Happy SysAdmin Day, Good Sir! And thank you, once again for a job well-done.
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"When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. "Old longings nomadic leap, Chafing at custom's chain: Again from its brumal sleep Wakens the ferine strain."" -Jack London, The Call of the Wild