Mules versus Jackasses

August SEAHA note from the editor

It’s ironic I go to my mules to forget about the jackasses of the world.
I was at Brawleys the other morning, my favorite place to enjoy a great breakfast for under $4.00. The extraordinarily quick and friendly service is also impressive. But for the first time in the three years I've been going there someone in the booth next to me was unhappy. He began giving the waitress a hard time because his order was wrong. It wasn't enough to just mention it to her, he had to hold up his plate and loudly demand, "does that look like french toast?" Still not satisfied that everyone acknowledged his displeasure, he then turned around in his seat to the guy in the other booth. "Does that look like french toast to you?" The shocked elderly man didn't answer but the question was repeated. I mentally prepared for when I would be asked next. I'd either tell him to calm down, or if I didn't feel like being confrontational I'd do my usual impression of a German tourist; "Vas? No Sprekenze Englesh." It usually takes a while for them to figure out I'm "funnin" them. My English newspaper would be the giveaway this time.

How would this scenario go with my mules? Setting; feeding time, our paddock. The mules play the restaurant customers, I’m the waiter. The mules are seated in their usual booth, the fence that overlooks our back door. Within minutes of arriving, they are happy to see the waiter coming. I don’t even have to give them menus, as I walk up they place their order. WrooHoohoohoo says Horace (hay and some of those pellets please) and Wreeeeeee says Phoebe (I’ll have the same). Cricket doesn’t order. Of the three regulars, she likes to act like she’s on a diet, then pig out off the other’s plates. I find the kitchen is out of Lakin pellets, so I substitute some rice bran, comping a portion to all three. As they politely begin eating, and so none of the other customers will hear, Horace quietly says to Phoebe, “pssst – this doesn’t look like pellets to me, does it to you?” “No, but don’t tell the nice waiter, I think this bran is even better than what we ordered. Let’s leave a big tip.”
Let’s further compare mule behavior to jackass behavior:
A mule will keep you out of trouble. A jackass will get you into trouble.

At work
Mule's ears help them avoid risks. Jackasses never listen to risks.
Mules just want to chew grass. Jackasses just want to chew someone out.
Mules neatly pile their poop in one spot. Jackasses erratically pile BS all over you.
On the road
Mules like to go the same speed as everyone else. Jackasses like to go 10 MPH faster than everyone else.
Mules usually signal before they change direction or speed. Jackasses never signal.
Mules tailgate because they like their trail companions. Jackasses tailgate to intimidate their fellow travelers.
In relationships
Mules tell you what they want (to eat and relax). Jackasses keep you guessing.
Small mules still do a good job. Jackasses think size is everything.
Mules do more watching and listening than talking. Jackasses talk without knowing what they're talking about.
Now where do you get your best customers?

Prescott's Smallest Rider

July SEAHA Trail Ride Report

June 17th - Prescott, AZ - If you can't take the heat, get out of Tucson, er… the fire. The pine forest six miles above Prescott is about as high as you can get and still be that close to a wonderful town, but even at 6800 feet the temperatures still approached the mid 80s. Laura, our trail boss, ensured two important components were constantly available to make the ride cool and highly enjoyable; shade and water. This was the first official SEAHA ride for Hope Allen and her first real chance at the "controls" for more than backyard rides. Over the past few months her mother had proven the little mule Phoebe bombproof, though her father wondered how Hope would handle the trait that gave Phoebe her original name, Speedy. Within a half mile it was obvious Hope would have no problems, if she could just remember that the steering wheel on her saddle (the horn) did nothing to slow her progress or stop her steed. Kids grow up learning that cars, boats, bikes, and games are controlled by solid, mostly round fixtures. Pulling a floppy piece of leather is a foreign idea to a modern six-year-old. Adding to the sporting nature of the trail event, there were several logs that had to be stepped over. A 13.5 hand mule like Phoebe doesn't step over anything taller than a gopher mound, she has to jump or risk getting high-centered. Hope learned to hang on and enjoy the jump. The route stayed shady and in places wet as we wound a few hundred feet down to Groom Creek. Or at least we think it was Groom, it could have been Wolf. The trails in the area are seldom marked or official, but meander around, crossing and re-crossing each other. Laura never once exhibited less than perfect confidence in our route. Well, perhaps once. But all trails heading downhill lead to the welcome landmark of water and the creek is where we hitched up the animals and had a nice break. The grass beside the bubbling stream was high, and the horses and mules enjoyed the rest as much as the riders. The return route passed several gold claims, sparking discussions on the prospects of striking some pay dirt. Finding gold was only one of the extra-equestrian activities SEAHA members enjoyed after the main ride. Dining in Prescott or potlucks at the Groom Creek Horsecamp, watching the free entertainment on the plaza, and relaxing in the mountain air were fine alternatives to baking in the desert.