February 24, 1999
Busy time with working on the Y2K problem for Hillsborough County and goin to school!
I heard a couple of good Vermont stories on PBS a couple of months back:
The story of Bucky.
Now Bucky was a real mule fancier, living in the mountains of Vermont. One day he was walking past a farm and saw a beautiful white mule like he had never seen before. “I must have that mule,” Bucky said to himself, and approached the old Vermont farmer to dicker. After a while, they agreed upon a price of $250. Bucky paid the farmer and told him that he would be back on Wednesday to pick up the mule. On Wednesday morning, Bucky showed up at the farm but the mule was nowhere in sight. “Where’s the mule?” Bucky asked the farmer. “Well,” said the farmer, “he up and died right after you left. At first, I felt awful about it, then I remembered that you had bought and paid for him so it was your mule that died, not mine.”
Bucky reckoned that the farmer was right and he decided to take the mule even if he was dead. So the farmer dug up the mule and Bucky took him away. Pretty soon Bucky had put up posters all over town advertising a raffle for a beautiful white mule. Tickets were one dollar apiece. A few days later, one of Bucky’s friends ran into Bucky and asked him how the raffle went. “Real good,” said Bucky, “I sold 500 tickets.”
“You must have had a lot of people angry at you when they found out the mule was dead, didn’t you?