Our Unknown Friend the Mule

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 10, 7 March 1908, Page 20

Our Unknown Friend the Mule

A CREATURE NEW ZEALANDERS MIGHT WELL STUDY AND BREED

The breeding of mules in New Zealand has not received the attention that it deserves, for. although these useful animals are bred in several parts of th? Dominion, there are only a limited number of breeders who have made any attempt to go into the business systematically. Probably the district where th'.' largest number of mule-? is bred is at Waipiro Station, on the East Coast of the North Island, where their practical value as pack animals on the roadless country that abounds there has for many years been recognised. The scientific side '■'f the question would be ou'. of place here, but the following amusing article from “Blackwood's” cannot fail to afford amusement to our readers*: — To speak kindly of the mule to a circle of those that know him not. is too often to find one's remarks received with a frank incredulity that is hardly to b? distinguished from rudeness. It is as though one had told a dog story. The subject seems to be one upon which the mind of the public is hopelessly made up. Born under a cloud, for. alas! he is illegitimate, a fact of which he is profoundly aware.—it is under a cloud that the mule is doomed to live. We credit him with two positive virtues, surefooted ness and a strong back, neither of which he can help: for the rest, general opinion is sulliciently indicated by the fact that the word “mulish” has been introduced into the language as an expression for pig-headed cussedness in its adjectival form. This being the case, and as on? is conscious that the general tendency of this paper is towards th? rehabilitation of the mule, it becomes necessary to state, by way of preface, that the opinions set forward are the result of an acquaintance with our friend which was spread over some years, and included, on terms of more or less intimacy, some few hundreds of him. And. indeed, even assuming that the worst were true, it is hardly for us to blame the beast. For the mule is not natural, but artificial. The Zoo knows ♦An interesting article 0.1 the breeding of mules in New Zealand appears in the “N.Z. Farmer.”

him not; neither, presumably, did the Ark. He was not included in th? seheriio of Nature, but is the invention of man; actually, he is man’s contribution to tm> animal kingdom, and it would be only decent, in weighing his characteristics, to remember our own responsibility the matter. But no. Man gets his slave, and then gives it a sore back and a bad reputation. The horse is noble; there is pathos in the ass; let us beat the mule. But injustice is one thing, want of justification another. It may be said that there is no smoke without fire; that the mules one comes casually across do kick; that they are obstinate; and. therefore, that the normal mule is plainly a thing of naughtiness, of vice. Well, it all depends upon what you mean by the normal mule. The mule of which I speak is on? that has known the ordinary surroundings of, say, the British horse; he has been treated with the usual attention and kindliness to which

that animal is accustomed—in fact, h? has become more or less familiar with those just men, Thomas Atkins and his officer. I do not think that this is an animal that can rightly b? called abnormal. If such methods of treatment a; applied to the mule are exceptional, the more shame for us; but you cannot can a c haracter normal which has been warp ed by neglect and ill-treatment Let it be remembered, then, that however great the difference between th? unde 1 describe and the' mule of popular imagine tion, the former is merely an animal that lias been given a fair chance, has been allowed to develop in a normal man ner. and consequently is the normal mule to any one who has not got the heart of a brute. For convenience’ sake, let us at once deal with the two cardinal vices with which the mule is popularly credited — namely, the vice of stubbornness and the vice of kicking. Now, I readily grant that, if a mule is obstinate, th? white

cliffs of England are not more immovable; also, that, if a mule kicks, he combines in the act the force of a piston with the accuracy and whole-hearted enthusiasm of a dancer in musical comedy. At the same time, cf the mules I have known —remembering what I mean by a mule.—speaking from recollection. I can recall two that were viciously stubborn and two that kicked from vice; and in each case these vices were combined in the same animal, which makes two vicious mules in all. In both these instances the obstinacy arose from a rooted objection to one particular nature of work, and of such objection the kicking was th? outward and visible protest. One of these animals persistently declined to carry a load, but put a saddle on her back and she went like an angel. The other accepted the load with docility. She would also go extremely well in a cart —up to a certain point. She live . on a hill.—to be exact, in the Citadel in Cairo, —and at the foot of that hill, on her return journey, she resolutely and dogmatically drew the line. Thus far would she go. and no farther; as to dragging a cart up that cursed slope, sh? was adamant. But to condemn a whole race on two partial instances would be somewhat analogous to the ease of the recalcitrant juryman: “Ah. thin, eleven more obstinit men 1 never met.” Indeed, so far as my own experience goes, one is inclined to take these animals as exceptions, and to deduce the general law that the mule does not kick from vice and is not viciously obstinate; and I doubt if a smaller proportion of exceptions could be found for any rule applied to any order of being or any class of character. And again, kicking in the mule takes two forms, one for general purposes, one for assault. In the first, his heels tend to describe an arc of a circle about his fore-feet as pivot. In the latter, he thrusts out one leg like a cok. But I have only once been kicked by a mule, and that was by a raw remount who had probably never been spoken to kindly in his life, and to whom the white man was only a new kind of enemy. I leave

him out., therefore, though he nearly kicked me into the next world; and, speaking generally, with regard to this form of vice, 1 have little doubt that you could go down the lines of the British mountain-battery with a good deal more chance of immunity from the assaulting hoof than you would get from those of the walers of a field-battery in India. But I would offer a word of counsel to anyone who thinks of trying the experiment. The horse will give you warning —when he meditates guile, his aspect is that of a sinner; but the first notice you get of a mule’s kick is the impact of his foot. He does not lay his ears back; he

is extremely accurate in his aim; and in range his leg is almost telescopic. The ability of the mule as a worker is, we know, recognised; his back is strong, and hi sfeet are sure. This, no doubt, is all very well as far as it goes, but, like the cow’s tail, which was meant to brush off flies, it does not go far enough. The finer qualities of the working mule are not those of accidental mechanics; they are of the head and the heart. A more willing beast never existed; and, if he has equals, he has few if any superiors in the matters of endurance and good-humoured philo ophy. This is high praise, but one example will make it good. The mountain; of Baluchistan are, as ground for marching over, particularly unpleasant. The “going” is mainly over loose stones; there is no shade, practically no water, and to all intents and purposes you make your path as you go along. During manoeuvres some years ago, we started one morning before dawn, and marched under such condtioins, up and down, down and up, till about 3.30. The force thus pushed ahead was small when it started; it was smaller still when it came into action. But the guns were there. One mule only fell out, one of my own. The mules of a mountain-battery

are provided with reliefs, but on this occasion we had no time to get the relief line up and change loads. The mule 1 mention marched on, hour after hour, mile after mile, showing no slackness, offering no complaint, and finally fainted away with the load on her back—fell down in a swoon like a girl. And there is your pig-headed obstinacy. Now this was not an iso'ated case. The only difference between her and her companions in misfortune was that she happened to faint and they did not. And, though I am not concerned to uphold the mule as superior to the horse, remember this. The horse will gallop his heart

out; he is uplifted by excitement. He may die between the shafts; but will he go on to such a pitch without an occasional persuader? But if there exists any less exhilarating form of work than that of these mules, I have yet to learn what it is; they were not Hogged up to it; and they had not even the support of knowing that they were going towards their nosebags, for, as far as they could tell, they were moving in exactly the opposite direction. I do not think 1 need labour the point of the mule’s willingne s, comparative or otherwise. But it is, as we know, as a mountaineer that the mule shines, and here again merely to mention his surefootedness is not to go nearly far enough. Soon after 1 joined a mountain-battery we were taken out for a big climb, with the express object of showing what could be done in that way, and some of the problems the mules solved on that occasion were of a nature to make the hair stand on end. I would as soon have asked them to elimb a tree. The weight carried is great, ranging, as it used to, from 2COlb. to 3001 b.; the ease with which impossibilities are achieved is ridiculous; and the philosophic coolness with which a mul will stand, with all his four feet

dose together, perched on a pinnacle of nothingness, and thence determine the next downward step into the void, is a ’tmly of cheerfulness and sound sense under difficulties to which I know no parallel. He never loses his head. He

never seems to want to turn back. lie does not get frightened at prospective perils. lie knows exactly what is wanted of him, and literally brings his mind to bear on each emergency as it comes up. And it is at such times that one begins to see that the mule is not only a beast

of burden, but a strange and fascinating mystery. It must not, however, be supposed that the mule is devoid of animal weaknesses. Far from it. He is extremely susceptible to cold and want of work, and, like a fresh horse, under those bracing influences will betray a spirit of irresponsible larkiness that is deplorable. In

such a mood he loves to wait till the load is on his back, and then, before it ran be strapped on, with one hilarious uplifting of his hinderpirts. to semi hall a gun or a steel carriage hurtling over his head. But we must distinguish between

kicking of this nature and kicking from vice. His action is merely that of a fresh hunter on a eold morning. And at -ueh a time, on th ■ Hat. one is likely to see something that is worth money. A battery manoeuvres at a walk. This, to the bursting mule, is apt to become mono-

tonous. Presently the battery comes to a ditch. The mule has to jump, and the driver must give him the length of his leading-rein. That is all he wants. Over he goes, and with th? impetus thu acquired makes one glorious dash for freedom. Now the mule lias no mouth, and

to pull him up once he has a start is about as qasy as to stop a runaway mo-tor-car by hauling at the lamps. At the same time, the driver knows that the manumission of his captive is attended by an automatic penalty. Consequently he hangs on to his end of the rein for dear life till, as the mule gathers speed, he is compelled over the terrain with the prodigious strides of the ostrich. His great boots twinkle, and his Hying feet scarce touch the ground. But the spaceannihilating powers of the human leg have limits, and too often that limit is reached. The moment comes when “something must go.” With a gesture of despairing protest the driver’s end of the rein is east wildly away as though to the winds, and the mule passes victoriously on to freedom. The sight, though maddening, was exquisitely laughable; and it is to the mule's credit that, having blown off steam, he was pleased to return graciously to his place in the procession, and resume his duties with the demure aspect of one in whose mouth butter would not melt. It is an odd thing that, though as a rule the mule's trot is a run and his canter a scuttle, in these moments of abandonment he will sometimes give a display’ of natural paces that are extraordinarily fine. As a rule he keeps these performances for the level, but I still have in my eye the picture of a great grave mule, with a Roman nose and a head like a suit-ease, trotting imperially about on the side of a hill that was not only extremely’ steep, but mainly made up of loose stones. He had over 260 pounds on his back, and from his nonchalance and superb action might have been supposed to be showing off on a specially prepared track. As a matter of detail one may mention that, however good the mule’s paces may be, his lack of mouth would certainly prevent their- exploitation on the turf. Some years ago. I believe that one of the batteries at Rawulpindi had a mule that could beat any pony in the place over hurdles; but, as a rule, a mule race ends in the field sidling tangentially aff for home from the nearest corner. Apart, however, from his conduct as a labourer, the mule is the possessor of certain traits, both mental and physical, which are equally curious and valuable. In the first place, he works up to a comparatively considerable age. The one of whom I have made honourable mention was, if my memory serve me, 15 years’ old; and a baggage-mule we had underwent, at the age, I think, of 12 years, a surgical operation that would only be attempted on a young horse, and was perfectly well in a very short time. Again, the mule has not got the nerves which, in the horse, have led to the saying that he is a fool. When he is being entrained, he may play the idiot outside purely from levity; but once he is in he shows no sign of alarm; a horse may’ go in quietly, and get wildly upset when he finds himself in his unfamiliar surroundings. I have often wondered what w’ould happen if a mule saw a ghost. One hears that such a sight has a parlous effect on horses and dogs, but I imagine that a mule would either take no notice or put his ears back to be stroked. At the same time, this collectedness is not mated to slowness or stupidity. The mule is surpassingly wise, and, if the following anecdote is to be accepted (and it comes from an untainted source), he is capable of rapid thought and prompt action in an emergency. This was told me by an officer who, so to speak, was a comrade of the wide in question. It was in Burmab, and when the mules were, I think, returning from water, the situation became complicated by the sudden arrival of a mad dog. The difficulty, however, was immediately "djusted. A mule volunteered for the post of honour. Moving out, the intrepid creature went for that mad dog, rose in the air. came down on its body, and stamped the life out of it. Physically speaking, again, the mule ha-, the horse's coat, but will look extremely,’ handsome with only half the amount of grooming. He i s less difficult in his food he to enjoy blankets and tails—but is nicer with regard to water. His foot, though often badly shaped, is extremely hard; indeed, ha can perfectly well go unshod. And, most valuable of all, he is provided with an Unfailing remedy for fatigue! I refer to tolling. Is your mule exhausted? Strip

him of his burdens, and leave him alone. He will roll; for not only is a roll a magic recuperator for his flagging energies, but, by a wise- decree of Providence, it is a practice of which he is passionately fond. And you should watch him. The deliberation with which he begins, the relish with which he employs each side in turn, and then lies, deeply thinking, spread out perfectly flat, and plainly concentrating his mind on the last great effort, the enthusiasm with which he tries to roll elean over, and the air of satisfied triumph with which he gets up, having done so, are little less than exhilarating to the weary man that is looking on. For his qualities in private life, the mule has undoubtedly a sense of humour, though of an elementary type. I do not know whether his reason for denuding his neighbour's tail of hair is that the naked result appeals to his idea of the ridiculous; it is possible. Sometimes, when 1 have been standing looking at one mule with my hands behind my back, the stick I was holding has been very gently drawn through my grasp and dropped on to the ground; and when I have turned upon the sinner, the transparent innocence on his countenance seemed to show that he enjoyed the jest. But of one joke the mule never tires. During the process of having his girths tightened he will inhale deeply, with the result that, when he resumes his natural dimensions, the work has to be done all over again. This is a jest from which the absurd creature derives an exquisite relish. Both in his voice and his use of it the mule is quite individual. Unlike" the horse, he does not greet his comrades from afar, nor is he given to the derisive paroxysms of melody with which the ass is wont to regale his lighter moments. Indeed, he is a silent sort of beast. I think he only sings by wav of thanksgiving. He will acclaim the time-gun if in his mind he connects it with any festivity, and the stirring sound of the feed-call will invariably promote his psalm. His sonoappears to be limited to a grace before meat. And such a song as it is! Though his theme be joy, and his spirit uplifted, he has been endowed with a long-drawn melancholious wail that would seem to announce that he has plumbed the very depths of grief. To hear a whole battery of mules raising a paean in chorus is as depressing as the sound of a funeral march. And in considering these individual traits one is led back to a point of view of which mention has been made—namely, the mule as a mystery. Here wa have an animal standing midway between the horse and the ass, each of which has its own tribal characteristics. But the mule, instead of inheriting his traits from either or both of his parents, blossoms out as a thing by himself. Now where does he get these traits from? Why is he so magnificent a mountaineer? Whence come his intelligence and com-mon-sense? And why does he combine with these two qualities his lack of nerves? Why, again, when he has his mother’s coat, does half the attention produce an equal result? What makes him particular as to his drink? f we accept him as a fluke, and say no more about it, the matter becomes almost more complicated. For, assuming his physical qualities, how about his mental? In an ordinary case( one is wont to ascribe any high powers to a scientific process of reproduction—tb/it is to say, to evolution properly directed. But thr mule in his own peculiar qualities has nothing to do with evolution. The

rolling centuries affect him not. With the birth and death of every mule, Creation pauses. As the first mule was, so will the last mule be, —a creature of individual characteristics, which are not to be tempered, mitigated, or extended by any process that can be employed to the improvement of nature in general. He is a creature without continuity,— excellence ready-made but sterile, —and as such he must remain for all time a dark and insoluble mystery. Throughout this paper I have striven to bear in mind the injunction—- “ Nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice,” — and I still do so when I say that, if asked to describe the mule's temperament in genera], I should call it one of peculiar docility, friendliness, and affability. One set of mules I knew, from being entirely looked after by Mr. Atkins. became as confidential as a lot of great dogs: to see the man and mule going off to water with their arms round each others’ necks was quite a sight. Give him a chance, ami he is not only one of the most honest and honourable of beings, but one of the most attractive and sympathetic. It all depends on kindness—kindness in all respects, but especially kindness with regard to his ears. For his ears are his delicate points—and point. Physically, this is pretty obvious. The tips of our own ears are tender enough in all conscience: if one reflects on the enormous length of the mule’s ears compared with ours, one can get some faint idea of how exquisitely sensitive to pain those members must be. The expression on the face of a confiding mule who, with eyes closed and chin resting on your shoulder, has laid his ears back to have them stroked, is one of luxurious ecstasy. But once put a twitch, once lay unholy hands, on those most inviting objects, and he will never forget it. And this result is not altogether physical. I believe—and I speak seriously—it is because you have done him gross insult. For the oddest thing about a mule is this—he loathes a donkey. On a donkey he will commit the most unprovoked assault. Feeling himself to be a horse gone wrong, he bitterly resents any reminder of that dark stigma on his birth which he so deeply deplores. His coat is not the donkey’s coat, his tail is not the donkey’s tail. His song, though not the music of his dam, is far removed from that of his detested sire. "But there is no getting over those ears. Palpable symbols of a proud beast’s’ shame, they rise erectile, not to be ignored, and deliberately, coarsely, not only to thrust them upon his notice but actually to employ them as engines for his discomfiture, is both physically painful and in deplorable taste. We might at least pretend not to notice them. You will never make a friend, you will never keep a friend, by insulting him in his weakest points.

J.K.