For who could ever learn to love ... a beast?

This post went through one bazillion incarnations in my head, and the whole time I was trying to plot it out I was like, “It shouldn’t be this hard to think of reasons I’m not an asshole.” Finally, I just gave up and asked people to write reasons for me. Five people. Five reasons. And then I sat at the breakfast table with Amy -- who has known me since we were children -- and watched her wrestle the question for like 15 minutes, tracing and re-tracing the words “Heather Anne is not an asshole because” over and over again. So I scrapped that plan and decided to make a video, which I’m not going to tell you about because I’m still going to make it; I just haven’t had time because of stuffing my face with tasty, tasty America’s Birthday treats.

So now it’s Tuesday morning and I’m staring down a blank page and the number one reason I’m not an asshole is howling at the front door, because somewhere in the next county over, a nut fell off a tree and traveled down the creek until it landed on a bank where it was picked up by a squirrel who carried it up a tree and put it in his nest. And My Freaking Beagle smelled the whole thing. And she’s undone about it.

Why am I not an asshole? Because only the kindest, most patient person on this earth would willingly take in Satan’s own house pet, and fork over hundreds of dollars in veterinary bills every time she eats through a wall.