Why mules suit me, a Missourian who likes his riding stock to be as down to earth as possible

I'd be willing to bet there's a psychological syndrome that describes that little fantasy world I indulge in in regard to these four cuter-than-all-get-out mules. I think of them as "my mules". In reality, they don't know me from Adam, but I often drive H Highway between Liberty and Excelsior Springs just to see what they're up to. They live in a large field, some pretty cozy digs at that, with a lake, a barn and plenty of room to roam. Today when I drove by, they were close enough to the road so I could get some good shots and they could wonder, "What in tarnation is that damn fool pointin' that thing at us for?" Actually, they seemed as interested in me as I was in them, and I imagine if I walked toward them in a non-threatening manner one of three things might happen: They'd bolt, they'd come closer to see if I had apples in my pockets or their owner would call the sheriff for assistance in removing a trespasser who somehow believed his mules were joint property, at least in a non-material sense. Folks,I know where fantasy ends and jail time begins. But before I go, I want to make the point that mules suit me because a) they're adorable and b) they're low to the ground. Horses are tall and majestic, but the truth is they scare the heck out of me. If I sit on an animal, I want the distance I might fall to be more mule-like than horse-like. I don't know a whole lot about mule temperament, but I do know they're Missouri's official state animal. We Missourians are down to earth and apparently we like our riding stock to be the same way.