10/24/2021
Reprint from this years magazine. George the Mule
My friend, Merle Rasperson, loved horses and mules. Years ago, he was trail riding in the mountains and he happened upon a drunk and abusive man. The man's mule was not motivated by abuse. Affection worked for him. We would jump into the truck bed for only a hug and neck rub. Hmm… Interestingly, my wife is the same way. Anyway, the unruly man beat George for resisting. He then pulled out his pistol and aimed to shoot him. Merle quickly pulled out a one-hundred dollar bill from his wallet and said, “I’ll buy him right here and now, packsaddle and boxes and all." Instantly, George, the mule, and Merle became good friends.
I have heard stories of pet owners and animals looking alike after years together. Well, George and Merle both had the longest faces I’ve ever seen. They looked alike from the start. No one would say it aloud but they both were quite homely. The thing that everyone noticed right away was that they were both so homely that they were cute. When Merle would smile he would literally light up the room. When my mother met Merle years later she said, “Now, that is the most homely handsome man I’ve ever met."
George had the run of Merle’s pasture with his 2 horses, Murphy and Floyd, for 15 years. They had a windbreak in the corner for storm protection. This worked fine for George because he hated to be in the barn when the wind was blowing. He would kick the walls out. They had a perfect life.
When I came into the picture, Merle was my friend and I loved mules too. George and I hit it off right away. Over the years, Merle would loan George to me for back country hikes. I could almost take anything I wanted, even heavy cast iron pans because George would pack it for me. My dog and friends loved George and he could pack things for them too. He was adept at every aspect of the hike from being in the trailer, wading across rivers up to his belly, and jumping over downed trees on the trails. When a trail got steep, I would get behind and grab his tail so he would help pull me up the hills. Then, when we got to the ridge to camp, I would tie his rope to a piece of log and let him loose. The dog and he would go off to play.
On the first trip over the river it was fine going across in the cool of the morning. Four days later in the afternoon of a hot day we were returning to the truck and crossing the same river. I stepped into the water not realizing that the volume of water had increased dramatically. I had a heavy pack on and George was packing heavy too. The water hit George and I at above waist level instead of the knees. When I went down into the water I hung onto the lead rope which pulled George in after me. There we went tumbling down the steep 45 degree river grade. I washed up against a huge rock about the size of a car. The current held me pinned against the rock. I thought I was a goner when I saw George barreling straight at me with all 4 feet kicking. I managed to roll off of the rock and out of his way just as he spun around in the current and hit me in the chest and shoulder with his rear end. Boy, did that ever cause a bruise. I was going down the river bobbing up and down, mostly down. I could hear the rocks the size of my head and larger rolling in the river bed underwater as I was dragging on the bottom.
It was the strangest thing. I was talking calmly to God. It was a wonderful experience. I thought I was going to go to meet Jesus. Then, all of a sudden, to my great disappointment, the river threw me up on a gravel bank a long way down the river. I was disappointed that my peaceful experience was interrupted. I had to climb up the bank and fight my way through alder saplings to get George. He had his footing and walked but he was on the same side of the river we had started on. I grabbed the lead rope and we very carefully made our way to the other side of the river. My other hiker friends walked a log bridge and saw the entire thing happen and did not expect us to make it. They had run to the truck and were sitting shivering and in shock when I finally got back. I was in pain and wet. I had to unload the packs, load George without my friends saying a single word or helping. They never spoke about it for years. What a day! I have never been afraid to die since then. It was so peaceful just talking to God. I can’t wait to get to Heaven.
When Merle was older he was worried about George’s care after he would die. He gave him to me. George lived 15 more years for a total of about 40 years. The day George died was a sad day. About five years prior, I had a hole dug for him, not knowing how much longer he would live. When his life was over, I placed my coat and a gunny sack over his face before I backfilled his grave.
All of my grandkids rode on his back. I never tied him up. He just stayed in the yard and pasture dragging a 30 foot chain. What wonderful friends, both Merle and George. All my neighbors loved George, too. After they filled their bird feeders, George would come by for a visit and with one swipe of his long tongue and the seeds would be gone. One year, he helped himself to so many carrots from the garden that his skin turned orange. There was one neighbor who liked to nap with the front door open. One day, he was startled awake with George in his house giving him a good nuzzle and sniffing with his long whiskers on his neck. Waking up to that long homely face must have been quite a shock.
I spent a time in my life with depression after a life crisis. I was living on 20 acres in a 3400 square foot home all by myself after working so many years trying to make my home and family what I had always wanted it to be. My business was suffering and all of my employees had quit and friends stopped coming over. I had a hard time getting out of bed. The few things in my life that were still a blessing were that God never left me for a minute. Wonderful!! Another thing was George and my dog, Tiglath. I would get up and have a cup of coffee sitting in the breakfast nook, I would tap my finger nail on the glass of the window. George would be way out in the pasture far from the house. But when he heard that noise he would pop his head up and high peel his gums back, stick his ugly teeth out, and scream bloody murder. He would then come running wide open to the gate. It never got old to me to feel that. I would grab my chest and say, ”Thank You Lord." It felt so good to be loved. Then my dog would be there to get a rub and a pet. Those times saved my life. I am serious that they did truly save my life. Towards the end of George’s life he developed what I can only describe as a bubble butt. I don’t know what caused it. His feet and his teeth remained in good condition though.
Years later, when I met the woman, Debi, who would become my wife, I half jokingly compared her to George. It was not that she had a homely face, a bubble but, or big teeth, but she loves me with an unconditional love that I always have needed. It’s a wonderful feeling. Love has truly healed all of my wounds. Thank You, Lord, for this woman who is beautiful inside and out. Her presence lights the room up. I love her dearly and can never be more grateful to God for bringing her into my life. She never got to meet George but loves to hear stories about him. We are truly blessed.
