One week ago a fox dared to steal my Silkie family. The white mama who faithfully sat on her eggs from Thanksgiving to Christmas, then tirelessly cared for her chicks after they hatched was outside with her little ones in a pen while we went to church. I was heartbroken when I came home to see feathers where three sweet chickens should be. A neighbor told me he saw the fox strutting up the road with something fluffy in her mouth.

Today I heard the hens causing a ruckus in the coop and went out to find the fox back again, circling the terrified hens. I screamed at her and she bolted, but it took awhile to calm my girls down. The fox had already robbed us of our Silkie family. Yet she had the audacity to come back for more? 

One of the recurring predators in my life is anger. Of course I feel justified, getting mad about a broken dish, or someone keeping me waiting. Anger is the appropriate response. 

Or is it?

When I feed the anger, it only comes back for more.  Why does that surprise me? It is not as if anger has a saturation point.