Short Story
The Little Mule that Could “Clip, clop, clip, clop, such a reassuring sound”, Jenny thought as she pulled the plow through Mr. Dawkins’ fields. Jenny could feel the soil beneath her hooves, and the steady beat of her lively heart. Behind her was Dave, the small black boy, who was tasked to lead Jenny through the fields. But she already knew the way; she had done it, day in and day out, for as long as she could remember. From the time she was a little mule, she remembered her parents had done this, day in, day out, and believed she would be subject to the same monotony. She briefly stopped, looking up at the waning sunlight. It was almost time for the boy to leave for the day and go home, and for her to go and eat her bland, boring food. It was all part of the routine, and Jenny knew it would never change. As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Jenny began the long trot back to the stables with Dave, the boy. From there, he detached the plow from Jenny, briefly pets her, and made his way back home. Jenny trudged over to her food of grain and hay, and began to chow down. As she slowly ate the food, Jenny thought about her life, and if it would ever change. She was tired. But not tired of the work she did today, tired of the routine. Every day, right at sun-up, the boy would arrive for another long day in the fields. He would attach the plow to Jenny, and lead her out. From there, she would pull the plow to different sections of the field, and when the sun disappeared, she would be lead back to the stables, the plow would be detached, and the boy would leave. Every single day, this would happen, and it would not likely change. Feeling depressed at the thought of this, Jenny stood up, and trotted outside of the stables. She looked around, at the giant house of Mr. Dawkins, at the pale white fence surrounding the property, at the woods at the far end of the fields. Would she ever be able to escape this place, to explore beyond the gates that barred her escape