The essence of Beckett
Our special little creature, Beckett, had one truly defining moment in the weeks we tried to mend his poor mind.
Meg's been known to leave things on the stove. She'll cover it, sure, but Beckett is resourceful.
She made some Kraft Dinner one night, and while you may think you know where this is going, it has a twist that is pure Beckett. I'd just come home from eating at The Keg with my family to celebrate my brother's time in the Brier. I'd brought a bag with a cut of prime rib that my father hadn't been able to eat, and I set it on the stove next to the KD.
In the minute it took me to say my greetings, Beckett had snuck in, and went after the prime rib. This is no surprise, but there wasn't any place for him to sit on the stove. What to do?
Beckett Logic was a remarkable thing. We found him with his front end in the Keg take-out bag, and his back end in the macaroni. He had removed the lid to make room for himself, and cheerfully settled his ass in the pasta.
This morning hit us with the painful proof that while we could heal his tail that he had savaged over a month ago, his mental state was never going to improve along with it. He would live either in a state of unnatural sedation, or constant panic and misery.
I can't express in words how lucky we were to know him. I can't even imagine the past 3 and a half years without him, and the thought of the future without him is the only thing that tempted my selfish nature to hold onto what was left. In the end, we set him free, and I will accept what grief I must to give him the peace he deserved.
I don't use LJ much, but I wanted to thank those of you who offered such kind words through my wife's journal in these past difficult weeks. It means a lot to us.
Meg's been known to leave things on the stove. She'll cover it, sure, but Beckett is resourceful.
She made some Kraft Dinner one night, and while you may think you know where this is going, it has a twist that is pure Beckett. I'd just come home from eating at The Keg with my family to celebrate my brother's time in the Brier. I'd brought a bag with a cut of prime rib that my father hadn't been able to eat, and I set it on the stove next to the KD.
In the minute it took me to say my greetings, Beckett had snuck in, and went after the prime rib. This is no surprise, but there wasn't any place for him to sit on the stove. What to do?
Beckett Logic was a remarkable thing. We found him with his front end in the Keg take-out bag, and his back end in the macaroni. He had removed the lid to make room for himself, and cheerfully settled his ass in the pasta.
This morning hit us with the painful proof that while we could heal his tail that he had savaged over a month ago, his mental state was never going to improve along with it. He would live either in a state of unnatural sedation, or constant panic and misery.
I can't express in words how lucky we were to know him. I can't even imagine the past 3 and a half years without him, and the thought of the future without him is the only thing that tempted my selfish nature to hold onto what was left. In the end, we set him free, and I will accept what grief I must to give him the peace he deserved.
I don't use LJ much, but I wanted to thank those of you who offered such kind words through my wife's journal in these past difficult weeks. It means a lot to us.