Well, apparently the dogs got acclimated to the "Fargo"-reminiscent noise of the wood chipper going at full force, because they did not sound the alarm as the tree-murderers came up my own driveway, until they were actually IN MY YARD. I peeked through my blinds and saw my driveway crawling with strange men and two huge, dangerous-looking, noisy trucks, and just lost. my. um...stuff. Called my husband, called my mom...most certainly gave my mother the distinct impression that I am a incurable lunatic, since 6 months ago I'd have been out there, pajama pants or no, demanding of the Testosterone Tree Crew, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY TREES WHICH ARE ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE PRUNED IN FEBRUARY? AND ON THAT POINT, DO YOU KNOW THE DEFINITION OF PRUNED?!?" As it was, I hid in the house, on the verge of tears and peeking through my blinds until the crew got a comfortable distance down the driveway and I was able to sneak out and take some pictures (Alex had ascertained by this point that the tree service had been contracted by the electric co-op and was cutting trees in our part of the county for routine power-line preventive maintenance, and that there was nothing to be done about it):
From my clever vantage-point, hiding behind the front-yard birdfeeder and using the zoom...
The truck of tree-death. I think I heard them screaming above the din of the chipper.
As they packed up and moved out, I just stood there dumbstruck at the devastation. It was a true "shock and awe" campaign. In short, this morning the driveway up to my yard/house looked like this (well, with only a few blooms left--it is November now):
And this afternoon, I have this:
Lovely, no? Anyway, the moral of the story is this: Watch what you complain about. Oh, well, I guess it could have been worse.