Years ago I brought home a pink rose bush and planted it in our back yard by the garage. Everyone else in the family hates it because it hangs out onto our carport, blocking easy access to the garbage cans in the alley. Each member of the family has, at some point or other, begged me to remove the rose bush. Usually such pleas are made after hair has become tangled in a branch, or a shoulder has been scraped on a thorn. When such pain is inflicted on my family, I empathize, patch up, and refuse to remove the offending plant. Here's why:
