I've wrestled back control of what Jack insists on calling my "blob", and just in time, too. You won't believe what has happened. Actually, if you are a regular visitor here you won't be surprised in the least.
Saturday morning the woman came out to chambermaid our rooms and announced that she and the male human and Jamie (our minder when they are away) and Mosby's human, Emi, had been invited to Willy donkey's house for the day. Then she casually mentioned that I was also invited but that there was no room in the vehicle. Preposterous - I have a metal box on wheels parked right outside the paddock, and I prefer to travel solo in any case. She is simply mean-spirited and intent on keeping me away from any sort of situation that might provide a donkey with a pleasureable few hours.
Of course THEY had a wonderful time and were toured about and wined and dined and generally treated like honoured guests - of which I should have been one. Willy's place is called "The Moose's Roost" and is a superlative retirement facility for a small number of lucky horses. It is also home to Willy and his mother Roberta (Bert) and to Molly and Marble donkey. They toured the humans around their paddock and summer house and gave a rousing and sometimes physical display of how to extract treats from a many-sided ball thing called a Nose-It. Willy has it down to a fine art and forces the thing to expel treats in all directions. He is not terribly keen on sharing said treats. Occasionally his mother or one of the other donkey ladies fires off a hind hoof in his direction, Willy bellows and it begins all over.
Willy's human, Joan, and her friend Marlene were responsible for arising at the crack of dawn, motoring over to Mosby's and Emi's place on the day of my party/fundraiser and extracting considerable monies for the 50/50 draw. They were key to the success of the venture and I commend them for their stellar effort in helping the PrimRose donkeys.
I know THEY wanted me to be included in the visiting party. The blame must be laid in it's usual place - directly at the grotty feet of Herself, who wouldn't know a breach of etiquette if it bit her on the ankle.