Old Man Jenkins and His Stubborn Mule, Horatio
Gather 'round, everyone. I’ve got a tale that’ll have you rolling in the aisles with laughter. This here is the story of Old Man Jenkins and his unbelievably stubborn mule, Horatio. Now, mind you, this was no ordinary mule. Horatio had a mind of his own—or at least, he thought he did.
Old Man Jenkins was known around these parts for being a miserly ol’ coot. He was the sort of fellow who could tell you the exact number of nails in his barn but wouldn't part with a single one. So when his trusty horse passed away, Jenkins went all the way to the other side of the county to buy the cheapest, most obstinate mule he could find. Enter Horatio.
Now Horatio, being a mule, had a disposition that can only be described as stubborn on a good day and downright cantankerous on a bad one. From the moment Jenkins brought him home, it was clear that things weren't going to be smooth sailing.
The first sign of trouble came when Jenkins tried to get Horatio into the stable. He pulled, he tugged, he even tried sweet-talking the beast. But Horatio stood his ground as if he’d grown roots. A crowd of townsfolk gathered round, snickering and taking bets.
“Jenkins, you should’ve bought yourself a mule that isn’t smarter than you!”
shouted Billy Ray from the general store porch.
Old Man Jenkins glared at Billy Ray and muttered under his breath, “This mule may be stubborn, but I’ll break him yet.” After about an hour of tugging and pushing, Horatio finally took a step forward—right onto Jenkins' foot. The old man yelped and hopped around on one leg while Horatio looked on with an almost amused expression.
Determined to assert his authority, Jenkins decided to take Horatio for a plow in the field the next day. Armed with a bag of oats and a carrot on a stick, he set out. Now, everyone knows that mules aren’t easily bribed, but Jenkins was ever the optimist. He hitched Horatio to the plow, took a deep breath, and gave the command to move.
Horatio blinked, flicked an ear, and stayed put.
Jenkins tried again, this time dangling the carrot just out of Horatio’s reach. The mule sniffed at it, then turned his head away disdainfully. Frustration boiling over, Jenkins picked up a stick and gave Horatio a light tap on the rump.
That’s when the trouble started.
Horatio suddenly reared up and bolted, the plow skidding along behind him. Jenkins was dragged through the field, bumpity-bump, yelping like a cat on a hot tin roof. The entire town could hear Jenkins' shouts:
“Whoa, Horatio! Stop, you blasted mule!”
But Horatio had other ideas. He galloped straight towards the town square, causing a massive commotion. Mrs. Thompson fainted into Mr. Knowles' arms, who himself nearly tumbled into the horse trough. Children ran after the spectacle, cheering and laughing like it was the Fourth of July.
Just when it seemed like Jenkins was doomed to be dragged straight to the next county, Horatio came to an abrupt stop right in front of the saloon. Jenkins, disheveled and covered in mud, managed to untangle himself from the plow. Breathing heavily, he glared at the smug-looking mule.
“You’ll be the death of me yet, Horatio,” he muttered, bewildered by the mule’s sheer willpower.
Over the months, Jenkins tried every trick in the book to get Horatio to cooperate. Cajoling, bribery, even elaborate schemes involving makeshift pulley systems—all to no avail. The mule would budge only when it suited him, and often, not even then.
One day, Jenkins decided he’d try the advice of an old traveling salesman who promised him that wearing a bright red hat would somehow make him more authoritative. Come Sunday morning, Jenkins walked out with a ridiculous, oversized red hat that flopped about in the wind.
Horatio took one look at Jenkins with his new headgear and let out a sound that was shockingly close to a chuckle. Jenkins grumbled but stood firm.
“Alright, Horatio, this is it. I’m the boss, and you’re gonna listen.”
Miraculously, Horatio took a step forward. Jenkins' eyes widened, and he took another step, leading the mule. Townsfolk peeking out of their windows watched in stunned silence as Jenkins successfully led Horatio down Main Street, hat flopping comically in the breeze.
Then, just as they reached the general store, Billy Ray, never one to miss a chance, hollered:
“Look, everyone! It’s Jenkins and his circus mule!”
The crowd erupted in laughter, and Jenkins' face flushed redder than his hat. Startled, Horatio decided he’d had enough and promptly sat down in the middle of the street, refusing to move a muscle. Jenkins sighed deeply and removed the hat, muttering to himself.
“Well, Horatio, I guess you and I are two of a kind. Stubborn as mules, both of us.”
From that day on, Jenkins accepted that some battles weren’t worth fighting. Instead, he found a peculiar sort of companionship with Horatio. If the mule wouldn’t plow, he’d simply enjoy the peace and quiet of the fields. And if Horatio decided to take an unexpected nap in the town square, well, Jenkins could use the rest too.
And so, folks, if you ever find yourselves passing through this way, don’t be alarmed if you see a cantankerous old mule lounging in front of the saloon or an old man in a red hat chasing him down the street. That’s just Old Man Jenkins and Horatio, two peas in a pod—or rather, two mules in a town that’ll never forget them.
And that, my friends, is the end of this uproarious tale.
