In December I prune my rose bushes so they can go dormant for the winter. I also add a systemic food and fertilizer to the rose beds to protect them from insects and mold.  They need this done if they are to be beautiful and healthy in the spring.

Do my roses appreciate the love and care I give them?  I could say that they love me, but that would be a big fat lie. These roses were fully grown when we moved into this house 24 years ago. Now they are old and mean. Seriously.

Their trunks are large and gray as ash. Their branches have thickened over the years and look gnarly. I could deal with this because their roses are beautiful. However, as the years passed by, the number and evilness of their thorns has made pruning a nightmare. Roses are supposed to like pruning, according to my gardening book. Apparently the author never met roses like mine.

This year every rosebush (there are 7), rebelled against me. Even with my thick pruning gloves on I got constantly stabbed. In fact, they grabbed my gloves and pulled me into even more thorns as I was working. It was all I could do to keep on until they were all finished.

I stormed into the house in tears, ripping my bloody gloves off on the way to the kitchen sink to wash my torn up hands.  “I want you to rip out those horrid rose bushes next year!”, I holler at hubby. He is sitting in his recliner working on a crossword puzzle, which BTW totally pisses me off  even more than I was.

Now its February. Winter is not over, and yet the evil bushes are busting with healthy green leaves and microscopic buds. “See?!“, I shook my finger at them. “It was for your own good.”

They had no comment.