Today I did a committal service of (human) remains at the local pet cemetery. Hartsdale Canine Cemetery is one of the oldest of such places, and it's not far from us. Apparently--who knew?--if you have previously interred your pet there, you can have yourself buried there as well, provided you get cremated (at another facility, that is, they don't do people.) One of the gravediggers told me that they have over seven hundred people buried there in just this fashion.
'You can't make this stuff up,' as the saying goes. You sure do 'see it all' in the ministry. As one of my classmates once accused me, riffing on Jerry Seinfeld's critique of his dentist's conversion to Judaism, "I think you joined religious life just for the bizarre stories!"
I was there a few minutes early and so had time to browse around the departed Fluffys and Muffins of this world. Here are a few that caught my eye.
One of many called "my little pumpkin."
I don't know if "Pet" was her name, or if she just lived namelessly for fifteen years. Cats don't know their names anyway.
And maybe you thought he was buried in Egypt! No way!
I also saw a cute mausoleum with various little urns displayed behind a grate, along with a lovely statue of St. Francis. The light wasn't right, though, and I couldn't get a picture.
Discuss what all this means.