I say good job, Jeff.
A few years ago, I had a banty rooster charge at me. He had been pecking at my friend's kids when I pulled up in my car. I guess he got tired of picking on the kids and started towards me. I looked around for a weapon. Having had martial arts training, I know a weapon is just an extension of the body. Anyway, I looked around and found a wiffle ball bat and wailed the hell out of that rooster. My friend, a native American, gave me one of the rooster's tail feather to wear to honor the occasion.
Granted, I did not kill the rooster, I just adjusted his attitude. The little dude was lonely. A tornado had blown him in from parts unknown the previous year. The story has a happy ending though. On the same date, exactly a year later, another tornado blew in a chicken and the two settled down and had a long, lovely life together, enjoying the pecking of many small beaks that were the product of their love.