"Perfection is terrible; it cannot have children." - Sylvia Plath

Returning briefly to last night's bit about revenge, retribution....
It's a pyrrhic victory. That is, the satisfaction that revenge gives is outweighed by the price the individual pays for the gratification it brings. Revenge is one of the baser motivations and as such takes its own toll on the person. No one ever felt ennobled or enhanced because they exacted retribution. It only reduces me to the level of the one who did me harm.
And I'd make the case that when it's sought decades later that price, the abasement of the avenger, is even greater. Something inside me says, "Could you not have lived another day, another year without ruining this person's life?"

As I mentioned, again in yesterday's post, I dispatched the two roosters I didn't want or need, leaving only Spike to rule over our small flock. I lured all the hens and the other doomed rooster into the coop with some dried corn (candy to a chicken). Spike wouldn't go in, but I figured I could use my stick to separate him from my target, and that plan worked. Target #1 was soon by himself in one corner of the pen.
The selective reduction was carried out by means of a borrowed .38 caliber revolver loaded with shells that, instead of a bullet, have shot just like a shotgun shell. One of those shells took down Rooster #1 in short order. But then the oddest thing happened.
No sooner had he collapsed in a heap than Spike rushed over and began attacking him. Brutally! Pecking, clawing, pecking, and making lots of noise in the process.
I used my stick to get him off my victim and hauled it out of the pen. Then I went to work isolating #2.
Same thing: got all the hens inside the coop via some more corn, with Spike and the condemned out in the pen. This time it took two shots because he jumped at the last second. But the second shot ended it all quickly. And Spike showed absolutely no interest in the dead bird. Huh??
My only theory is that the first rooster, though still an adolescent, was a threat to Spike and his reign, and so got his comeuppance. The second one was at the bottom of the ladder and didn't matter to Spike, dead or alive.
Animals. (More like people than we want to admit.)

The forecast for the coming week is sketchy. Tomorrow will bring showers and winds gusting to 40 mph. Tuesday should be nice, but by Wednesday it begins raining in earnest with one forecast calling for 1.25". So instead of my normal Sunday routine - spending the afternoon in my chair - I went for a slow easy four mile run. Really slow. But now I can eat dessert with a clear conscience.