Rural Heritage June/July 2026

Eulogy for Old Doc TALES FROM CARTER COUNTY

the tree. I told my neighbor, who had stayed to see the “rodeo,” that I was going into the house for some things and would be right back.The mule never moved this entire time. I hurried to the vet box I keep on the back porch and came out with some Raleigh's salve, a bag of Epsom salts and a sponge. I filled a bucket with warm water and returned to where I had tied the mule. It looked like someone had dragged a disk harrow around the tree. As I approached the mule, which I could tell had moved around the tree, he turned his head to see who was coming toward him. He nickered to me and stepped back around the tree to the spot where I had left him. I patted his neck and began to wash the raw spots with the warm water and Epsom salts. My neighbor told me how, as soon as I had left, that mule had thrown a complete fit. He had pawed the ground and circle the tree until the rope was tight, and then he went the other way, until the rope was again tightened. He had gnawed at the tree and kicked out at the air behind him. I cleaned the wounds on his head, and I couldn't imagine the mule I was working on would have acted like that. As I smeared the salve over the wound, Doc, that was the name he came with, would tip his nose away from me and lower his head as if he wanted to make sure I had no trouble treating him. I couldn't believe how calm he had been through all I had just done to and for him. I lead him to our round pen and removed the halter. I figured I'd leave him in there over night before introducing him to the horses. As soon as I left, he began to squall. I hurried and brought him back some hay and a bucket of water. He settled right in to eating and seemed to be calming back down. Over the years, he would continue to not let me out his sight. If I rode him to check cattle, as I did from

by Jerry Hicks Y esterday was a mighty rough day. I had to say goodbye to a friend. Old Doc had been about as good a mule as anyone could ask for, and he never ceased to amaze me at the ways he could come up with to interact with us. He had been a hard luck case since the day we took him in. A friend had told me he knew where there was a grey mule I could get cheap and that he would probably match a red roan mare that I had at the time. I went and had a look and realized right away that the mule in question would not match my mare. I also saw that he was a good bit older than claimed but seemed to be well broke. The owners put a 3-year-old girl on his back, and she rode him around the yard. They didn't have any harness, so I took a hold of his tail and called on him to come up. He stepped off just like he was in harness. I called “Gee,” and he swung to the right. When I called “Haw” he stepped back over to the left. I called “Whoa” and “Back” and, again, he did as requested. I looked him over and realized that someone had put a halter on him that was way too small, so small in fact that it had cut into his head, and the skin had healed in such a way that his halter was literally embedded in the top of his head. I knew he had to be in a great deal of pain, though he never let on. I asked the price and was able to haggle them down a bit. He followed me onto the trailer with no prompting. As soon as I got him off the trailer at home, I tied him to a tree in the back yard, pulled out my pocket knife and cut the skin across the top of his head so that I could remove the halter. He stood still as a mouse and let me do this. I pulled the halter away and shook my head at how bad the wound looked. So that he wouldn't wander, I put a larger halter onto him and again tied him to

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