Ah, there is nothing like walking into a sunbeam lit kitchen and grabbing that hot percolator off the stove. THe sheep are on the hill, the horses are swishing their tails by their gate, and the whole day of writing, archery lessons, and design work is ahead of me. I can lean back against the kitchen county, take my first sip of Heaven's sweet mana, and take in a deep whiff of rotting corpses. Mmmmm. Farm life.
So the critter that killed and stole 44 chicks in one silent death raid is taken care of. He or she is now rotting in the crawl space under my kitchen. I wish it wasn't so, but in all honesty it isn't that bad. It's the not-so-sweet smell of victory.
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