It was 1950. My Explorer scouting
buddy, Ted, was very athletic. He was
working toward his “Bird Study” merit badge and asked if I would accompany him
on a bird watching field trip. I agreed
and we proceeded to one of many favored scouting venues in a beautiful wooded
area in what is now Baton Rouge’s Tara subdivision. 
Prior to its
transformation into Tara this wooded area embraced a natural lake which was
known as “Little Misery”. Sorry, but I don’t
know the genesis of that name which certainly was NOT an apt label for such a
beautiful lake because it was anything but “misery.” If anything it was
“idyllic” and very Eden-like.
I think that Little Misery was the name of a cemetery,
but I don’t think Tara was ever host to such an area. But I may be wrong.
Anyway on
this particular field trip Ted and I spotted a mule grazing some 50 yards from
where we stood. Ted said “I’m going to ride that mule” I said “Ted,
you’re crazy. He’ll buck you into kingdom
come.” Mules have a reputation for
being stubborn and so did Ted. He too
was stubborn and pledged to ride that mule.
I said “Ted, you’ve seen bucking
broncos and those guys use halters and reins and still they get thrown. What are you going to hold on to?” He said “I’ll
grab him around the neck and hang on like hell.” I said “You’re
crazy”, but Ted was determined.
So very
slowly we made our way over to the mule which continued to graze. Ted said “Look,
he’s not even scared of us.” I said
“Even more reason to not do this.” My own apprehensiveness was growing by the
minute. All I could think of was what
would I do if Ted was seriously hurt. We
were about a mile from any civilization.
But Ted was undeterred. Slowly he
approached the old mule. I kept a safe
distance. He was now within 10 feet of him,
then looked back at me and winked. I
just shook my head and kept my distance.
He then edged closer still until he was right next to him. Smiling, Ted again looked back at me. Then he gently patted the mule on the neck to
gain his trust. This seemed to work. I began to breathe a little easier. Now he gingerly grasped the mule around the
neck and pulled himself onto its back.
The mule didn’t seem to mind and Ted punched the air victoriously. I breathed easier.
When I
posted my “William Holden” story back in May of 2012, I was reminded of
Ted’s little adventure. This is an
excerpt from that post:
“On one particular day of the shoot, the scene for the day called for
Richard Widmark to assemble his mounted agents atop a hill. At the base of the
hill was a large pond. The mounted grisslies were told that their horses could
not be permitted to drink any water because the scene that followed involved considerable
running. One of the extras who had insisted that he could ride a horse (some
wranglers and I had doubted his claim) was having some difficulty controlling
his steed. The horse kept insisting on trotting downhill to the awaiting pond
forcing Director Dmytryk to yell “Cut!.”
On the 3rd take this extra’s horse began side-stepping down the hill,
completely resisting his rider's efforts to restrain him. The horse got to the
pond and was able to lap up several quarts of water. He and his rider were taken
out of the scene. The horse was retained for future scenes; the rider was not.”
Back to our
Ted story: Our mule began sidestepping
toward the edge of the property which was enclosed with barbed wire. Ted said “Look,
Jer, he’s taking me for a ride.” A ride
indeed. When they got to the property
line, the old mule pressed Ted against the barbed wire and began rubbing Ted’s
leg back and forth against the wire. Ted
yelled “SHIT” and managed to leap off
of the mule. Ted was now on the ground
rubbing his bleeding leg. His blue jeans
were ripped open and he was in pain. I
ran over to him while our mule slowly resumed its leisurely grazing. I refrained from the clichéd “I told you so” since Ted had graciously
credited me with having been right.
I’ve heard
that mules are smarter than horses. On
that day I was convinced of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment