The Old Blog in the Desert

DThere stood, just beyond Miller’s split-rail fence, two pastures that had not spoken kindly to one another since the invention of wire.

In the west field lived a mule of advanced years and settled opinions. His name was Jasper, though no one called him anything to his face without first consulting the weather. He possessed the long memory of his species and the longer ears to match, which he employed chiefly for listening to things he already suspected.

In the east field, there arrived one spring a young bull, red as a political argument and twice as certain. His name was Clarence, and he was new to the fences.

Being young, he regarded them as suggestions.

Their first meeting came nose-to-nose through a gap in the rails.

“You appear elderly,” said Clarence, pawing the earth in a manner meant to be impressive.

“I am experienced,” said Jasper, chewing with professional calm. “It looks similar from a distance.”

Clarence snorted, which is the bull’s way of punctuating thought.

“I intend,” he declared, “to make a name for myself.”

“Names,” said Jasper, “are given freely. Reputations must be survived.”

The bull found this unsatisfying, but youth rarely get persuaded by sentences longer than a charge.

Days passed. The bull practiced butting fence posts and announcing himself to the horizon. The mule practiced not moving. In time, they developed a routine of morning discussions conducted through the rails—Clarence describing his ambitions, Jasper revising them downward.

“I shall break this fence,” Clarence boasted one afternoon.

“You may,” said Jasper. “Though I have observed that fences are often repaired at the expense of the breaker.”

Clarence considered this, then charged the fence lightly, as a rehearsal. The fence trembled but held, having been built by a man who distrusted livestock.

“You see?” said the bull, breathing hard. “It fears me.”

“Fences do not fear,” said Jasper. “They wait.”

This reply troubled Clarence more than he let on.

Summer came, and with it flies, creatures undemocratic in appetite. The bull leapt, swatted, and performed acrobatics that would have impressed a circus. The mule flicked his tail once every half hour and conserved energy for retirement.

“Why do you not fight them?” Clarence demanded.

“I have outlived worse,” Jasper replied. “The flies will die of enthusiasm.”

One evening, a thunderstorm gathered itself with theatrical rumbling. Clarence stamped and tossed his head at the lightning, convinced it was challenging him personally.

“Stand back,” he told the mule. “If the sky comes down, I shall meet it.”

Jasper shifted three inches to the left, his only concession to drama.

The storm arrived in full force. Rain lashed. Thunder split the air. Clarence charged the fence in a display of valor so magnificent it would have impressed the clouds had they been watching.

The fence, being impartial, declined to admire him and gave way at precisely the wrong moment.

Clarence found himself not triumphant in the west pasture, but entangled halfway between destinies, dignity leaking out of him in steady installments.

Jasper observed this predicament with interest.

“Are you conquering?” he inquired.

“Temporarily detained,” Clarence grunted.

Now, a lesser animal might have laughed. But mules are philosophers.

Jasper stepped forward and, with patient nudges and the careful application of teeth where pride was thickest, assisted the bull free. By dawn, they stood together in the same pasture, soaked and thoughtful.

The farmer arrived shortly thereafter, surveyed the broken fence, the mingled hoofprints, and the two animals standing shoulder to shoulder like conspirators.

“Well,” he sighed, “if that’s how it’s to be.”

He removed the remaining rails and let them share the field.

From that day on, the old mule and the young bull grazed side by side. Clarence spoke less. Jasper moved a little more. Each seemed improved by the other’s company.

And if anyone asked how such an unlikely friendship began, the farmer would say it was a fine example of harmony overcoming division.

Which is true enough, though Jasper always maintained it was the only way he could finally keep an eye on that fool.