My father, in the course of a not-very-corrupt life, spent a short time as an announcer for a traveling chimp show. No kidding: it was kind of a lark, but still a real job. It yielded, inter alia, this story from his employer, the chimp keeper: one day a chimp got mad at him and bit his finger off and then, in horror and remorse, tried to to push it back on again.
For absolutely no reason, I find myself mulling this New Year's about issues of hard-wired bloody-mindedness, of impulsive violence, of remorse.
Season's Greetings to all of you as you observe the beginning of the new year or other relevant time unit, if any. And watch your fingers.