Some animals tiptoe quietly into your life.
Yuki arrived like a spark—bold, curious, and utterly herself from the start.
We chose her name just days after her birth: Yuki, meaning both snow and courage in Japanese. It fit her perfectly—while the snow had only just melted away, it was her courage we felt most. She met the world with bold curiosity and a quiet sense of self. From day one, she lived life on her own terms. Make no mistake—Yuki decides when she’s had enough attention. She’s not rude about it, just honest. It’s one of the many reasons I admire her.
Her first year wasn’t filled with training sessions or big expectations. Instead, we focused on bonding—on building a quiet understanding of one another. About once a month, I’d slip on a halter and we’d work on the basics: leading, picking up feet, yielding to pressure. Just enough to get her thinking, but never enough to overwhelm.
She is the first mule I’ve ever owned, and talking with seasoned mule folks, I quickly learned something: you get one chance to do it right. Mules don’t forget—so you’d better make it count. That meant slowing down, being present, and showing up with consistency and care.
As she’s grown, Yuki has started to show more of her softer, more playful side. She’s a character—snuggling her head into my chest one moment, then snatching gloves, twine, or treats from my pockets the next. She keeps me on my toes and always makes me smile.
Spook, the wise old soul of our herd, has taken Yuki under his wing—her teacher, her protector, her enforcer of herd manners. In those early months, when Yuki was still small and learning her place, Spook kept the bullies at bay. Now Yuki is big enough to stand her ground, but she still looks to Spook when the world feels uncertain.
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🌾 Pasture Reflection
> Some of our greatest teachers come wrapped in long ears and stubborn streaks.
Yuki may be young, but she’s already reminding me:
Connection comes before correction.
And curiosity is its own kind of courage.