Some neighbors are having their dense, quarter-mile-long hawthorn hedge pruned back. It's a thankless task, considering that it's full of long, sharp spikes. As I was driving by toward the end of the day, I saw a tired-looking landscaper trudging back to his truck and stopped to sympathize.
He was sweaty and pretty scraped up but still cheerful.
"Whoever planted this should be shot," he said, his grin making it obvious he was just kidding. "No. Whipped first, then shot."
I remember who planted it, but my lips are sealed.
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