Anonymous Poster
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- Sep 27, 2005
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I’ve driven past this place several times a week for the last few years. I only just learned that it was a final resting place for beloved pets. The small crosses and headstones are visible from the road, but it never dawned on me to ask why they were so small. Just one of those things that I wondered about but never pursued an answer to until now. I never have been much of a believer in ‘pet funerals’, and never could understand why anybody would go to the trouble and expense.
Today, having some time on my hands, I stopped to visit this cemetary. I’ve lost pets before, and they were always buried somewhere on the property. In fact, yesterday, I was standing near the very spot where Dolly, my daughter’s little mutt dog was buried last year. It was the one place I could find that would make an adequate grave site and where the ground wasn’t crisscrossed with roots or other obstructions. The point is, I was standing right there, and Dolly never crossed my mind. Not the fact that she was the friendliest little thing you could ever hope for in a dog. Or the fact that she was the best rat catcher I have ever seen, and that includes two useless cats. There was nothing there to indicate that I was standing near hallowed ground. No reminders. There should have been.
After she was bitten by a coral snake, I buried her myself, with no ceremony. I was thinking that it would be easier for my daughter to not know when, how, or where Dolly was interred. I figured it was enough for her to suffer the loss without all the gory details. I learned today that I may have made a mistake. Not just on my daughter’s account, but on Dolly’s.
As I wandered past the tombstones, and engraved crosses I was struck by the detail that went into some of the markers, short biographies, intimate information on the deceased pet, sun bleached collars, leashes, ID tags, feeding bowls, for anything from ducks, and parakeets, all the way up to great danes. Photographs, encased in weather proof glass frames, adorned some of these grave sites. Even the occasional trophy, or blue ribbon, declaring that this particular pet was more than just a pet. This pet was a somebody.
While at the pet cemetary it occured to me that I could feel the loss of these other pet owners, and suddenly I got it. These folks wanted a place that was special, a place to put a special being that brought them love and comfort and happiness. Even if they had to pay for that privilege.
Dolly loved the hog pens. She was tutoring herself in the fine art of hog management, dog style. Nothing that we tried to teach her, just something that she aspired to on her own. It just happened to work out that she is buried near there. She was no master hog dog, or trophy or blue ribbon winner. Dolly’s accomplishments were few and fairly unremarkable. But she was loved nonetheless for that.
By this weekend I plan to have a fine cross, engraved with Dolly’s name and a few other endearments prepared. A sturdy one that will stand the test of time and weather. This weekend we, even if it’s just my daughter and I, will have a ceremony. The next time I am standing near that spot I will remember her, and I will miss her. It's no less than she deserves.
Some may say that it may be a mistake to bring back the memory, to dredge up the hurt. I feel that it is a necessary thing to do. For Dolly. For her memory. She has a right to be remembered. Even if she was only a ‘somebody’ to us.
Today, having some time on my hands, I stopped to visit this cemetary. I’ve lost pets before, and they were always buried somewhere on the property. In fact, yesterday, I was standing near the very spot where Dolly, my daughter’s little mutt dog was buried last year. It was the one place I could find that would make an adequate grave site and where the ground wasn’t crisscrossed with roots or other obstructions. The point is, I was standing right there, and Dolly never crossed my mind. Not the fact that she was the friendliest little thing you could ever hope for in a dog. Or the fact that she was the best rat catcher I have ever seen, and that includes two useless cats. There was nothing there to indicate that I was standing near hallowed ground. No reminders. There should have been.
After she was bitten by a coral snake, I buried her myself, with no ceremony. I was thinking that it would be easier for my daughter to not know when, how, or where Dolly was interred. I figured it was enough for her to suffer the loss without all the gory details. I learned today that I may have made a mistake. Not just on my daughter’s account, but on Dolly’s.
As I wandered past the tombstones, and engraved crosses I was struck by the detail that went into some of the markers, short biographies, intimate information on the deceased pet, sun bleached collars, leashes, ID tags, feeding bowls, for anything from ducks, and parakeets, all the way up to great danes. Photographs, encased in weather proof glass frames, adorned some of these grave sites. Even the occasional trophy, or blue ribbon, declaring that this particular pet was more than just a pet. This pet was a somebody.
While at the pet cemetary it occured to me that I could feel the loss of these other pet owners, and suddenly I got it. These folks wanted a place that was special, a place to put a special being that brought them love and comfort and happiness. Even if they had to pay for that privilege.
Dolly loved the hog pens. She was tutoring herself in the fine art of hog management, dog style. Nothing that we tried to teach her, just something that she aspired to on her own. It just happened to work out that she is buried near there. She was no master hog dog, or trophy or blue ribbon winner. Dolly’s accomplishments were few and fairly unremarkable. But she was loved nonetheless for that.
By this weekend I plan to have a fine cross, engraved with Dolly’s name and a few other endearments prepared. A sturdy one that will stand the test of time and weather. This weekend we, even if it’s just my daughter and I, will have a ceremony. The next time I am standing near that spot I will remember her, and I will miss her. It's no less than she deserves.
Some may say that it may be a mistake to bring back the memory, to dredge up the hurt. I feel that it is a necessary thing to do. For Dolly. For her memory. She has a right to be remembered. Even if she was only a ‘somebody’ to us.