She's just shaken off her heaves and settled back into our usual routine and now she tells us she is off to a massive equine affaire in the state of Massachusetts. I believe that's the place where, long ago, they threw all their tea in a harbour. She will either have to drink coffee or pack some tea bags. She is not a very pleasant individual when deprived of tea. She is travelling with a herd of like-minded females and they will take the brunt of her tea-less state if she goes without for a few hours. Just think of a human pinning their ears and wringing their tail and you get the general idea. She says I exaggerate wildly but we all know the truth.
The main goal of this trip is to buy supplies for the PrimRose Donkey Sanctuary. She will use the monies from my Cafe Press line of merchandise and she is leaning heavily on the male human to extract even more funds. I applaud (figuratively, of course) her efforts but was stunned to learn her main purchases will be wormers! Apparently, in her mind, nothing says she cares like the gift of vermifuge. Not snacks, not playthings - wormers. She means well but her taste in festive gifts is wanting.
Jack and I received a warning about our enthusiastic level of play - she called us "wild men". This is all because the other day she saw us stand on our hind legs and lock our front legs together, like two stallions of the plains. She is afraid Jack will fall and break something but the truth is I would probably be the one in traction. Then yesterday we had a wild chase through the trees, reaching approx. mach 3. Jack was dodging and snaking around like a bronco and then he broke into his best elevated dressage trot. I thundered around, making dragon-like noises, flicking my ears and hoofs in all directions. I think that fine British phrase 'gob-smacked" pretty much sums up her reaction. Hehhehheh...
I will let you know when she returns, laden down with vast quantities of wormers. We have given her a list of the things we want but she snorted and said something about hades and snap freezes. I just know we'll all be getting wormers in our stockings this year.
For those of you who requested my e-store address, it's. www.cafepress.com/sheaffer I'm exhausted by the hustle-bustle of the world of commerce and public appearances (well, three so far) but am unswerving in my dedication to Jack, and therefore other donkeys like him. The woman called me a "plucky little soldier" but my ears are large enough to filter out sarcasm when I hear it.