. One of the rest of us walk inta the barn and you could hear the bones in that mules neck crack as'is head turned 360 degrees and far blew out'is nostrils when he seen us. But then him and John would be together all day ever day like they was one of them Siamese twins 'er sumthin' until the BIG DAY. Yes, indeedy. It was a glorious day fer the family.

The old man found a feller lived down to Metz that was lookin' fer a mule. Had'im come to the house. The man and'is wife saw John a layin' on that mule's back and headin' up towards Anderson's place. No reins or halter on that mule. She was took with Dad's "ridin' mule and says she had to have it. Any mule that's that gentle with kids was a good mule. Mom kept Jacque & Debbie in the house at that so's the woman wouldn't see the red welts and bruises on their arms from bein' bit. Dad slipped that fifty dollar bill inta'is pocket and said he'd bring ol' Puddin' over this evenin'. Him and Johnny loaded up Beelzebub and took'im to Metz. The Old man told Ma a couple of weeks later the feller had got rid of the mule. Sold it to a gut down to Percy. Told'im that the mule was a good'un, but it must really be homesick fer the Bookout's cause he been real moody since we'd dropped'im off. Even kicked the wall of'is stall down......
 
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Bookie, you really have a great knack for storytelling. I really enjoyed reading these stories of yours. I think you should consider putting these mule story posts along with some other tales from your childhood together and publish it as a book!
 
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