Who steals a tree, honestly?

Looking out my window at thirteen past eleven on a Tuesday night I observed two shadowy figures making off with the fire maple sapling which had been specially ordered and delivered to me not six hours prior for a not insignificant sum of money. I lifted the glass, leaned out into the night, and shout my apt accusations at the lightfooted larceners.

“Stop, tree-thieves!” I repeated myself for emphasis. “Tree thieves!”
I heard the sound of another window opening on my left. It was my neighbor from one house down.
“Why are you shouting about tea leaves into the darkness at this hour? Have they misbehaved and been sent from pantry out onto the lawn to think about what they’ve done?”
“I’m not shouting about tea leaves, incorrigible or otherwise. I’m shouting “tree-thieves”, as there are two demons of the night making off with mine.”
“Tree-thieves, you say?”
“How does one steal a tree? Aren’t they rooted in the ground, one with terra firma as it were?”
“Certainly that is the normal way of things, yes, however, this particular piece of flora had been delivered to me just today, with promises from its deliverer that it would planted the following morning.”
“If it’s not in the ground is it still considered a tree? Would it be more accurate to say you’re afflicted by lumber thieves?”
“It’s not lumber, nor firewood, nor snag while it still lives, and that tree, my tree, which is currently being tree-napped by a no doubt unsavory lot of miscreants, is most certainly alive.”
“What do you suppose they want with it, anyway? It seems odd, stealing a tree, seeing as they’re all around us. One would think if there were a market  for such stolen trade, the forests would be rife with holes and upturned earth.”
“I really don’t care one bit about why said bandits are making off with my tree, nor if the market, black or otherwise, has demand for it. I only care that it’s been taken. Now if you’ll excuse me, I will be ringing the authorities. Good night!”