Our beloved old mule, Lonesome George, died today. Kathryn found him dead in his corral early this afternoon. She came to the door, in tears, to tell me. I rushed back out to the corral with her. There he was, laying on the ground, while his blind girls — Lena, Nikki and Destiny — milled around, unsure what had happened to their Uncle George.
We moved the girls into the barn and then huddled with George. Yes, losing this little mule reduced us to tears. He was no ordinary mule. He was as cute as can be, easy-going, dignified, gentle, and adorable. He had an unflappable, dreamy nature about him … an almost Buddha-like manner. He was a mule you could invite into your house and he would have ambled from room to room and never knocked anything over. If we’d ever had a cocktail party here, we could have pictured George mingling with the guests.
George was ever so sweet with the blind foals he helped Lena raise. He never understood or appreciated why we turned him into a ‘nanny mule’ — it was a role he didn’t like but he performed so well. George could certainly be mule-ish, but in such an endearing way it made us love him even more. And he could dig a hole by the gate in an hour, pawing at the ground because he wanted out … or in. It didn’t matter, he pawed whenever he wanted something.
We used to let him just wander around the ranch because he loved to explore. George never went far — he cherished Lena and would hee-haw in distress if she disappeared from sight — and he always stayed within view of the barn. Even yesterday morning we turned him loose so he could wander.
Yet it was clear in recent weeks that he was losing his battle with cancer, despite the chemotherapy. His appetite had diminished and he started losing weight rapidly. He became "ribby" and bony, even while his personality stayed pretty much the same.
So today wasn’t a shock, but still an emotional jolt. Even when you’re expecting it, you’re never really prepared for it.
Beth soon joined Kathryn and me at George’s side. I called Alayne, who was in Missoula, to tell her the sad news. Then we set out to bury George. His grave is close to the barn, so he’ll still be able to keep an eye on his girls.
We loved this old mule. We still do.
Rolling Dog Farm Blog 
Leave a comment