Brittney.
Brittney Beautiful, as I used to call her. She was a Lassie Collie—looked just like the TV dog—and she acted the part too. She watched over us like a second mother. If we were up past bedtime, she’d bark and gently herd us back to our rooms. When strangers came by, she’d place herself between them and us, alert and protective.
Years later, I was reminiscing with my dad, and he told me something that’s stuck with me ever since.
"That was the best dog I ever owned," he said. "If you kids were out and about, and she was with you, I was never worried—no matter what the neighbors said."
She was a good dog. A loving, loyal, watchful dog.
But she didn’t get the ending she deserved.
My grandfather didn’t like her. He thought her protective instincts made her dangerous. That her growls at strangers were aggression, not caution. Despite my father’s reassurance, despite everything Brittney had proven time and again, my grandfather made his own decision. He fed her wet food laced with glass.
She died because he thought he knew better.
It’s a horrible thing to say—but it’s the truth. People should know.
Later in life, my son had two rats with human names: Marshall and Greg. They were heart pets—the kind you never forget. My in-laws didn’t care for them, but they knew better than to interfere. These rats were loved, respected, and safe.
Marshall passed first. He’d grown old, couldn’t groom himself anymore. I knew the night had come. I held him gently in my hands and stayed with him until he passed in his sleep.
Greg followed a few months later. He was slowing too, tripping over his own paws. That final night, he stayed in his hammock. When I came to say goodnight, he didn’t come to me—just gave a soft, sleepy rat ‘hello’ from where he lay.
My son asked if he could hold him. I told him no. “Just give him a pat and let him rest,” I said. “He’s tired.”
I’ve struggled with that choice. I wanted to honor Greg’s peace, his wish to be left in his safe little place. But I still wonder if I should’ve let my son hold him one last time. I respected Greg’s space. But I didn’t know it would be the last goodbye.
And maybe... maybe that was enough. Maybe letting him go in peace was the final kindness.