Old Man Lucas and His Mule

Old man Lucas lived across the road from us.
He had a two story house that was probably
Built before the Civil War.
He was a grouchy old cuss.
His boxer dog killed one of my two white turkeys.

Daddy said he’d kill the dog, if it killed anything else.
Old man Lucas said, “I don’t keer.”
And so it happened.

The dog killed my other white turkey.
Daddy shot the dog in our yard, but he ran home.
Daddy marched up there, and the dog was hiding under the house,
So Daddy shot him again and finished him off.
Old man Lucas raised pure hell about that.

Daddy told him, he already told him to keep his dog out of our yard.
Nothing mattered to old man Lucas.
He never spoke to none of us again.

He had a good sized cornfield straight across the road.
I used to watch him plow that field with his old mule.
He would snatch those reins and yell and cuss that mule something awful.
I felt sorry for the mule.

One day I guess the mule just had enough.
Old man Lucas always had the reins around his neck and
His hands on the plow-stock
So he was kind of tied to the plow.
The mule all of a sudden brayed & bucked like he’d been stung by a hornet.
He headed off toward the barn full speed ahead,
Dragging the plow and old man Lucas behind him.
A whole lot of dust, dirt, and cussin’ went on all the way to the barn.

I heard the next day that old man Lucas shot that mule.
I guess he did.
I never saw him again, and old man Lucas didn’t plant no more corn.