I don't know how socialites do it. This party planning is exhausting. I have a team of humans labouring practically round the clock and still I'm worn to a frazzle. Just hearing about the preparations saps my strength.
They have rented some fascinating boxes called porta-potties for the guests, which seem to be a sort of equivalent to the box Violet uses as her washroom facilities. I must look into this further - but not too closely, if you take my meaning. The woman has told me not to stare at users as they come and go because it makes them uncomfortable. So many things for an inquiring donkey to remember. Especially as I like to stare for long periods of time.
Auction items are pouring in - art work of various schools, prints, jewellery, garden ornaments, books, food (for various species), gift cards, the two small, rare bears, purses, and many other wonderful things. The line-up of tables laden down with donated items should stretch nearly to the border at this rate.
There was a bit of a fracas between Ben and Jerry, which has resulted in part of Jerry's mane going missing. It remains to be seen how their humans will handle the situation. The boys aren't really too bothered - their party spirit is unquenchable. The woman has been combing away at my coat, to no avail so far. I refuse to shed a hair until the summer solstice arrives and that is that. Can't be too careful. If it can snow in May, anything can happen.
Herself may attempt some baking at the end of the week. This should prove interesting. She is famous for her misshapen cakes and geometrically challenged squares. I will report on her failings.