I kill the will to live

I am a mass murderer and my weapons of mass destruction are garden trowels, fertilizer, water and a sense that plants are endlessly thirsty. The plants, that I ignore, thrive and the plants, that I painstakingly nourish, die a slow agonizing death.

A few years ago, I planted a tree in the backyard. The tree was from my grandfather’s land.   While in its infancy, I mowed the tree with a lawnmower. Also my beloved chocolate lab, Nellie, confused to tree with a chew-toy and she stripped the tiny tree of limbs and foliage.  Today, the tree is biggest and healthiest plant in my yard. 

In the front yard, I planted two trees. I watered the trees during the hot months of summer.  I mulched the trees. The trees have been safe from random dog and lawnmower attacks.  Yet if the trees were patients in a hospital, they would be in critical care.  They are barely clinging to life.

Apparently my love crushes the will to live.  I likely need to take a weedeater to the front two sickly trees.  It is their only hope.