Get Myself a Mule

I’m fixin’ to get myself a mule.

My wife went bonkers when I informed her of my decision and stuttered in disbelief, “You-you-you can’t do that, we got no place to keep a mule!”

But I insisted and told her I would keep it in the garage.
“There’s barely room in the garage for the car so how could you keep a mule in there?” she said. “Besides, what in the world would you do with a mule?”

“Why, I intend to ride it,” I told her.

I remember back when I was a little fellow and those big old brown, sometimes black, and occasionally gray mules would pull a plow through the field all day long and never complain. Just give them some water and some corn and they would perform.

They were bred to do that, to work hard all day long in the heat, and they could do it too.

A mule is a hybrid animal, the offspring of two different kinds of animals. A horse and a donkey were bred together to produce a mule, giving it the size of a horse and the strength and toughness of a donkey.

That’s what I wanted, a big strong mule to carry me through the woods.

I already had a name picked out for my mule. I was going to call it Lynn because that could be either a boy or a girl’s name and that was fitting for a mule since they were neither one.

“You can’t keep a mule in your house,” my wife continued. “I’ll guarantee the county has some kind of ordinance against that!”

“I already got one coming,” I told her. “They’ll be delivering it tomorrow.”

“Well I’m not going to live here with a mule in our garage. I always suspected you was crazy and now you have gone and confirmed it!”

The truck backed down my driveway the next morning and they gingerly unloaded my shiny, green, new Kawasaki mule.

Later on my wife sheepishly climbed aboard, ‘cause I was fixin’ to take her for a ride on my new mule.