Mule on the Picket Line: Woody’s Bad Night on the Neuse
PublishedMarch 19, 2004
I, Bernie Harberts, did not use generative AI to write or illustrate this article. Spell check and grammar check, yes. AI, no.
Tonight I’m concerned for Woody. He’s touchy along his withers and he didn’t finish his feed. When I peeled off the vintage McClellan saddle and ran my hand down his back, he pinned his ears and gave me that “Pal, don’t” in the way that sparse words convey danger.
Earlier, when I pitched camp along the south bank of the Neuse, Tom and his daughter Rachel rode to visit and when they departed Woody churned back and forth on his tether with intervals of full bore charges to the end. Then the rope comes up tight and his head goes between his knees and grunts and goes at it anew.
Woody in a calm moment picketed on the banks of the Neuse River. I made the green canvas bucket out of old winter horse blankets. You can see the smoke coming out of the tipi’s stove pipe as I’m cooking supper. Note the overkill picket technique: halter AND bowline around Woody’s neck in case he rubbed the halter off on a tree, which he has done.
It’s getting dark, and just above in the night, jets, reduced to roaring by with their red and green dragon eyes, aren’t helping my stomach ache. I ate my biscuits before they were fully cooked on my wood stove. There’s just a general discontent in the air as now Woody’s broken out in a cold sweat.
We DID make 6 miles though and we DID cross the Neuse on the Minessott ferry so we are making progress…
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