I had found the perfect French gîte, an “ecologique” property on a farm with swings, animals, all sorts of receptacles for sorting rubbish. And a donkey.

A donkey? Apparently there’s a fashion for them in France, I told my partner, David, brushing aside his questions about what it ate, where it would sleep and how we were going to manage it plus our two small children, Peggy, 5, and baby Digby. Donkeys — plus tree houses, tepees and all sorts of other attractions — have transformed the common or garden gîte break into something altogether more exciting for families.

I was determined. Having seen hiking with a donkey advertised, I reasoned that a donkey could mean proper walking because it could carry our stuff and possibly Peggy or even Digby in a pannier. And we wouldn’t have to care for the donkey, which would sleep and feed at the farm.

I also pointed out that the gîte was in the Mayenne, all rolling countryside, serene-looking cows and pretty villages. It would make a change from Normandy or Brittany while still being only a three-hour drive from Calais. The brochures even boasted a balance of his ’n’ hers museums: classic cars at Le Mans and antique lace at Alençon.

Peggy, a veteran of adopt-a-donkey schemes and sanctuary outings, was beside herself with excitement. I didn’t tell her that a French visitor, after shrugging his shoulders at the “donkey craze”, revealed that there was almost certainly a soupçon of âne in the expensive sausage he had brought with him. Instead, I recounted how, when I was about her age, I learnt to ride on a donkey called Star. Thirty years later, I can still remember her seaside belle figure, plonkety-plonk gait and warm neck. I loved the way she smelt of old sofa and preferred her to the temperamental beasts so beloved of the pony club set.

Excitingly, our French donkey was pregnant and in a strange echo of my memories also called Etoile. We were smitten, so much so that the farmers, Daniel and Danielle, moved her into the field next to the gîte, where we spent many evenings stroking her neck, feeding her voracious appetite for windfall pears and wishing she would hurry up and deliver her foal.

Our walks with her followed a familiar pattern out of the farm on a path alongside fields with other donkeys. The jack — father of Etoile’s unborn foal (and four more besides) — would run to greet her, braying enthusiastically. But she took no notice, stolidly keeping an eye on the uneven path, lifting her hooves daintily over stones and barrelling down a small incline. Peggy sat proudly in the saddle, barely wobbling. It all felt faintly religious, Etoile cutting a holy figure, with the cross marking on her back that is a characteristic of donkeys and which some people say first appeared after a donkey carried Jesus into Jerusalem.

Once we reached open country, however, Etoile’s behaviour became decidedly unChristian. Clearly sensing we were a soft touch, she decided she would set her own agenda, meandering between tufts of delicious grass and, on our first outing, finally coming to a halt under an apple tree where she gorged herself, carefully discarding any underripe fruit and spraying us with juice. It was clear she wasn’t going to budge, so we settled down for our lunch, taking in the view and only stirring to fill our plastic picnic tubs with glossy blackberries. These I later stewed to eat with yoghurt, goat’s cheese and organic cider from the farm.

On the days we didn’t walk we visited museums and the nearby village of Fontaine-Daniel, where, despite the rustic setting, there was a smart atelier selling contemporary and traditional woven fabrics (toiles de Mayenne). I was delighted with a silk offcut that I bought to cover a chair and would have rummaged longer had David and Peggy not looked quite so bored.

Swinging through the trees on a forest high-wire course at Domaine de Gasseau was more to their taste. The outdoors centre in the village of St-Léon-ard-des-Bois has horses, and an inspiring kitchen garden and shop, where Digby lurched at rows of brightly coloured tomatoes that were far too knobbly to pass any EU regulations but which, with a splash of olive oil, made a delicious tomato salad.

Leaving our gîte was a wrench, made all the worse by Peggy’s bitter tears when we told her that her favourite farm kitten could not come with us. Luckily there was consolation at home in the form of a birth announcement. Etoile had delivered a healthy foal, a prince among donkeys called Sultan. Organic cider all round.

Need to know:

Chloë Bryan-Brown and family travelled with the Mayenne Tourist Office (00 33 2 43 53 18 18, www.tourisme-mayenne.com) and Eurotunnel (0870 5353535, www.eurotunnel.com), which has one-way fares from £49 for a car and passengers.

Where to stay:

They stayed at Ferme de la Tasse (00 33 2 43 03 01 59, www.bourricot.com/fermedelatasse), which has two B&B rooms from £26 to £30 a night (based on two sharing, including breakfast), and a two-bedroom gîte, sleeping up to five, from £230 to £356 a week.

Family holidays with a difference

Little chefs: Children’s cooking classes with fluent English speakers Nina and Thiery are on offer at Le Mas des Grãs, a family-run hotel in Provence. The two-day courses run on April 3-4, 10-11 and 17-18 and October 9-10 and 30-31. The cost is £33 per child (5-15), including ingredients and lunch. A standard room sleeping up to two adults and one child costs from £56 to £105 a night, room only, or from £53 to £86pp on half board.

Mas des Grãs (00 33 4 90 20 32 85, www.masdesgres.com).

Top tepees: Inspire the children’s imaginations staying in a tepee in the village of Champ du Pin, an hour from Paris. Relax around the campfire while they try archery, dancing and crafts. Mountain-biking, canoeing, riding and kayaking available near by. One night in a 5.5m tepee with three beds, which can accommodate up to six, costs £43 per tepee, with breakfast from £3pp.

Le Bonheur de Vivre (2 43 88 18 08, www.lebonheurdevivre.net) or Sarthe Tourist Office (2 43 40 22 50, www.tourisme.sarthe.com).

Branch out: A new five-berth tree house built into a 200-year-old chestnut tree opens in May at La Renardiãre in Orne, northwest France. The tree house has a main room with a kingsize double bed, sitting area, small kitchen and bathroom. Downstairs, another room sleeps up to three children. One night’s B&B costs £99 for two people sharing. Nominal charge for children.

La Renardiãre (2 33 25 57 96, www. perchedansleperche.com).

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