Later that afternoon, just before dinner, Eileen took a walk around the outbuildings of her ranch. She always derived a feeling of solid satisfaction from these walks and from looking at the evidence of material progress she and her late husband had made. The ranch had been only a tumble-down main house and a rat-infested barn when they had bought the place, almost fifteen years ago and shortly after their marriage. It had taken a lot of hard work but they had built it into a thriving enterprise and she knew the trim, spic-and-span buildings reflected success and prosperity.

Eileen turned the corner of the barn and came upon Doreen sitting on an upturned bucket and gazing intently into the corral. Looking that way, she saw Jackson, one of the burros they kept around the ranch for pack trips. An obstinate but sturdy little gray creature, he could be depended upon to eat anything left lying around a campsite and could empty a foodbox quicker than any group of cowboys she had ever known. Jackson stood placidly in the corral and nibbled at a few wisps of hay. Eileen walked closer to the woman, who stared at the burro as if she had been put into a trance; she was standing only a couple of feet away from Doreen before the woman turned to notice her. Eileen saw that her cheeks were flushed a deep hue of red and that she was highly agitated.

"My God, I'd always heard that about donkeys but I never really believed it!" Doreen whispered.

"What?" Eileen asked, seeing only the obstinate troublemaker she had always known. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"That cock! Look at that cock hanging down from his belly!"

Eileen looked and had to suppress a giggle. As Doreen had said, Jackson's prick was indeed hanging from his scruffy gray belly. The instrument was dark-brown and drooped limply for about a foot. Doreen's hotly flushed face and bright, glinting eyes suggested that she found the sight exciting.