Each day the farmer would marvel at the work his mule accomplished in the fields—plowing the soil, pulling wagons, removing stumps, and generally contributing to the welfare and efficiency of the farm.
Then the farmer had an idea: “If I wasted less money on grain and oats to feed the mule, I could increase the efficiency of the farm exponentially.”
So he decided to cut the daily portion of the mule’s feed by one quarter. The mule still went to work on the reduced rations, pretty much as always, though with some extra words of encouragement from the farmer. In all, the mule seemed to adjust to the change with little or no sign of discomfort.
And so the farmer persisted with the new regimen for an entire week.
Then the farmer had another thought: “Since my first adjustment went so well, and I’m saving all this money on feed, why don’t I eliminate even more wasteful expense, and reduce the mule’s feed by an additional quarter?”
And so it was done.
For the first day on the new diet, the mule seemed a little angry and sluggish, but he eventually got the usual work done.
The farmer continued to have ideas about efficiency. Week after week, he made adjustments, till finally one day, he went to his barn to feed the mule. He entered the barn carrying his handful of grain to feed directly to the mule out of his hand. When the farmer entered the stall, the mule looked at him, looked at the handful of grain, looked back at the farmer—and proceeded to topple over, dead on the spot.
The farmer, in amazement and frustration, exclaimed, “Damn! Just when I had him trained!”