mule care
Don’t Get Moldy: Why You Need a Hay Moisture Meter
If you…
- think the horse hay you’re buying is dry but don’t know the exact moisture content (ex: 12 %)
- pride yourself in being able to stick your hand into a bale of hay and say, “this hay is dry”
- wonder why the hay you bought in August smells stale by the next April
…then you need a hay moisture meter (also called a moisture tester).
How do I know this? Because I’ve made… Continue reading
Salt
Summer in western Nebraska. The mules are sweating and I’m sweating and we’re all craving salt. If I drank coffee in the morning I’d pour it in to that but I don’t so I douse my lentils and rice with the white stuff.
The Rub: Shoulda Taken a Day Off
I shouldn’t have saddled Brick the day I saw the bump on her back. But I did and she carried her pack saddle 20 miles that day. When I unsaddled her, I saw the newly balded spot on her back. Shame on me.
In an ideal world, I should have given Brick a few days vacation when I first saw the bump on her back. It had just… Continue reading
Hordville Hello
Greetings from Hordville, Nebraska. The mules and I arrived here this morning (July 17, 2019) and set up a welcome camp under the linden tree by the rail road tracks. A wonderful place to duck the heat before things heated up this afternoon.
Temperatures have been in the 90s all this week with higher temps forecast. This limits the amount of time the mules… Continue reading
The Stay Put Mule Rain Blues
I rode in to La Plata, Missouri, ahead of the storm. The plan was to buy sardines and ramen and then ride out the other side toward Idaho. But the rumblng clouds shattered and poured down on me in pieces. It’s rained over an inch and I’ve eaten most of the sardines and some of the ramen and the damn wet stuff keeps falling. And I’m still in La Plata.
Bacon Grease in Pin Hook: The Many Cures for Woody’s Scrape
Everyone was so intent on medicating Woody I couldn’t get close to his scrape any more.
That scrape was turning into the biggest attraction.
He got it a few days earlier when he flipped upside down in a horse trailer crossing Core Creek. It was nothing serious; just some hair gone. No blood, no stitches. It was the equine equivalent of a scraped knuckle, a bit of bared mule hide.… Continue reading
“Pal, Don’t”: The Night Woody Scared Me on the Neuse
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… Continue reading
