Burros, Donkeys and Mules...

Ozzie and I set out this afternoon to drive down the "vine road", as I like to think of Highway 12, in search of an interesting picture of some hundred year old olive trees at a winery in Kenwood. As soon as we turned onto the highway, it became obvious from the flashing lights and backed up traffic, that we wouldn't be going that way, so we turned down a rural side street to circle back. A lovely old barn caught my attention, and I pulled over and got out to take a picture. When I got close to the fence, two burros appeared out of nowhere and came straight over to check me out. I wanted to get a shot of the crosses on their backs, but they were not cooperating, so I settled for the sweet face and furry thatch of this one instead.

Unlike mules, which are a cross between a donkey and a horse, producing a sterile, stubborn, strong, sure footed beast, burros are small donkeys. Believed to have carried the pregnant Virgin Mary (no comment!) into Bethlehem, they still bear a distinct, darker colored cross on their backs to this day.

Also unlike mules, burros are good natured and extremely cute. The badlands of Nevada are full of wild burros, descended from a few abandoned animals, and grown to large, wild herds. I had a friend who adopted one, but could never get near it, despite years of patience and good care. He lived a perfectly happy life left to his own devices in her large corral.

Several years ago, we were camped in the Yosemite wilderness in an area frequented by bears (clearly demonstrated by large claw marks down several trees) when a ranger rode into our campsite on his horse, checked out our food, which we had hung from a tree branch, to be sure it was out of the reach of bears which have become very clever at raiding campers' supplies, and chatted with us about the best defensive measures to take when camped in bear country. Dogs would no doubt keep them at bay, but dogs are not allowed in National Parks.

In the middle of the night we were awakened by an unholy racket which we assumed were raiding bears, so we laid low, too scared to peek out of the tent. In the morning, we were awakened again by a wrangler chasing his mules through our campsite. (Probably the same ones who had wandered around our tents in the middle of the night.) They are not allowed to tether the animals, so they just wander around wherever they please at night until the wranglers round them up in the morning to carry people and supplies into the wilderness. Needless to say, those of us who rely on our backs and our own two feet to carry everything are not overly fond of these group trips....or of the stupid park rules that seem counterintuitive. During many years of backpacking in the Sierra we found the rangers and officials we came across to be as stubborn as mules when it came to rules, no matter how illogical....