“That right there is a mammoth jenny. A female American Mammoth donkey.”

“Is she magic?”

“Nahh. They developed them in the early twentieth century, primarily for mule breeding. She’s a good mount. Good on a trail. She’ll give you a twenty-mile-per-hour gallop in a pinch, but not for long. One thing, though. Most of her kind are sweet. She’s what we call in the business a freak of nature. Smart, stubborn, and ornery.”

“What’s her name?”

“Cuddles.”

Perfect. “I’ll take her.”

The moment I walked Cuddles out of her stall, she turned to face me, stood erect, and put her ears forward. Okay. When a horse was ready to be aggressive, she typically put her ears back. This, I didn’t know. Donkeys were a new territory for me.

“What do the ears mean?”

Mr. Walton shrugged. “Means she isn’t sure about you. Donkeys are stoic animals. They’re not horses with long ears, you know.”

Okay. If Cuddles were a horse, I’d wave the lead at her to make her take a step back. In horse dominance games, whoever moved first lost face. Something told me it wouldn’t work here. “Do you have any carrots?”

Mr. Walton crossed the stable to the front and brought me a large carrot.

“Thanks.” I took one, bit into the top, and made loud chewing noises. “Mmm, yummy carrot.”

Cuddles opened her eyes a little wider.

“Mmm, delicious.”

Cuddles took a step forward. I turned sideways and tried to chew louder. Cuddles clopped toward me and nudged my shoulder with her nose. I held the carrot in front of her and petted her cheek. She ate the carrot and looked at me.

“Very nice,” Mr. Walton approved. “You’re a donkey whisperer.”

“You got more carrots?”

Two minutes later I packed three pounds of carrots into Cuddles’s saddlebags. He let me have them for free “on account of Cuddles isn’t a horse and I did rent your mare out from under you.” If a herd of giant donkeys crossed our path and needed to be subdued, I had it covered.

I rode out of the stables on top of an eight-foot-tall donkey that looked like she had robbed a Holstein cow and was now wearing the stolen clothes. Robert gaped at me. Desandra made a weird face: her right eyebrow crept up, her left went down, and her mouth got stuck somewhere between surprise and the beginning of the word “what.” Derek’s mouth opened and didn’t close until we came to a halt next to him.

“What the hell is this?” Desandra asked.

“This is Cuddles. She’s a mammoth donkey.”

Derek grinned, leaning on the fence. “Do you have any self-respect left?”

“Nope.”

“I think she’s cute.” Desandra reached out.