Kristin Kelly Gerlach was hiking in the woods with her dogs when a sudden movement caught her eye. She turned to see the most unexpected creature grazing the spring grasses.

With long ears, a long nose, woolly chocolate coat and the sweetest walnut eyes, she found the animal enchanting. “Those eyes were so gentle, there was a whole peaceful presence about him and I wanted to learn more.”

Like the many Coloradans who did not grow up on a farm, Kelly Gerlach had stumbled upon the mysterious being called a donkey or, in Spanish, burro. This is the same animal dubbed a stubborn ass — from equus asinus — in pop culture. But that’s an unfair label, say donkey owners who praise their pets as intelligent, loyal and affectionate companions.

In practical terms, donkeys keep weeds to a minimum and protect small livestock from predators with a precise kick.

But a growing number of owners say donkeys are more than four-legged lawn mowers. They will hike “off leash” and carry children on their backs; you can race them and teach them to pull carts through obstacle courses.

Smarter and more personable than a horse and just below the threshold of canine character, donkeys are emotional animals who bond for life, and if they earn your trust will do just about anything you ask of them, owners say. They come when you call them and between ear rubs, treats and nuzzles, newbies are smitten.

After centuries of overuse, mistreatment and misunderstanding, these beleaguered beasts are finding the respect they deserve, says Kathy Dean, founder of Longhopes Donkey Shelter in Bennett.

“I like to call them big, overgrown dogs,” says Dean, who has rescued 400 donkeys over the last decade. “But really, the donkey is the New Age equine.”

Discovering donkeys

After her encounter, Kelly Gerlach discovered the animal she met was Jackson, a 29-year-old gelding owned by Dave and Sue Daney, her neighbors in the Sugarloaf area west of Boulder. Dave often turns Jackson loose, he says, because he won’t leave the family, which in this case is two jennets or jennies, Bonnie and Clementine, in a nearby corral.

“We love our donkeys, and for practical reasons,” explains Dave, a retired engineer who just turned 70 and says he hopes never to give up wilderness treks. Donkeys are a solution for seniors who can no longer carry 85 pounds on their backs.

Bonnie, the Daneys’ first packing donkey, showed an impressive sense of self-preservation, Dave says, when she balked at crossing her first creek. Whereas a horse would step right in, “she pawed at the water to see how deep it was — or if there was a crocodile hiding in it.”

He’s since led her through Yellowstone’s belly- deep Snake River, over hills and mountains. “Donkeys will follow once they know who you are.”

As Dave heads to the barn on a cool October weekend to dole out carrots, the herd brays in anticipation of treats. After welcomed scratches on her winter coat, Clementine, the youngest at 6, flops onto her back, rolls in the dirt and kicks toward the sky much like a puppy. Although these critters have a job, they are pampered pets.

“We are hooked,” Sue chimes in.

Inside, the house is adorned with photographs of grandchildren astride donkeys. Even vacations are all about donkeys. This year the couple rented a French donkey, Gaspar, to retrace author Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1878 journey with a donkey across southern France.

A month after meeting the Daneys’ donkeys, Kelly Gerlach adopted two geldings at Longhopes. Cochise and Niwot, both 3, belonged to a rancher who planned to use them as props for cattle roping. Today the brothers live on 4 acres with Misty, a blind Arabian who whinnies if the pair leaves her side.

On a recent fall weekend, Misty is causing a fuss as her companions rush off, feeling frisky in the rain. Much like dogs, one play bows, then nips at the other’s neck. They both rear up and appear to be wrestling.

“I think all animals have something to teach us,” says Kelly Gerlach, a canine-massage therapist. She’s learned that unlike dogs, her donkeys don’t want a pack leader but a partner. And they make terrific hiking buddies.

“They are easy to hike with,” she says. “With dogs, you have to constantly pull on their leash. Donkeys take a nice pace. We call them tourists out here, because they stop to smell the flowers and look around. They make you stop and enjoy life.

“It’s pretty funny when you go walking in the neighborhood with donkeys. Everyone can’t help but smile.”

It’s no surprise people are finding out that donkeys make charming pets, says Marc Bekoff, an animal behavior expert and University of Colorado biology professor. Beneath the passive, low- key facade is a bright, joyful animal that will grieve the loss of friends with a ritual bray.

“Donkey people,” he calls them, are as passionate as most of us are about our cats and dogs.

“Donkeys do want to hang out with people, I hear this all the time,” Dean says. “If you are working in the yard, donkeys will want to help and take your tools.” She’s taught hers to fetch the mail, although they don’t always bring it back.

Racing with donkeys

Ross Keller of Conifer isn’t convinced one can apply human logic to donkeys. But he does feel that donkeys are perfect pets for athletes and he understands life is hard if you don’t play on donkey terms.

Years ago, Keller got a donkey for his wife’s horse. He named her Candy and signed up for his first race. Colorado has several races in mountain towns in which donkeys and humans work as a team.

According to the Western Pack Burro Ass-ociation (their hyphenation), racers may “push, pull, drag or carry the burro,” but no riding. You finish by a nose, and must be attached together by a rope.

After a year of running, Candy decided “there was no force on Earth that would make her run if she didn’t want to,” Keller says. Their last attempt consisted of five miserable hours of cold and rain at 11,000 feet, and a last-place finish.

Keller decided to get a gelding, as males are “more inclined to run for no good reason.” Keller’s new burro partner, Guinness, has proven willing, even eager at times. The team finished a 29-mile course this summer in Fairplay.

Keller and his wife also drive carts with Candy, although one bumpy course sent the couple flying to the ground. “All we could see was our cart disappearing and two ears sticking out of the tall grass,” he said. “It was pretty funny, we walked along picking up our thermos, clothes and food.” Five minutes later, Candy came trotting back with the cart.

Donkeys are rewarding animals, Keller says, especially if you like a challenge — and you have a sense of humor.

Lafayette freelance writer Julie Hoffman Marshall is the author of “Making Burros Fly: Cleveland Amory, Animal Rescue Pioneer,” Johnson Books, $17.50.

Know your donkey

The sturdy, sure-footed beast of burden credited with being a miner’s best friend has lately been redefined as a New Age equine, adopted as a companion to lonely horses and as a trail- worthy pet for people with a little pasture space to spare. Here are some donkey basics.

Jackass (or jack): The donkey’s bad rep is due to the jackass, the testosterone-driven male, which is why donkey owners are big fans of neutering.

Gelding: Castrated male

Jennet (or jenny): Female donkey

Foal: Baby donkey

Mule: Offspring of a jack and a mare (female horse)

Hinny: Offspring of a male horse and a female donkey

Life span: 30 years

Color: Donkeys come in all colors and sizes much like horses, including mixes of brown, white, red and gray.

More information: Visit longhopes.org and www.packburroracing.com.