One of my mules is old. Like really old. So old that when he was born, it was still considered kosher to name mules after black folk heroes. Seriously, his name is John Henry. No one seems to remember who the John Henry of legend was, which is just as well because there is something about a mule named after a recognizable black figure that feels inherently racist. I’d rename him, but he won’t answer to anything else.
John Henry all up in my car with his bad self
Every day when I drive out to the barn to feed my mules and gaze upon their majesty, I half expect to find that John Henry has expired. I adore both Red (whose name denotes his color) and John Henry, but recognizing the inevitability of John Henry’s end and that I will almost certainly be his last owner is part of being a responsible critter person.
Statistically speaking, the majority of your relationships will end. Most of us figure out after our first couple of massive breakups that not every new girlfriend is the one prophesied to bring balance to the Force and we start entering into relationships with more caution.
But I know that there are a percentage of you out there still clinging tenaciously to the notion that every new woman who walks into your life is destined to be your “I’m With Stupid” t-shirt wearing hetero-lifemate even when that little voice in the back of your head that knows better keeps gently reminding you that you’re a vegan and she likes to post pictures of herself on Facebook with freshly shot deer. This is going to end badly and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.
Remember when they thought he was The One? Yeah, and how did that turn out?
Unless of course you go into the whole situation with the understanding that this relationship will inevitably end. Programmed into my phone is the number of a man who provides backhoe and trackhoe services for a reasonable price. That includes burying livestock. You get my drift here? I’m enjoying the heck out of my geriatric, poorly-named mule but I know where this magical friendship is headed.
So by all means, be the monster truck rally enthusiast with the girlfriend who drives a Prius. Just be aware that it might not be a match and don’t hang up curtains together without making a mental note of which of your buddies wouldn’t mind taking in a roommate on short notice.
This has been a public service announcement.
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I could be the poster dude for this post, Plucky–except the mule is unquestionably better looking. But I’m 55 & all of my romantic rlationships have inevitably come to an end (tho a few are still going pretty well as friendships); I figure if I keep up the relationship thing, eventually one will last “forever” simply because I’ll end up croaking before it’s over.
Speaking of croaking & exes, my ex & I had “retired” llamas (4) & an alpaca on our little Idaho ranchette–amazing how long they lived. Hope many more sunshine & oat-filled days for JH–I like his initials at any rate
I don’t recommend the revolving door technique when it comes to relationships, but I do endorse understanding that very few of the relationships in your life (friendships or the kind where you bone on the reg) until you kick the bucket.
I’m actually not the revolving door type–it’s just what happened. Some of them lasted for a good long while.