Edna's Diary

Dear Diary,
​
Today, I saw Huckleberry standing there. 
Soft, round, unsuspecting.

​I told myself, “Edna, you are new here. You must resist.”

But then he turned.
And his fluffy sheep bottom shifted ever so slightly.
And, Diary, something inside me whispered, 
"What if… just one little headbutt?"
I tried to walk away.
I truly did.

But before I knew it, I was charging.
Not out of anger…
But out of the need to feel that velvety, wool-wrapped cloud against my forehead.

I understand this is wrong.
Probably.

The humans are beginning to notice things. 
This morning they found wool stuck to the tips of my horns. Again.
They looked at me with suspicion.
I looked away with shame.

Huckleberry is a gentle boy.
Sweet, even.
He does not deserve a life of constant rear-end vigilance.

And yet…When I see him, I lose myself.
My heart says, “Friendship.”
My horns say, “Collision.”

I am conflicted, Diary.
I wish to do better, be better.

Perhaps tomorrow I will restrain myself.
But if I fail…
I hope he understands it is not personal.

It is simply that his derrière is… too soft.

​Deeply conflicted,

Edna