Kubasa the Wonder-Mule
This
story involves a man, a few "friends" and a mule (half
horse, half donkey, half attitude). As was more customary in the
early 80's there was, or at least must have been, a little alcohol
involved. It seems my city indoor-office-oriented father was enjoying the
new-found freedom associated with living on an acreage for the first
time since childhood, and thus started associating with certain "rawhide"
cowboy type friends. These characters came complete with cowboy hat,
boots, vest, neckerchief and Skoal ring in the back pocket. They also
had the obligatory sprinkle of mischievousness found in all cowboys,
hidden somewhere in their makeup. Their cunning senses detected a
certain affinity for the bottle with my father, and a tendency to let
his normally keen sense of judgement dullen slightly with each swig.
On one such occasion when his senses were sufficiently diminished by the group of overly persuasive rednecks and their swill, he was swayed into believing whole-heartedly that a harmless little excursion to the local auction mart would be a grand idea, one that would even be embraced by his loving wife. It appeared that the auctioneer was also a bit of a shyster, and if he couldn't spot a sucker right away he would surely notice the bobber twitching. Well a little touch of giggle juice for good measure, and it was proposed that it would add excitement to the adventure if one waved at the auctioneer occasionally, and with all these bargains to be had any successful bid would be welcome.
Into
the ring came a beautiful, prancing, two year old solidly built mule
... or so it was advertised by said shyster. The bidding started, the
waving began. Then more bidding, swigging and waving and soon city-boy owned the newly-dubbed "Kubasa".
The
whole household was awakened at the grand old time of 3 a.m., to much
whooping and hollering from successful shoppers. Kubasa was turned
free in the pen while new cowboy friends departed for their next
adventure. My father stumbled in to bed to a slightly less than warm
reception.
It's
funny how a great idea diminishes down to worse than bad after the
glow wears off, and that certainly was the case here. Upon closer inspection
the following morning, our new family member "Kubasa"
appeared not to be a cuddly two year old baby. He had scars on him
that were probably fifteen years old, and he stared into your eyes
with a ferocity never before seen in these parts. I had heard that
mules had a holy cross on their backs, and true to form upon closer
inspection it proved to be present as advertised, but there was nothing god-like about
him. Approaching the pen provoked an instant attack complete with
flailing front feet, and a quick spin around to fire the rear ones. An urgent phone call to the expert horsemen explaining that the "bargain"
label may have been slightly exaggerated was in order, which sent
roars of laughter through the receiver. Sensing an extension of last
night's adventure, the yard was soon flooded with pickup trucks,
cowboys and their customary lubrication.
"Any
animal can be easily cured of kicking" claimed one overly
knowledgeable hat-rack. He proceeded to tie a truck tire to a large
lead shank, about the right distance to touch Kubasa's heel. The mule
stood by patiently studying the goings-on, and one had the feeling
that this wasn't his first time around the horn. After knots were
secure, with cowboys sitting comfortably on fence and chewing snuff,
Kubasa stared at the tire and turned around. As if a starter's gun
had gone off, the mule started kicking the tire, which became
suspended in the air, first at the end of the rope, then back down to
an awaiting hoof, then back up. It was like watching a kid playing
with one of those paddles that has a ball attached with an elastic
band, up, down, up, down it went. About ten minutes into the show,
the pros were amazed and bewildered by the stamina of this creature,
and then the rope broke after yet another mighty wallop. The tire
soared through the air as if guided by some unseen force and headed
towards the fully occupied fence, sending hats, snuff, flasks and
Levis scrambling for safety. Kubasa 1, Cowboys 0.
A
little more courage was called for, so a sufficient amount was
summoned from the barkeep and consumed. One nameless cowboy, named
Ken, proposed a wager with another hombre sans nom, Murphy, that if
Ken rode Kubasa bareback that Murphy would be required to trim the
mule's feet (methinks akin to putting contact lenses in a cat). It
seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time to them. One look at
the mule and you knew he was up for the challenge. One had the
impression that this also was highway he paved long before their
time.
Kubasa
stood still, patiently waiting for Ken to secure the bareback rigging
just so. With a fresh shot of courage and explicit instructions to
Murph to NEVER let go of the lead shank, Ken was aboard and Mission
Control hit the launch button. One cowboy was on board, one was
getting drug around like he was tied to Gravedigger the monster
truck, and three or four were in hysterics on the fence. Of course
with the explicit instructions to never let go of the lead shank, and
Murph being a cowboy, he promptly let go to a roar of cheers. Well
old Kubasa bucked like a true champion, and Ken promptly proclaimed
to the world that Murph's parents were never married, even insinuated
that he was the offspring of a mother that possessed certain canine
attributes. Fear and good judgement prevented Ken from an exit
strategy out in the open where he'd become mule fodder, so it was
several minutes before he was finally unloaded indignantly over the
fence adjacent to the aforementioned tire. Kubasa was gathering a fan
club. Kubasa 2, Cowboys 0.
It
was now Murph's turn to prove his trustworthiness and hold up his end
of the bargain. Kubasa stepped forth and humbly presented himself to
the halter, as much as to say "let the games begin". Murph
insisted on appointing a neutral party from the fence to hold the
lead shank, thereby eliminating the possibility of revenge on Ken's
part. With a swig of courage a new participant was in the ring. The
mule stood patiently, too patiently it seemed, as the ferrier's tools
were brought forth. With lead held firmly in helper's hand, Murph
gingerly reached behind Kubasa's front hoof to lift it, fence-sitters
sitting with hands on cheeks and jaws open. Then as quick as any
Ninja, and with moves as difficult to perform let alone articulate,
the mule struck the top of Murph's head with the hoof, removing and
permanently disfiguring his hat and knocking him to the dirt. He then
wheeled around freeing himself from the lead, in a move impossible to
recreate outside of a lab without the benefit of slow motion replay.
Kubasa 3, Cowboys 0.
The
next day an older and wiser group of cowboys backed the stock trailer
up to the corral. A totally cooperative mule stood politely to be
haltered, and gentle as a lamb loaded into the trailer for the
familiar trip back to the auction mart. The auctioneer chuckled as he saw
the group of bruised, bandaged and limping cowboys take their seats.
"Here
we have a gentle, strong two year old mule ... do I have $200?"
he lied, as he had done so many times before with this familiar
animal, "going once, going twice sold to the gentleman over
there!", neglecting to add "that is about to get an
education."
And
now all these years later, I have no doubt that somewhere this two
year old mule is still going through auction rings, totally
comfortable with his role as teacher to so many unsuspecting cowboys.
Ode
to Kubasa
And
now on any mule we find
Two
feet before, two feet behind.
We
stand behind before we find
What
the feet behind be for.
A very entertaining read, good story.
ReplyDeleteThanks Susan!
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