Once all of the mules were home, we started to learn who would be in charge in the herd.
I hesitate to use the term “pecking order” since Terri acquired five chickens and they were establishing their own hierarchy.
Donovan was the largest of the mules at about seventeen hands but he had no interest in being the boss.
I chalk that up to his being a draft horse cross and they are general considered to be pretty docile.
I also think he was closer to my age, in the mid-sixties, than the fifteen years the vet in Pennsylvania claimed.
I’m only kidding about his being in his sixties. Mules can live up to forty years old and if I had to hazard a guess I would say at least thirty when I brought him home.
Donovan’s only interest was in eating, hanging with his herd and being fed treats, which I was glad to provide him.
Tulip had no interest in being the boss either.
She is kind of stand offish except with Terri, who lavishes all of them with affection as she does all of the animals including the chickens.
Her one real pleasure in life appears to be torturing the boys when she periodically goes into heat.
During the most inclement weather, she prefers to stay outside the barn and, on those occasions when Terri travels and I have barn duty, it can be a challenge to coax her inside for her grain.
The role of being boss didn’t fall to Franklin by default. He stepped right up to the plate and claimed the mantle against all comers.
If there was any doubt about who is the boss, it became clear when it was time for them to get a bucket of grain hung on the inside of their stall doors.
Franklin would quickly down his and then muscle his way into the other stalls to eat Tulip and Donovan’s grain too.
Poor Donovan, who was too old for combat, would wail and try to block him but it didn’t always work.
Nothing would annoy me more than to see him bully this old mule out of his grain.
If I was in the barn when he started it, I would make a loud hissing noise and he would flee Donovan’s stall.
Terri wasn’t happy with my solution and Franklin would be a bit wary around me for a while.
Remembering our vet’s earliest warning, I was always on guard to avoid getting kicked in the head.
Not long after they were all home, I learned that they were not only cautious but very curious too.
The Amish builder had installed latches on the outside door to each stall but they were of little help in keeping the mules in their stalls.
All of them quickly learned that they could pop the latch by simply hitting the door with their chest. It complicated matters if you put them in the stall just before a visit from the vet, the furrier or equine dentist.
Just as that person would arrive one or more of them would pop the latch and you would have to go out and catch them to return them for the visit.
Terri asked me if I could do something about it and I went to Home Depot and bought three large sliding bolt locks. I’m not particularly handy but I figured out that even I could install them on the outside of the stall doors.
I brought out the locks, a drill and a bucket that I kept various tools in and sent them up on a small stool outside of the stall doors.
As I drilled and screwed the locks onto each of the doors, I suddenly had an audience behind me that was paying rapt attention.
Before long I had three huge heads looking over my shoulders keeping track of my progress.
I’m not sure whether it was plain curiosity or a recognition of what I was doing but part way through my security installation, Tulip dumped the stool, the bucket and my tools over into the pasture.
Still, I didn’t let this apparent minor act of rebellion deter me.
As I finished each of the installations, the mules wandered into the stalls and I locked them in.
They each seemed somewhat disappointed as they learned that they couldn’t open the stall door with a push.
I stepped back, looked at them and announced, “Your days of coming and going as you please are over.”
Little did I know that they would prove me wrong over and over again.
To be continued next week.