The butchers got the message.

I called them butchers. And obscene names.  They are tree-trimmers. Hired by the local public utility. To groom trees close to power lines. To prevent power outages.  But they often over-trim. Yes, literally butcher trees that don’t have to be butchered. Therefore, I insist on being on the scene. When they work on or near my premises. I personally contact the utility company and their contracted tree-trimmers ahead of time. Let me know when you are coming. Call me. Don’t trim until I’m there. Usually, that works. We negotiate. It’s called compromise. But yesterday, they cut. They butchered. Without notification. I was pissed. I cussed ‘em out.  I raised holy hell.  Some tree-trimmers got pissed, too. Because I swore at ‘em. Berated them.  Called them tree butchers. Their records showed they were supposed to call me first. It was their mistake. Yes, I know. I’m supposed to forgive. I apologized for the curse words. And now I’m practicing acceptance. The act is done. But at least the trees are still standing. With fewer limbs. It’s not a life or death situation  But still, I’m pleased to know -- that the butchers got the message. I was legitimately pissed. –Jim Broede