One of my sons ran by, his arms swinging freely, his back unencumbered by baggage. I asked him if he liked Cabeilh. "She's great, Dad," he replied. "But not much of a talker."

By the middle of our third day, the sun was blazing and perspiration was flowing out of my every pore. Walking can be an extreme sport. Another advantage of trekking with donkeys is that they can carry small children on their backs much more easily than we can, and for our 11-year-old it was a special treat.

As we walked near the ruins of a twelfth-century arch, an old man came running down a driveway toward us. "Have you lost a map?" he cried. "We found one."

"When?" asked Antoine.

"About fifteen days ago." That made us laugh.

"Non, monsieur," said Antoine. "We've lost our car."

Sometimes our walk would take us through small villages. We entered the charming town of Maubourguet on market day, walking in the shade of two rows of ancient plane trees with their camouflagelike bark. For as many years as I've traveled, I've always carried a camera and taken surreptitious pictures of the natives as they go about their quotidian life. As we marched single-file down the street, I saw the tables turn as the locals took out their cameras and snapped pictures of us with Cabeilh.

Our first evening at La Flânerie, over a dinner of garlic-and-onion soup, confit de canard with potatoes and tomatoes from the garden, and an orange-flavored crème caramel, Nicole had explained how donkeys are misunderstood. "Because of their strength and patience, for centuries donkeys were considered stupid and stubborn. As the lowliest laborers on the farm, they couldn't be thought to be too intelligent, n'est-ce pas?" I thought of A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which the rude Bottom is mocked by being turned into a donkey.

"The donkey was always there but never noticed," Nicole continued. "Look at the nativity scenes in medieval art: There's one standing in the manger and another carrying the gifts brought by the three kings."

"Up to World War II, no matter how poor he was, every farmer had a donkey," said Jean Louis. "The poorest farmer had only one donkey. The next poorest had a donkey and a cow. The next one, a donkey and two cows. Then after the war, the mechanical replaced the animal. Farmers sold their donkeys and bought tractors. By the 1970s, they were almost extinct in France."

"A few people missed these gentle animals and began to breed them," explained Nicole. Brightening, she added, "Today, all over France donkeys are très à la mode. They are appreciated for their intelligence and their independence."

I was sorry when our trek ended and we had to bid adieu to Cabeilh. I had grown very fond of her. Back in New York, I noticed donkeys everywhere. They were in news photographs of the Middle East, in the title of an Off-Broadway show, and in Dolce & Gabbana ads. I thought again of Queen Titania, who, under Puck's spell, had fallen in love with Bottom. When she awoke, she was overcome by a strange sensation. "Methought I was enamored of an ass," she said.