During the course of a lifetime, one is required to make many choices. The choices onc has to make may be simple or at times they can be very difficult.

During the winter of ’76, I was required to make a choice. The principals involved in this instance were both living organisms: one a creature from the world of animals—a cottontail; the other a species from the world of plants—a forsythia bush.

I was quite proud of this forsythia. I had started it from scratch. A neighbor had given me a bouquet of forsythia in the spring of ’75. When it had 6nished blooming, I planted the branches in my backyard. It had thrived all through the summer, clothing itself with lush green foliage. And then, of course, came fall and eventually winter.

The wintcr was in my estimation particularly generous with snow, intense cold and there had been very little thawing, Day after day and month after month, the world lay blanketed beneath a covering of white,

Subsequently, I discovered that my world was being visited at dawn and at eventide by a rabbit. During his 6rst visits he presented no problems, bouncing blissfully through the deep snow.

One morning, however, I discovered him sitting contentedly alongside my forsythia. He did not appear to be nibbling on it, merely contemplating it. But something seemed to be registering itself in his mind, because he gave the shrub another long look before he took off.

A few days later, I noticed I was missing a few of the lowcr branches of the bush. As the days passed by, my forsythia seemed to be getting smaller. There was no doubt about it, the rabbit was using it for food.

Now, what should I do? Should I take steps to preserve the bush and deprive the rabbit of a food source or just comfort myself with the thought: “It‘s only a small, immature bush. 1 received it at no cost, and it could always be replaced with another for a small fee.”

So, I adopted a policy of watchful-waiting. Waiting produccd further visits by the rabbit and watching provided me with visual evidence that my forsythia would not be long for this world.

Finally, he seemed to have had his fill of the forsythia and showing his gratitude for my having provided him with this much needed delicacy, he left one branch for me to work with in the spring. Really, I thol1ght he was being very gracious. You know, he could have eaten it all, but he did not.

A warm feeling of satisfaction enveloped me. T had been partially responsible for preserving the life of the rabbit and I still had one branch left of my little Forsythia. It isn’t very often in life that you can have it both ways.