When the bank failed to open its doors that black Monday in 1932, the entire proceeds of our cotton crop was lost. Daddy was forced to sell cows, pigs and everything we could spare -- including our mule Della.
Farm youngsters form attachments to horses and mules and even some cows, and Della was more than an acquaintance -- she was a friend. When she was sold, I, a six-year-old, couldn't understand , and I was broken hearted.
It was several weeks later that a mule came running through our yard and to the lot gate. Yes, it was Della. She had run along highways, across roads and woods and made her way over 15 miles to the place she had known as home. I screamed, "Della came home, Della came home!" My joy was soon smashed to bits as I learned she would have to be returned to her buyer.
For some weeks I lived with the hope that Della would come home again, but of course she did not, and I mourned for her a long time.
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