Childhood memories – the story of the yellow mule

At that time, our family had a yellow mule, and My grandfather's family had a black mule. The yellow mule is a stallion mule, which is more docile and generally does not kick people; the black mule is a mare mule, especially mischievous, and you must always be wary of it flying a foot.

The yellow mule, though docile, is very sharp and has a lot of strength around its neck. I led it to the river to drink, but it just wouldn't go. As a young man, I was so hard that I almost fell asleep on the ground, but it still didn't move. I finally took the whip to beat it, and it bent its waist and still wouldn't go.

I was anxious and angry, but I really couldn't help it. A trip to the river bend takes at least half an hour, and if the livestock don't leave, it will take even more time.

When I used to drink and rush home, my sister had gone a long way to school. We divided the work: I drank livestock, she washed the pot, and I used to slow down half a beat.

The yellow mule had enough of his temper before he could walk well.

I struggled to hold it and not go, so I tried to ride it later. However, I was too small to reach on the ground. You can only ride on the donkey trough, but you can't get out of the circle door. I had to go to the road to find a high point to ride. Come to the river bay spring, drink and find a high pot to ride on.

Riding a docile yellow mule, I walked with ease and felt great – saving time and effort.

Grandpa rode a mischievous black mule and fell to the ground from time to time, but he was not afraid, several times and three times, and finally rode on it.

That's how our grandchildren rode mules to and from the river bend.

Riding on the yellow mule, it is very obedient, obediently walking, no longer as naughty as holding it.

I remember once, the three of us sisters went to drink yellow mules, and the three of us dragged hard to no avail, it stood firm. Three little farts, with little strength and little weight, threw their heads away and broke free of us and ran.

When they ran into the crops, they wasted the grain. Dad brought in several helpers, and everyone took the rope and laid down the Skynet. It took a while to arrest the running yellow mule.

We were so frightened of this trick of itss that I used to ride it, but I was always terrified, afraid that it would run away when it was on the ground.

When ploughing the land, the yellow mule has great strength, and Dad does a partial burden: a donkey on one side, a mule on the other, and the mule is much heavier.

The yellow mule did us a lot: ploughing the land, grinding the noodles, pulling the cart. Animals are also very humane, and they have feelings over time. I remember that later the lottery was assigned to someone else's house.

After they took it away, several times I found it running around to my mother's house, and I had ten thousand reluctance in my heart, so I could only touch it and talk about it, but it had to go back after all.

Pull up the beep and ride on the beep.

From the drinking mule thought: When we do things one way does not work, why not change the way? When we can't walk on one road, why not find another way?