“AS STUBBORN AS A MULE”
“THERE is nothing like starting early,” said the Ranger one day, “when
it comes to training animals and children. I am going to break young
Bucky to the pack saddle.”
The little donkey was accordingly fitted with a pair of kyacks, almost
empty to start with. So far, so good. But Bucky would not budge.
Meekly he stood there, his long ears pointed inquiringly at the Ranger
and his eyes rolling till the whites showed. He made no protest, but
neither could he be made to move. The Ranger did not believe in beating
him. Besides, he knew from watching others that it would do no good. A
burro will die under your blows, but he will not give in.
The Ranger tried coaxing, he tried commanding, he tried pulling on the
halter rope and shoving from behind, but still that mite of a donkey
stood with hoofs braced and refused to go one step with that pack
saddle on his back.
It occurred to the Ranger that perhaps he had tried too heavy a load,
for a burro knows better than any man what he can carry. He emptied the
kyacks entirely. Sure enough, they had been too heavy,--light as they
were.--Bucky now followed him with ears wagging peacefully, back and
forth, back and forth, as is the way of burros.
He followed the Ranger, as docile as a puppy, planting his small hoofs
carefully on the rocky trail. After perhaps half an hour he stopped.
The Ranger coaxed him with a biscuit from his lunch, but the burro
would not budge; he switched his heels, but Bucky would not move. He
simply felt that it was time for a rest, and he used the one argument
at his command. When he had rested long enough, he started on again of
his own accord.
“‘He’s as stubborn as a mule,’” laughed the Ranger. “But I guess he
knows better than I do when he’s had enough. I wouldn’t urge him beyond
his strength for anything.”
Bucky certainly had a mind of his own. Fuzzy had been frog hunting
down along the creek one day when the Ranger came along on horseback,
with the big burros and young Bucky following after. He was on his way
to bring in firewood from a clearing where he had chopped up a fallen
tree, and though Bucky was not to carry more than one stick on each
side, he thought it good training for him to go along and learn to
follow a pack train.
They came to a corduroy bridge across the creek. Now burros are afraid
of water. Their ancestors were desert animals, and every last donkey of
them has to be taught to cross a bridge. It was no different with young
Bucky.
Tripping daintily along behind his mother, he stopped when he came to
the first log of that bridge, and planted his fore hoofs firmly against
it.
The Ranger was prepared to offer him an apple, but Bucky would only
stretch his neck toward the fruit and beg without being willing to come
one inch nearer for it. Then the Ranger tried to pull him by his halter
rope, but he tugged and he pulled till he was afraid he would pull the
rascal’s head off, without being able to budge him.
The Ranger set his wits to work once more. He had heard of people
actually lighting a fire under the stubborn animals, but though the
flame singed their fur, they were more afraid of the bridge.
At last, in disgust, he simply took the young burro on his back by
getting under him and drawing his fore legs over his shoulders, and
carried him across.
Fuzzy, watching, enjoyed it hugely.