|
Cotton Man
|
The Little Mule That Could |
In the mid 90’s, my husband tried to plan a ride across America to raise money and awareness for hippotherapy. He purchased two mules for his ride which sadly he could not get the support he needed to have his ride go from dream to reality. One of the mules two was a roanish sorrel molly mule called Katie ATM (all terrain mule). She would be his main riding mule and mostly the other mule would be more of the pack mule. The other of the pair was a small, glass-eyed white, john mule that was gaited. He was called Cotton something, but I just called him Cotty or Cotton man, depending on the day. I had never had a mule; it had always been the horse persuasion for me over the years.
It turned out that my husband, in trying to condition for the ride, needed someone to ride Cotton while he conditioned Katie. And guess who got elected. I was very dubious about becoming a mule rider. I had not heard a lot of positive about these large eared equines over the years and my grandmother said she didn’t have one because they were too smart, too much work and she preferred horses.
Riding Cotton was a real learning experience. With Cotty’s mom being a MFTer, he had this amazing little fox trot that was just too much fun, very comfy on the riders sitting end and a funny little canter that always made me laugh. And anyone who does mules will tell you, ‘You can’t make them do anything!’
Cotton taught me so much. Looking at his diminutive size, 13’ 3 hands and me standing at just over 5’ 10” then, I felt ridiculous at first riding this mule. Man oh man, did I take the ribbings once I started riding him out on rides to give my Grey Beastie, late teens, breaks from the longer trail rides. Being asked which nativity Christmas scene I was going to be in was the worst. It took six months and my husband's help for Cotton and me to see a collaboration between us. But once Cotton began to trust me, it was a whole new ball game folks.
I still recollect the day. We trailered over to meet some friends at the river that runs by Norco, Ca. Mules have those small feet and don’t care much for mud, they sink right in. I asked to be first, rode up and stopped Cotton where the mud began about a foot from the river's edge. Stood there momentarily and then asked him to traverse the dreaded mud and on into the river. He did not hesitate, no sticky feet today. Trust me when I tell you, this was not the picture of past times. I was so proud of him. He got all my apple bar and most of the berry once we stopped on the other side of the crossing.
My husband tried to sell him when there would be no ride across America, but everyone took one look at that white mule with pink skin and his doll size and most wouldn’t even want to try him. Funny how you list the height and people still had no idea, ‘That he would be so small’. I had put some time on him and had him backing, side-passing and some other things I like on my animals. One gentleman rode him in the pasture and side passed Cotton in the middle, first one direction, and then back. The man smiled, Cotton gave him a nice side, very even. Cotton knew his leads, gave a pleasant little rocking canter and the man wanted him to side-pass again. But not at the gate which would have made sense to Cotton. Nope, the man had taken him to the middle of the pasture to ask for another side pass demo. Now here is Cotton's thinking on that: You only get one side-pass each direction that makes no sense. All other side-passes MUST have a legitimate reason, or he would lower his head, set that jaw and nothing on this green earth would make him side-pass. Go forward, back, and no problem. When the man asked me what was wrong with him, I told him to take him to the gate and ask for a side-pass there. Cotton again demoed his correct side-passing again at the lly, I got it, the man did not. So he went on down the road in search of a different mule. I suggested he might like a hinny. (that is where the sire is a stallion and the dam a donkey). Yes, I learned to love Cotton and trust him.
I would turn up at gaited rides where I was always told the same thing, in a pretty condescending manner. If your, emphasis on little, mule can’t keep up, you will have to go back, we can’t wait on you. I always agreed with them. They would put us at the very back just in front of the drag rider. We always ended up politely asking and passing every rider to end up behind the trail boss. (Can’t pass the trail boss). People began to refer to him as bionic, smile……………….. Said his little legs moved so fast, they were a blur.
After three years, my husband gave up trying to sell Cotton and gave him to me. My Cory was getting up there, now in his 20’s and Cotton would make a good replacement. Despite my Cory’s impressive pedigree, he had as little sense of direction as I did. We could get lost in a large bathroom folks. Cotton was at the other end of the spectrum. No matter if I trailered somewhere, he always came back the same trail if I gave him his head and we were leading in the group. Didn’t matter how many forks or choices in the trail, he was like a GPS with hoofs. I think it was the big ears that linked up with satellite.
One of my fondest memories was when I took him to a cattle sorting. I was even asked by several with a smirk if I was ‘serious’ bringing my little gaited mule. This is where the title, ‘little mule that can’, came from. From no one wanting us on their sorting team to practically fighting over who got the mule on their team. Yep, they knew we were serious by the time we left, no smirk about it. And we always got big welcomes when we would show up for the sortings after that first time.
Despite fly masks, even tattooed his lower eye lids, he developed a spot that was cancerous on his lower left eye lid. Had it removed and everything seemed good for almost two years. Then I thought he had a hematoma but it stayed the same for a month and then got bigger. It was spindle cell sarcoma. And the cancer came back to the eye.
He was so brave, he would put his little head into my chest during the last days and I would stroke him and talk to him. It seemed to give him comfort. Too soon, it was time to free him from his cancerous body and give him peace. April 15th, 4pm, he crossed the rainbow bridge four years ahead of the Grey Beastie, best guess was he was then 22 years old.
The picture above was taken at a trail competition by a friend and it is one of my favorite pics of Cotton and me. Yes, you were the little mule that could do it all, Cotton. You taught me so much, our years together were too fleeting. Love you, you will always and forever be my little Cotton Man.
Penny Dees
Cotton Man
