It started out as a normal Monday morning, but
quickly changed. Paul and our dog, Maya, had already
finished their morning walk. It was about 8:30,
quite cold and Paul went outside to feed mules
and clean the garage. AccuWeather was predicting a warm, beautiful day so maybe
we could do a little shed hunting. I had finished my indoor chores and was preparing to eat breakfast.
“Yikes!”
I went out to the front porch and hollered for Paul. Nothing. I looked toward the barn and did not see him. However, I did see something else. The two gates were open on the mule pens. I knew I had to get in the car and drive. As I ran to the garage, I saw Paul with halter and lead ropes on his shoulder, jogging down our long driveway in pursuit of the two animals. They not been out of the barn for weeks. The mules and the man were all heading toward US Hwy 191, The Coronado Trail.
Paul saw me and screamed, “Get the car!” (Wish I had thought of that). I hurried and picked him up as the mules stood in the center of the paved highway, taking in the long views of wilderness and mountains. I knew what they were looking for – the US Forest Service has a small herd of mules and horses across the highway on pasture. Usually they would be close to the roadway, but today they were on a ridge, standing under some trees.
Traffic was light and cars slowed. Early morning commuters in northeastern Arizona were used to elk and deer on the roadways. Longears? Not so much. A kind neighbor in a red car stopped and put her blinkers on for others to see. When the mules saw my car headed their way, they made a run for it and traveled north at full speed. They were having a grand time and the paved highway was an open invitation to keep exploring. So they did. They raced each other as fast as they could. When they had gone about ½ mile, they made a right turn on a graded dirt road, jumping a cattle guard as if it were not there. This was a frightening moment for us, as it would be for any equine owner. We shook our heads and sighed in relief at their feat.
We caught up and passed them. Paul got out and walked toward his puffing mount, calling his name and putting out his hand to comfort him. Normally, Scooter would walk over and get a pat, then allow Paul to halter him. At this moment, he wanted nothing to do with ending the fun. Besides, Bug had reeled around and was heading back toward the highway.
Dust flew in our faces as the two animals sped away, jumping the cattle guard again, galloping across the paved highway, and then jumping another cattle guard. They happily headed toward new territory – some place they had never been. The flooded wetlands leading into Nelson Reservoir.
We followed helplessly, hoping they would soon tire of their risky game. The footing in the wetlands was soggy, and they stopped to look around (and get their second wind).
Paul jumped out again, and I turned back toward the cattle guard. I tried to maneuver my car across the metal barrier so they could not go back on the highway. It didn’t work, because my car was too short. I did not want them to try to squeeze around my car, so I backed up and as I did, watched them coming toward me.
Scooter
knew there was a nearby USFS gate that crossed national forest land and backed
up to our barn, so he headed in that direction. Paul
also walked toward the gate. Bug did not. When Scooter saw the closed gate, he looked to Bug and they once again started jogging toward the highway. Paul
was afoot and weary of the unpredictable animals. His legs slowed and I could tell he was out of breath.
With Little Bug leading, they once again came to the cattle guard. Scooter leaped slightly and sailed easily over the obstacle. Bug had a new approach as he tiptoed carefully over the center, flat, metal strip with his size 00 feet. Then he raced to catch Scooter. Now they were back on the pavement and this time, a truck almost hit them. They quickly swerved sideways and headed south. It had been 40 minutes and it seemed they were running slower. They have to tire soon.
I picked up my puffing husband and we followed our animals in the direction of home. Traffic was a little heavier now and I drove in one lane as the neighbor in the red car commandeered the other lane. I passed the animals that ran alongside on the shoulder, went about three blocks ahead and Paul jumped out quickly, leaving his door open.
Scooter had stopped now and was huffing. His head was no longer skyward. He turned to look at Paul as his eyes softened. His coat was wet and long curls covered his body. He did not move as Paul talked to him in a soft voice, and let the rope slip around his neck. Once haltered, traffic passed slowly.
We both knew it would be impossible to catch Bug. He came to us from someone who had bought him at auction. We knew nothing about his past, except that he had the strongest prey-flight response of any horse we had ever owned. He trusted us, but just not at the moment. He was almost fifteen years younger than Scooter, so he still had lots of juice left.
Paul led his buddy mule as they walked on the wide highway shoulder toward home. Bug running behind, then along the side, then in front.
I continued to monitor oncoming traffic with an open passenger door and blinking lights. After all the cars had passed I stopped, got out to close my car door and thank the neighbor for helping. I apologized for the trouble, but she was kind and said, “No worries.”
Once we were off the highway, Paul
and Scooter went up the long hill toward the barn. Bug decided he would rather not. He bounced
away on the neighbor’s gravel road, and then came to the swiftly running Nutrioso
Creek. Easy peasy. He whirred and galloped downstream where he crossed an old, wooden bridge, continuing
south. (He had never been across this bridge).
The only time Bug stopped was to glimpse at Paul, Scooter, and my car going in the opposite direction, safe behind our locked gate. When Bug got to the neighbor’s well house, he ran around to the other side and decided to explore the 20-acre property at a trot. There was no fence between our properties.
Scooter was in his pen, and I was done - headed back to the house. Paul took his remaining lead rope and halter to try to find the elusive, wild mule.
In the end, there would be no more excitement. When Paul found Bug, the animal faced him and took two steps forward. He wore his halter and lead rope as if it was his idea, following Paul for the walk to the barn.
As I parked in the garage, I looked toward the mesa and felt the warm sun. I was so happy we were all safe. There were five, bighorn sheep rams lined up on top, watching what must have been a really, really, good show.
