Well, Steve, I was meaning to send you a PM, but seeing as this got refreshed, I'll just post it here.

I was about 8 or 9 when I went to visit my grandfather's cattle ranch for the second time. The year before, my grandfather had borrowed a pony from a friend and taught all of us kids how to care for horses, but when I spoke to him on the phone just before going up, he told me that this year he had a HORSE for me! I could have flown up to Washington without the plane, I was so happy.

When I got to the ranch, I ran out to see MY horse, and was thunderstruck. In the corral was the UGLIEST horse I had ever seen. I was raised on a steady diet of black stallions and black beauties, and there stood "Mule". Half Quarterhorse and half Tenessee Walker--all of the worst attributes to be seen. ENORMOUS ears (hence "Mule")--a hideous roman nose--feet the size of manhole covers--you get the idea.

The first trip out to round up cows, I was completely embarassed. I led that ugly thing out of the trailer, climbed up, and set to herding cows. My grandfather and his horse took off across the field at a run, and I nudged Mule. I got the oddest sensation of being in a rocking chair. His trot was that smooth! And with those long ugly legs, he caught up to my grandpa's Quarterhorse in no time flat. Cutting? All I ever had to do was just point him towards the cows and just hang on.

When nature called, I rode over to some sagebrush and took myself a squat. Over the brush comes that big nose "Whatcha doin'?" Then HE PEED TOO!!! (It was that way for years. Anytime we'd stop for a break, he'd go too.) When we got home, I spent until well after dark talking to him and brushing him until he was the color of a new penny.

Anyhow, he was there every summer, waiting for me. I was too short and he was too tall, so we never worried much about the heavy western saddle. He never had a bit in his mouth, and was a neck-reining dream. He also had a taste for fudge-cicles, and would happily slurp on the stick. I have never met a horse that was more game than Mule, and I think my grandfather knew just what he was doing when he paired his wild grandaughter with a rock-steady horse.

A couple of years ago, my grandfather called me to tell me that Mule had to be put down. I can't even begin to describe the emotions, but I know you know what I mean. It was losing a partner. I couldn't be there either, and was almost glad of it. A few weeks after, I got a package in the mail from my grandfather. A braided hackmore and hatband--the hair was the color of a penny.

Chances are that someday another truly fine horse will wear that bridle, but it will never be my Muley-boy. I hope you manage to save something concrete from Hannah, more than just memories to remember her by. Take care, and you are in my thoughts as always, but more so today.

~J