I think of 'risks' as racing pigeons. Racing pigeons live and die in a maelstrom of risk. They are shot, lost in storms, hunted by hawks, kidnapped by crooks, poisoned by old ladies in the park.
To breed and race a good fancy pigeon requires a lifetime of devotion, expertise, faith, luck...and heartbreak! Many many birds don't make the mark. They're too fat, too weak, poor eyesight, bird flu.
And yet and yet...a champion racing pigeon, like a gambler, more often than not reaches its destination - shot to hell, exhausted, starving, but ahead of the competition. A rosette winner!
And then I wring its neck, pluck and eat it.
