From the SWISS BULLETIN: The Two Mules
Here’s a humorous mule tale for all of you Longears Lovers to read from our friends in Switzerland. ENJOY!
Maurice Zermatten
Pierre Bovier tied the rope around the iron bar that follows the wall; with the back of his hand he hit his mule on the back, as a sign of his friendship. He pulled a crackling piece of hay out of the oat sack, took his two cheeses under his arms and walked away. It was still winter up there, no relief was to be seen anywhere; dirty snow, half melted from the wind, covered the whole slope with a lifeless blanket. Perhaps the young grain’s stalks were already trembling beneath him. The grass sounded like the call of spring. The roots trembled in the frosty earth. Impatience ate the souls of the people. But the plain shone in the bright spring light. Pierre Bovier saw spring from his village Euseigne. Every day he watched for a long time the triangle of sap-laden earth between the sloping columns of the valley entrance. He would have loved to dig his working hands into the humid cold of the revived vines. He stretched his head, he looked and looked. Then he couldn’t stand it any longer. He could no longer stay in this house surrounded by death. He took his mule and he went away. So he went down to the valley and pulled his animal by the reins. The mule stretched his neck towards spring. Two small cheeses hung in the oat sack. He 
would sell this cheese, he would pay his debts to the bank. Two twenty-franc notes, a few glasses of wine to drink with one he meets in the bustling city before climbing back up to his village. This is our life. The reins are stretched, the mule hurries forward. Now Pierre Bovier is looking for a place in the city to put up his cheese. It is wonderfully warm. The sun makes its bright spots dance on the roadsides, the light stops on the groups of women, hangs on the yellow wicker baskets dangling from its arms. In the fishmonger’s display the sun delicately silvered the scales, sticking tinsel gold into the fur of the thick rabbits that are destined for the cooker. “What is the cheese?” “Twenty-five francs a piece.” The deal was closed, and Pierre Bovier walked straight to the bank, pulled out of his pocket a green, dirty envelope; paid. When he was back on the street he suddenly felt a strong thirst at the bottom of his throat and he decided, to satisfy it immediately.
Drinking doesn’t always quench thirst. Pierre Bovier ordered three pints, then, still thirsty, another three. He liked it quite well in this pub full of clouds of smoke. He met a few friends here every time and the landlady could testify that they did not part before drinking friendship several times. But just today he didn’t know anybody. Maybe someone would come soon. There must have been a farmer at the next table, as lonely as he was. He did not look very social. At least you could try it. The misfortune wanted them to turn their backs. You had to wait for something, for something in common, to get close to each other. Outside the early February spring was still blowing through the streets. It was so beautiful, so light, so full of smiles, that it made you feel like brothers. One suffered from his loneliness. There he could not stand it any more. “What weather!” The other turned around and said, “Yes, one has never seen anything like it before.” That was enough. They closed their loneliness together, ordered half a liter. “Health!” “Health!” They soon realized that they were made to understand each other, because they had the same thirst and the same worries. Soon there was a certain familiarity between them. They talked about cattle prices, politics, and wine. They understood each other in all points: The cattle sold badly. The government ruled even worse. As far as wine was concerned, it was a shame. “Health!” “Health!” “With us in Ayent…” Ayent, but that was the village Pierre Bovier saw over the plain, just across from him on the other side of the river Rhone. Often he had wanted for his own village to have this spot in the sun, this early spring, while in his case. But he did not want to grieve. The afternoon passed in an instant, and the evening light was already sinking against the windows. The nights come early, in February. You hardly have time to sit down quickly and toast. The landlady turned the switch on. Again it was bright in the pub. The two friends were happy about it and ordered another half. “The conservatives …” said one. “The radicals …”, said the other. They mistook everything, by the way, put on the account of the radicals the political mistakes of the conservatives and accused the conservative leaders of clumsy words spoken by a leader of the radical party. What else did that do? They also mistook their glasses and would drink from one, then from the other glass.
It struck eleven o’clock. The landlady refused them the last half liter. So they had no choice but to leave. They rose and were outraged at this heartless creature, that had placed them in front of the door, stumbled between the tables, swayed down the street in all its width, finally trusted the walls, and when the walls stopped, they supported each other’s disturbed balance. They would have liked to drink another glass, equalize the other glasses. But all the doors were closed. So they had to do without, for better or for worse, and they did it by scolding the bad times. They decided to return home, the one from Ayent to Ayent and Pierre Bovier to Euseigne. “Where do you have your mule?” “There he is, next to yours.” The mules waited in the cool night. Swaying, the fathers (lads) gave each other their hands and then loosened their animals. It was no small thing for them to get on the saddle. After all, Ayent’s succeeded first, after some unsuccessful attempts. And the mule rode off with the hasty step of a hungry animal. Euseigne, for his part, managed to climb the animal after many attempts and violations of the second commandment. A lucky fool shortened the way home. Almost at the same time, the two companions felt their animals stop. We have arrived, said the mule’s frozen gestures. “Where am I,” stammered the one from Ayent, for he no longer knew his barn. “But I am in Ayent,” the one from Euseigne suddenly sobered. After they had confused the radical doctrine with the conservative, then their glasses, they had now also confused their mules. But the mules had not been wrong in their way home.
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From the magazine: Zürcher Illustrierte
Volume (year): 14 (1938), Issue 11
When I was growing up, my grandmother constantly reminded me of the importance of good manners. She would say, “You will never get anywhere of any consequence in this world without good manners!” And she would add, “Without good posture and proper dress, you won’t live long enough to enjoy it!” She made me read Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette from cover to cover. In retrospect, although reading the entire book was a real chore, the respect for good manners that she passed on to me has been an extremely valuable gem in my training experience with equines.
I think that the concept of combining equine training techniques with lessons in good manners is one that many people do not pay as much attention to these days as they probably should. Putting an equine in good posture with respect to his physical comfort is the most obvious form of good manners when communicating with your equine. When you apply the elements of good manners during the training process, you facilitate body and verbal language that equines really appreciate, and when you apply your own good manners and teach good manners to your equine from the very beginning of the training process, you can continue to move forward much more easily than if you do not incorporate good manners between you and your equine. When you run into resistance from your equine, take it as a red flag that you’re missing something in your communication with your animal and change your approach.
If your equine spends most of his time in the pasture, the good manners of promptness and reliability on your part are critical, as it is the only time you will have during the day to really spend time with him, and he’ll count on you to show up on time each day. What you’ll get out of being prompt at feeding times is a self-discipline that will carry over into everything that you do and will determine whether or not you are a reliable partner in the relationship with your equine. When you feed the oats mixture at night and none in the morning, it gives your equine a reason to come to you after breakfast when you offer oats to catch him, and gives him a reason to come back in off the pasture after being turned out for only a short time in the spring when pasture time needs to be limited. Doing something when it is convenient rather than considering the equine’s need for reliability in the trainer is a recipe for chaos and causes anxiety in both the equine and the trainer. However, having a predictable structure to your routine will allow both you and your equine to remain calm and clear in your communication with each other.
If you want your equine to come to you, rather than chasing him, simply stand at the gate or doorway and ask him to come to you, offering the oats reward when he does. If you are kind, patient and consistent, he will most likely always oblige you.
the others for standing back after you have rewarded the one you want for allowing you to halter him. This will also avoid anxiety in the one you are haltering, because he knows you will protect him and wave back the others who might otherwise crowd him or kick at him. The ones you wave back will learn that if they comply, a reward is coming.
Being in good posture feels good to all of us and allows all the organs in the body to work correctly. When one is comfortable and amply prepared for physical activity, it is always more enjoyable. This is no different for equines. When you don’t consistently pay attention to your own good posture, neither will your equine pay attention to his. His movements will tend to be difficult and unpleasant, and the relationship between the two of you may begin to erode. But when your equine is encouraged to be in good posture during training, it feels good to him and, over time, will become his normal way of moving and resting. He will also be grateful for your kindness and consideration, and he will look forward to the activities he gets to do and the time he spends with you. When you pay attention to your own good posture right from the beginning of leading training and every time you work with your equine, he will be able to mirror your good posture. The result will be his own good posture, which will result in more comfort for him.
There will be times when it is necessary to employ negative reinforcement to stop bad behaviors that can escalate and become truly dangerous behaviors before they become persistent and uncontrollable. These corrections, which are covered in DVD #2 of my 
Today, we have more time to spend training our equines and cultivating our own riding skills. In most cases, the choice of tack is no longer of necessity, but of choice. Fashion, in any country, is supposed to be a statement of individuality and identity. The Western style of dress and tack suggests a hearty, rugged individual, surrounded by wide open spaces, using his equine as a partner for work. English attire paints a picture of dignity, reserve and concentrated skill. The Western image is a wonderfully romantic and picturesque way of seeing oneself, but it really doesn’t allow us the opportunity to improve our equestrian skills to the maximum. Western style riding is as limited as its uses. The smaller English saddle, made with a lot less leather, allows us to feel our equine’s body more closely (with the added stability of the stirrups) while we learn and exercise our bodies to become more harmonious with our mounts. As we can feel our equine more closely, so can he feel better the cues that we to give him. Thus, he can respond more accurately to our commands. However, most men don’t feel comfortable wearing “Sissy Pants” and riding in a “Sissy Saddle”—it just isn’t macho!
One Saturday morning, I finished a lesson with one of my students when Gary strolled into the indoor arena and announced that he was willing to give the English saddle a try, but that we would never get him into a pair of those “Sissy Pants!” “Fair enough,” I said, and brought my student’s horse around for him to ride. Getting on was a bit of a struggle, and exercises at the walk went really well, but as soon as the horse began to trot, Gary started bouncing. He was about to lose his balance, so he grabbed the rail to steady himself. The only problem was the rail stayed where it was and the horse kept going, leaving Gary dangling behind on the fence! I thought we would never stop laughing – he looked so ridiculous! Our macho man didn’t have the balance he thought he had!
After a while Gary decided that English riding was, in fact, the best way to train. However, he still wasn’t too interested in “watching cement set” or doing Dressage tests. We decided after two years to start showing in Combined Training with the horses. We signed up for the second day of a two-phase show, not realizing that we would be asked to ride our Dressage tests the same day that we jumped. Two days before the show, Gary discovered that he would have to ride Training Level Test 1 at 9:00 A.M. the day of the show. We reviewed the test the day before the show, thinking that if all else failed I could read the test to him when he rode. Sunday morning, Gary was feeling tired, but confident. I took my place at “B” and prepared to read for him when the announcer explained that only United States Dressage Federation tests could have a reader, but not the same in Combined Training. Gary’s face turned ashen. I climbed back into the stands as he warmed up for his test… at the walk… lost in space! He stopped short below me and quietly said, “Meredith, will you please come here.” I ran down to see what the trouble was. “I can’t remember anything… I can’t do this!” he worried emphatically. I quickly explained the pattern. Gary’s first Dressage test ever in his first Combined Training show and he emerged in third place with a mule in the Elementary Division against 8 horses. Was he ever thrilled!
We were pastured on a couple of acres that surrounded an old shed where we used to get in out of the weather. My mother was content to graze and doze day after day – she wasn’t much on excitement. I used to love it when the people came and carried on about how cute I was. Then they would scratch and massage my fuzzy little body. They even got a little playful when I followed them around, romping, playing, and bumping them with my nose. “Oh, look how cute and friendly he is,” they’d say.
Suddenly, as soon as that “halter thing” was attached to my face, they tried to lead me away from my mother. That’s when I saw the little room on wheels parked along the pasture fence! I called to my mother to come… we were going for a ride! She took a couple of steps toward me when one of the two men shooed her off the other way. I was going alone with these two guys – but where?! Why?! I got scared! I pulled, kicked, bucked to get away, but nothing worked. They were both bigger than me and before long, I found myself locked in that little room on wheels… alone! I was frightened, but I was brave. The ride was short. When they finally opened the doors to let me out, I was an explosion of forced bravery. I came out of that trailer so fast I accidently knocked one of the men down. Whoops! Before I could show him how sorry I was, he jerked on my head and laced me about the head and neck with a long skinny stick that stung like a bee! Better stand still, I thought. Well, they didn’t like that either! They were pulling on my head and hitting me on the rear with that stinging stick! If I followed, it released the pressure from around my face and the man with the stick would stop, so I followed.
The day they put the saddle on my back when I was two was only one of many confusing times. I didn’t really mind the saddle until they fastened the belt around my middle so tight that I could hardly breathe. I bucked and ran, trying to get it off. “He’s going to be a real tough one,” the man said to my owner. I’m not really sure what he meant. I learned pretty quickly that the bucking only caused more pain as the stirrups thumped against my sensitive body. It was better to move smoothly with that saddle on my back, for sure. It took me awhile to learn to stop and turn when they pulled on that bit in my mouth, but the worst part was trying to keep my balance through all of this! Didn’t they know that I was still very young and growing and not really all that strong despite my size? They would ride me until I was stiff and sore, and then put me back in that small area with no room to stretch and exercise. They gave me rest for days at a time, with no other exercise. It seemed like I was either overworked or over-rested! My muscles never really had a chance to become stronger. They rode me either too long, or not at all. Somehow, though, I managed to learn. I guess we all do, whether it’s the hard way, or not.
I met Mae Bea C.T. (“Peepers” from Jasper Goes to Bishop) and Ciji at Bishop Mule Days this year. They said that they have a wonderful life – equally balanced with training, pasture time, just plain fun and a lot of consideration for their feelings. Ciji said you were really mad at her for refusing all the jumps in the Hunter Under Saddle class, but that you were fair. You made her do them in the Jumping Class, rode the English Pleasure class and then let her rest for the remainder of the show since you knew she was in heat and had cramps. Ciji admitted that she can sometimes be a little stubborn and unfair herself, so she tried to make up for it by doing her best in the English Pleasure Class, which brought her fourth place.
12/22/17
We have had sarcoids in the past, but this did not seem to be a sarcoid, but rather, a small cyst that was not attached to the bone. Since it was not attached, I made the decision to get it removed before it had an opportunity to become attached to the bone.
