Needless to say, by the fourth day of our trip, Travis and I were exhausted. At 5:40 a.m., I woke up to start Maxine's breakfast. After about fifteen minutes, the pellets had turned to slop. I carried them through the trees where my gal awaited, anxiously.
Then, I went back to the tent, where I slept until 7:30 a.m. The night before, Travis and I had discussed hitting the trail by 8:00 a.m., but we were dragging after the night's "activities." No one else was eager to get moving either, so we settled in for a relaxing breakfast of oatmeal and hot chocolate.
Personal observation: Despite my worries to the contrary, most everyone slept through our little sleepover.
With our tummies full, we wandered up to break camp and pack up The Brat. I began calling Maxine that about a year after I got her. She's typically so calm, it's an ironic title. Of course on some days, and this was one of them, it's a very fitting nickname.
My first job was to clean off my tack. The day before, Maxine had done her darnedest to get to the rock where I had safely laid my tack for the evening. Not only was she successful, she made a game of tossing and stomping every piece in the dirt while I was down at the lake washing up. Now it was covered in grass and sticks.
Once I had picked every sticker and burr from her pad and saddle, I doctored her wounds, gave her the last swallow of Banamine for her rope-burned leg, and started tacking her up. Her girth sores were healing nicely. The day before I had pulled her cinch back from the sores by tying the cinch buckles to the rear D-ring on her saddle. This successfully kept the cinch from rubbing her tender skin, so I used the same method to keep her comfortable for the walk back to the trailhead.
Unfortunately, Maxine wasn't nearly as thankful for my thoughtfulness as I'd hoped. Eager to get home, she refused to stand still. She nodded, pawed, and continually threatened to roll as I tried in vein to fill her pack.
"Well, now we know why the pack outfit sold her," I said to Travis in frustration. "Tomorrow on Craigslist: 'Over the saddle pack, barely used.' Give me the hobbles. I swear I'm never doing this again."
I buckled the hobbles on to Maxine's front legs, but they were not much help. That gal is smart as a whip, and she quickly knew exactly how much activity she could get away with, despite her shackles.
Fully aware that my mood was not helping the situation, I took a deep breath and consciously worked slowly and steadily. I continued the packing process while regularly correcting her as I'd been taught by my trainer. Again, Maxine decided that she was too smart for this and quickly turned it into the "I Can Stand Still Until You Step Out of Reach" game. Ha ha!
Personal observation: I have both been told and witnessed the fact that each mule takes after either their horse or donkey parent. Those that mentally take after the donkey side tend to be smarter than those that mentally take after the horse side. Both make good animals, but the smart ones really know how to get under your skin because they're constantly looking for ways to out think their human. Maxine is definitely donkey-headed.
Fortunately, I've learned to recognize this game quickly, so I don't get drawn in the way I once did. Plus, I had Travis to come to my rescue. That allowed my to put all of my attention on Max. He dutifully filled her pack while I held my ground -- and her attention.
At one point, Mom relieved me by taking lead. Maxine was on to this like white on rice. As soon as I began to work, she began pacing and pawing for attention. Mom did her best to keep her occupied. It's fun to watch her try to reason with my unruly mule.
"Now, why don't you just stand there and be nice," she softy suggests. "If you would just be nice this would get over faster and the sooner you'd be back in your nice trailer that's filled with yummy hay."
It was a valiant effort, and Max did play along for a few minutes. Luckily, that's all it took to finish up. We were ready to hit the road. I just had to remove the hobbles.
I unbuckled the first hobble and moved to the second one. As I released the latch, Maxine raised her knee and caught me in the side of the head. It was not a kick by any means, but it was definitely a sign of disrespect -- the way a child might accidentally poke there sibling in the eye when a game of "I'm Not Touching You!" gets out of hand. I knew that if I didn't regain control, she would be increasingly unruly throughout the day. A quick but firm smack to the shoulder brought her to her senses.
Personal observation: Yes, I smacked my mule. In much the same way she recently kicked my cousin's gelding when he was being equally annoying to her. I don't go out of my way to swat Maxine, but I've been trained that a well-placed smack at the appropriate time is an effective training tool.
Maxine lowered her head and began to softly lick and chew. She knew the game was over and it was time to move on. I scratched her behind the ear, patted her on the neck, and set off down the trail with her in tow.
Though she was eager to get home, she respectfully followed behind me, showing that she'd remembered her training from the first two days of the trip. We descended through trees and past meadows, slowly leaving the lake basin in our memory. I knew that as time passed, the trying moments of the trip would fade away, leaving only fond memories of our riding adventures and time spent wallowing in the meadow.
After a few hours, we saw the familiar sight of the horse trailer.
Travis and I quickly unpacked Maxine so that she could take a well-deserved roll in the grass (though preferably in a spot that wasn't filled with burrs). Once she had successfully covered her entire body with dust and sucked down some water, she stepped into the trailer where she was met by a full hay bag.
Our trip had come to an end. We still had a long drive home, but I knew Maxine would happily snooze in the trailer as we rolled down the highway.
As we drove home, I thought about the events that had taken place during the past four days. Though the trip did have some tense moments, I was certainly glad we'd taken this little adventure, because it taught me that:
- Though I may be a novice, my eagerness to listen to my trainer, heed the advice of experts, and know my limits resulted in a safe, albeit adventurous, trip.
- One is the loneliest number -- especially when you're a mule in a crisp, moonlit clearing on a gusty night.
- I can overcome an irrational fear of the unknown to protect my gal and make her feel safe.
- Tough love -- when used thoughtfully, sensibly, and sparingly -- is sometimes answer.
- Highlines are not my cup of tea. (I see an portable electric fence in our future!)
- I'm definitely a campground/day ride kinda gal!
Photo: Maxine is less than amused with her grass-free parking spot. Thank goodness for hay pellets!
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