Is it wrong?
In my world, the moral ending is that my suet basket (above) survived.
There wasn't that much snow this morning, but it was too heavy and sloppy to simply sweep.
So I shoveled. (Considering I sanctimoniously use a push reel mower to mow the lawn, of course, I shoveled and didn't use a blower, for Chrissakes.)
I have the suet feeder in the backyard maple. Near the garage, I was shoveling a final path when I spotted a gray squirrel and not the cuddly neighborhood black one, just a run of the mill gray backyard rodent.
Of course it was trying to gnaw either the basket or the suet block or, knowing those deviant bushytails, both.
Something snapped. In me.
I picked up a wad of snow and it instantly formed a snowball. The next thing I know the snowball had smashed into the tree.
OK, my aim wasn't very good. It wasn't close.
So, I tried again. Or course.
And the furball still clung to the side of the tree, flipping its tail.
I missed the tree. Then came close. Then finally nipped its tail.
At that point, I figured it was time to stop before I clipped it a good one. If that happened, I would fell bad.
That can't happen. I prefer stoking the sweet anger toward the marauders of the backyard.
They'll be back. So will I.