Former Jungleland mule had heart of gold
By Dale G. Rickards Special to The Acorn

Dale Rickards

Minnie Poo was coal black mule with "white anklets" and about the size of a Shetland pony. I bought her from neighbor next door to Jungleland in Thousand Oaks in the late 1960s.

Jungleland was closing out, but still had a small herd of camels and, I think, one elephant. I was told that Minnie Poo had been in a clown act with a circus, but she was an excellent driving mule, which is why I bought her.

At that time, Jungleland was known worldwide for buying and selling wild animals. It was also used, at different times, for winter quarters for circuses.

Many wild animal acts were trained there.

Jungleland "made" Thousand Oaks in those days. You could hear the lions and tigers roaring all over Thousand Oaks at feeding time.

The reason I bought her was to use at a small amusement park at Hansen Dam Park. I had a 2/3 scale stagecoach pulled by four little mules, a circus wagon pulled by a team of ponies and other attractions. Minnie Poo pulled a pony-scale buckboard that would haul about eight kids. I also had a merrygoround and a train, and about 15 ponies for a pony ride.

I remember hooking a small bell on her harness. She sure loved that "tinkle, tinkle," (as well as- - at quitting time- - getting to eat the leftover cotton candy.)

During this time period, I had just finished 27 years as a city of Los Angeles policeman. For the last 20 years of my career, I also served as a mounted officer.

Back then, the Horse Detail only worked weekends and holidays. This I liked, as it enabled me to work other details, which encompassed about all of the jobs the department had to offer.

The Horse Detail was at Hansen Dam Park in the San Fernando Valley. My last horse was Smokey, the best horse I ever owned and rode throughout the years. As a mounted cop, you worked all the same crimes as a street cop.

My most exciting and trying crimes happened when I was working as a mounted cop. Looking for crimes between the ears of a horse is quite an experience, and, as in most parks, there was a lot of crime.

I was also working off-duty as a wrangler on "Little House on the Prairie," driving teams and wagons and riding saddle horses. I was one busy guy.

So, I retired from the police department and went into the movie business full-time. I kept Minnie Poo and Smokey, who both became movie stars.

An amazing thing happened about Minnie Poo.

"Riders of the Purple Sage," a country/western band, was shooting a music video at my ranch. In the middle of the shoot, Minnie Poo walked between the camera and the band, stopped, looked at the band, then at the camera, then walked on through. It couldn't have been better if it had been staged, and the shot was left on the video.

The years rolled by and Smokey was 29. I had added a pet pig who ate with the horse and mule. The pig's name was Irma. At feeding time, if there was a slight eating argument, the pig won. Irma, like Smokey and Minnie Poo, was another unforgettable animal.

Playboy magazine also shot on my ranch. One time they used Irma, my pet pig. She was always embarrassed running around naked, though, after that shoot, she could have cared less.

At feeding time one evening, Smokey was sick. I called the vet. In layman's terms, she had a "twisted gut" and wouldn't live until morning. He gave her an injection for pain and left.

I sat behind my barn, out of the wind. It was a cold night and I remembered hearing that California is the only place in the world where you can freeze to death under a blooming rosebush. Believe it. I had a few words with God that night, hoping there's a place in heaven for horses and mules.

I know animals don't have a soul, but some of them sure have a lot of heart.

The next morning I found Smokey, dead, down in a sandy draw. Beside her was Minnie Poo. I buried Smokey on my ranch, but for a week, I had to lead Minnie Poo up to eat because she wouldn't leave the spot where Smokey died.

Two months ago, I went to feed my stock one morning and no Minnie Poo. I knew what I was going to find. Down in that same sandy draw was Minnie Poo. She was still alive, but hemorrhaging. It was early in the morning and it would have taken some time to get a vet out there. I couldn't let her suffer. I went and got my gun.

I've been through two wars: I know what it is to kill. But this was the toughest thing I have ever done.

Minnie Poo was 47 years old when she died. Yes, she's buried with her pals, Smokey and Irma, in my pasture. If tears were silver and gold, I would be a wealthy man.

If I get to heaven, and I'm sure planning on it, I'll find Smokey and Minnie Poo standing in green grass up to their bellies, waiting for me.

Dale Rickards is retired member of the Los Angeles Police Department. He's also a member of the Thousand Oaks Kiwanis Club.