Goodbye, Old Frank

by Audrey Stogsdill Beggs , R-A Mule Ranch, Sims, Arkansas

from the April 2025 issue

He was just an old mule, but I thought he was so sweet.  A neighbor had bought him at a goat sale a few weeks prior to bringing him over and riding with us. He was very thin, his feet were cracked and in horrible shape, and his hair was dull and gray. The neighbor that bought him said his name was Abraham and he was 19 years old. I thought to myself, “If this mule was only 19 years old, he’d had a very rough life.” It was all he could do to carry a grown man on a two or three hour trail ride.  

After that ride, I told my husband Rickey if the neighbor ever sold that mule, I was going to buy him - not so much for a riding mule, but to give the old mule a good home. Sure enough, a couple of weeks later there was an ad for a mule in the paper. It was the neighbor and he was selling Abraham. I called and offered him a little less than what he was asking. He was delighted to sell him and I asked him if he would deliver him on Saturday. Rickey and I both had doctor’s appointments on Wednesday and Thursday. This was on a Tuesday. Within two hours a trailer pulled up and it was the neighbor with the old mule. This guy was a mule trader and I think he was afraid Abraham would die on his place and he would lose the money he paid for him.  

When people would ask me, “Why in the world did you buy that old mule?” I would just tell them I was a sucker for old things. I could tell his last few years had not been good and I wanted him to have a good life in his last years. 

Since I am the kind of person that wants to know the details, I got the phone number from the Coggins and called the original owner. I told him I now owned Abraham and wanted to know something about him. He asked if his left back foot had a bad crack. It did. He said that mule’s name is not Abraham, it’s Frank. After that I would walk out and yell “Frank!” and he would trot as fast as he could to me. He knew that was his name. It didn’t hurt that he always got an alfalfa cube when he came to me.  

After I owned him for about six weeks, we took him to the vet to have a check up and get his teeth floated. A tooth fell out while the vet was working on his teeth. The vet asked me how old the mule was and I told him 19. He laughed and said he was closer to 40 than 20. He would probably never see 30 again. He asked me how long we had owned Frank, and I told him six weeks. He said he could tell by looking at his feet that his diet had changed a few weeks earlier. He was now getting adequate nutrition.  

A few months later, Frank’s tear ducts stopped up and we had to take him to the veterinary clinic again to have them opened up. Frank never fully regained his health in the 18 months I had him. I always said he looked like he had lived on barbwire and saw briars for the last few years.  

For the next 18 months, we fed him, put corn oil on his feed, and had his feet trimmed and shod. We put him on a worming regime to try and help him gain some weight. He was an extra ride for a smaller person as we tried to not put anyone on him that would be more than he could handle. Frank was always so accommodating and it was as if he knew he had landed in a good place and that we would take care of him. Most of our mules will paw to get out of their stalls, but Frank would paw to get in. 

One morning Frank decided he did not want to leave his stall after he was through eating. When Rickey walked up beside him, Old Frank did a cow kick and hit Rickey on his leg just below the knee. It did not break anything but left a nice bruise. I was glad Rickey was OK, but it was nice to see that Frank still had some feistiness to him. We think that Frank was going blind at this time and Rickey had startled him when Frank finally saw him. Of course, Rickey says I was more concerned about Frank than I was him.  

A few weeks later, Frank started losing weight. He started avoiding the hay feeder and his backbone and ribs were starting to show. We realized that Frank’s life was getting more compromised every day. We realized the time had come to call the vet and put him down. I called the vet and was making arrangements to put Frank to sleep as soon as the snow quit and the ground got dry enough to dig a grave for him. For the next two nights I prayed that Frank would just lie down and go to sleep. I guess there is truth in the saying “be careful what you wish for.” It was snowing the next morning when we went out to feed the mules. Old Frank was not at his stall wanting to be fed. After Rickey fed, he went to look for Frank. My prayers were answered. Frank was lying down in a little clearing by some trees and  during the night  had passed away. There was where he took his final breaths. Rickey got the tractor and moved him to the grave site. I kneel down and kissed Frank’s cheek and told him goodbye. He had been a sweet old mule. 

So, although I mourn his passing I know he will never suffer again and that for the last few months of his life, he was loved, fed and taken good care of. 

Goodbye, Old Frank!