Where’d I Put That Mule?

The Source

My calf seemed lost with her mule. Back in my 4-H days it was a requirement that at least once a year each little member would take his project to the county fair. Some of my friends had it easy. Projects like horticulture required you to only go out into the garden on the day of the fair, cut a few stems, plop them into a Mason jar and head for show. Chickens were another easy project. You don’t have to train a chicken to follow you on a leash. In fact, they wouldn’t follow you even if you had a chicken leash. Hogs and sheep took a great deal of care, but again, you never had to train them to do anything, just eat. But those of us showing cattle or horses were tasked with the onerous duty of training them to lead. The Griggsville Fair came right at the end of wheat cutting season so the Bradbury boys were always rushed in getting their Angus up to par for the fair . . . that and a bit of laziness. County fairs are fun. Training cattle to follow you at the end of a leather harness holds no such joy. Let’s start with the important premise that a calf does not want to be led. A calf wants to do what it wants when it wants and has no intention to be a dog on a leash. A calf wants to stop and eat whenever it desires while the other end of the animal doesn’t care whether the cattle judge is looking if it decides to expel its morning breakfast. In fact, it’s some weird law of physics that requires a heifer to go in an equal and opposite direction to wherever you want it to go. When you want it to stand, the calf wants to run. When you want it to move it decides that its present location is just fine and will stand there with four feet planted, pulling back mightily on it’s harness. So how do you break a cow to lead? The old-timers around Perry had many different methods, chief of which was simply spending lots and lots of time in the pasture behind your house, alternately dragging and being dragged by your 4-H project. Some wise old sages advised us to tie them to the back of tractor and then circle the pastures again and again. This sometimes worked although if the calf suddenly decided to bolt forward you ended up with an Angus atop you on the back of John Deere 50, and I doubt it made the calf very happy. But the most interesting break-in method was to buy or borrow and mule. . .preferably an older mule. . . and lash the two together. Despite its clichéd reputation, a mule is a smart animal and will not tolerate a fool, whether he has two legs or four. Ideally the mule will walk along slowly at its measured pace and the heifer has no choice but to keep up. The added advantage that the mule has over the tractor is its ability to kick the slats out from an animal that won’t follow in the prescribed manner. I suppose the ASPCA has some sort of rule against this but this was the 1960’s when animals had not yet achieved human status. My brother and I, along with much advice from Dad, tried all of these methods but due to the short amount of time we put into the process it was still a circus when we arrived at the fair. Some folks attend the county fair for the thrill of the Tilt-a-Whirl and the Demolition Derby. Those in the know at the Griggsville Fair knew that the most exciting part of the festival was watching the Bradbury truck unload its cattle. Imagine the Calgary Stampede with Angus instead of Chuck wagons and horses. I never knew whether the assembled crowd was cheering for us or our cattle. And that was the easy part. The real test comes on the day of the show when you rise early, wash your calf, rub in the mineral oil to make the black coat shine, scour the hooves, then grab the curry comb and add the finishing touch with crisscross patterns on the heifer’s flanks. This is of course the point at which the calf will decide to lie down and ruin everything. Then your class is called and you try to act as nonchalant as possible as the calf drags you into the show ring. The judge will tell you to slowly circle the animals and you lap the field three times as your little Angus wants nothing more than to return to the cattle barn. Then he’ll ask the young herdsmen and women to put their calves in a line and have them stand motionless. Your calf has no idea what motionless means and jumps around like a bunking bronc before they open the gate. It’s customary for the cattle judge to then approach the animal from the rear and feel its flanks. By now the judge has determined that he’ll skip this process with your calf, fearing for his life and shins. Meanwhile you look around helplessly thinking, “Where’d I put my mule?”