My mules continue to act with eccentricity. Yesterday I mended a hole in their stable floor with two loads of bricks, which I packed down nice and firm, and then went away for a few moments with a feeling of satisfaction. The moment my back was turned they fell to, like a pair of dogs at a rabbit burrow, and scuttled out the whole result of my labours in a few seconds. The madder one gets hung up every night with one hind leg on each side of the dividing rope. This is high up, about level with his shoulder, but he takes high-angle pot-shots at his new enemy on the other side and eventually kicks right over and so gets hung up. His old enemy is still in hospital. In my absence today W. intrepidly attempted to put his cover on, with spectacular results.
[Image – Veterinary Surgeon examining a mule at No 4 Base Remount Depot in Boulogne, 15 February 1918, IWM Q 8531]
Walk March 