There are definitely days when it's not so fun to live in the country.
Like when some joy-riding kids bash in your mailbox with a baseball bat just because they can.
Or when you have to find someone to bury your dead horse.
Or a neighbor has 14 dogs all tied up in the back of his double-wide and 6 vehicles, tractors, trailers and misc. engine parts strewn in the front.
Or when your dogs kill a coyote pup and the mother, unable to successfully fend off the attackers, howls and wails in mourning for her baby (then returns that night to cry again for 2 hours).
I've never reveled in the killing of varmints. I don't take pleasure that dead raccoons or possums or skunks won't be raiding my bird feeders or cat food any more. I've come to accept it, tho, as nature's way since I know the instinct in our Catahoulas is strong, and they're just doing their job, proudly protecting our property from encroaching critters. Still, when the fallen victim resembles a pup like any other, it's not so fun.