I had a horse when I was growing up. My grandpa gave him to me and told me it was going to be my best friend. I looked at this monstrous, ugly creature and laughed.

He was half Thoroughbred and half Tennessee Walker. Tall, with feet the size of man-hole covers. Roman nose, and big long fuzzy ears like a mule. He was by far the ugliest horse I have ever seen in my life. To this day I've not seen a horse that was worse put together.

The first time I took Mule out on a cattle drive, I nudged him into a trot. Instead of having my spine pounded into dust, I found myself rocking gently in the saddle. He had the smoothest, steadiest gait of any creature on four legs. He was tireless, and even at that trot, with his long legs, he was faster than most horses at a gallop. He cut like a dream, and with those big feet, he was steady on any ground. Those big fuzzy ears would turn around and listen to me, and we ran like the wind. He also had a penchant for nibbling my hair, and stealing popsicles...

He died of natural causes last summer, at the ripe old age of 35. Swinging until his last day. My grandpa took Mule's tail hair and braided me a hatband and a hackmore for the next pony, but I don't think any horse will take his place.

Jolie-laide on four legs.

~Elle