My Choice (Part 3 of 5)

There were many dog walkers who came to the hillside but only this one connected.  He sometimes threw a stick which his dog chased, tail wagging so fiercely that it hit her sides.  After much sniffing, the dog found it and picked it up with her mouth.  The dog ignored his pleads for her to bring the stick back to him.  After all, she must have thought, all he is going to do is throw it away again.  So he stayed stickless.  In our chattering we pondered about which of the two, him or the dog, was the intelligent one.
As the nights grew longer and colder, he stopped more frequently and looked around him more intently.  He connected with me more strongly for it was harvest time and we were the crop.  Groups of people came with their chopping tools and walked amongst us.  Their tools were full of teeth and it made a constant deep growling noise.  Every so often, the growl turned into a sharp, bad-tempered bite.  It lasted only a short time and we all experienced the deep shudder of loss.  Another tree was cut down, wrapped up and taken away for celebration. 
They did not cut down all the trees on the hillside; they made their choices and those remaining were left to grow taller and wider.  My imperfections were helpful in ensuring my survival but my time would come; my flaws would dictate my destiny and it would not be for celebration.  I was fearful of what it could be.