It all started with a thud. One windy day, our backyard transformed from a quiet corner into a disaster zone when a mighty old oak tree, once the pride of our landscape, fell with a crash. It lay there, trunk and branches sprawled across the ground, roots sticking out like the hair of an ’80s rock star.

A mysterious hole.

Local wildlife immediately took a liking to the tangle of roots, clearly intending to throw a housewarming party and add to the unauthorized zoo in our yard. Where the roots had been, a mysterious hole gaped, beckoning curious explorers. The children were planning to play gold diggers there, but fortunately, we managed to catch them in time. The dog, clearly possessed by the spirit of Indiana Jones, dove headfirst into the abyss. It took a few treats, a rope, and some encouraging words to save our furry explorer from what would undoubtedly become a legend in the dog district. And yet, we still had to emerge, covered in mud and dirt, unrecognizable. Grimy and scratched, we rejoiced, the dog yelping with enthusiasm and gratitude, licking us. Later that evening, armed with questionable night vision, I went to get some sound sleep in my domain. Where did that root come from? It leaped out of the darkness and struck me right in the eye, leaving a black eye worthy of a boxer. The neighbors asked, “What happened?” and I replied, “A tree root in the dark. Don’t ask.”

But the real adventure began later. Immediately after the colossus fell, my wife called a tree removal service, and they chopped the trunk down for firewood. A neat woodpile lay in the corner of the property, pleasing to the eye. The backyard looked better. So I decided to save a little money and remove the stump myself later. My wife, a saintly woman, shrugged, but out loud expressed confidence in my lumbering skills. I delightedly imagined how deftly I would deal with the disturber of the peace and delayed my sweet revenge. The universe, as always, had other plans.

Troubles multiplied, the stump stuck out, and a black eye bruised my pride and self-esteem. In the moonlight, against the starry sky, the stump’s roots looked exactly like the tentacles of a Kraken attacking the masts of a swing set. Several more misfortunes befell members of our family. Knees covered in scabs. Foreheads in bandages. A baseball lost in the dark throat of the Kraken. Eventually, the whole family became enraged by this ugly natural sculpture. “Remove the stump immediately! Chop it!” they shouted. I was strong, I was brave, and oh yes, I could handle the stump. Bravado-filled, I grabbed the axe and set out to finish off the offender once and for all.

However, the roots proved as hard as diamonds. Swing after swing, the stump mocked me. I hacked with all my might and only chipped off splinters. In three days, I chopped up a pack of excellent toothpicks and was completely exhausted.

When axes fly.

In one epic moment, my axe flew from my powerful hand, soared majestically into the air, and landed with a crunch on the hood of the family car. The car, previously undamaged, now bore the imprint of my lumberjack ambitions. My wife watched me silently. Alas, the stump had proved stronger. I considered running away and joining the circus.

A professional decision.

After surveying the aftermath of the massacre—a black eye, an injured dog, a wrecked car, and an intact stump—I came to a profound realization. Stump removal is a job for professionals. They have the tools, the skills, and, most importantly, the insurance. And now, to my headaches and tired muscles, I’ve added auto body repairs, therapy for my dog, and a therapist for my wife.

Moral of the story.

So, the next time a tree falls in your backyard, remember: dogs dive into holes, roots attack in the dark, axes can fly, and stumps are stronger than they look. Don’t risk your roots, bones, or your car—consult the professionals—they’re much more reliable!