love beyond death: a pet cemetery story

Hartsdale Pet Cemetery

All photos in this post were taken by yours truly at Hartsdale Pet Cemetery, Hartsdale, New York

It wasn’t about bringing them back from the grave, cursed and possessed, an insatiable thirst for blood. There wasn’t any mystical spell put on the land, somehow dismissing while culturally appropriating Indigenous sacred space. That’s not why I flew across the country, and then drove several hours. It wasn’t about that.

I couldn’t stay long. The cool, sunny afternoon was slowly fading into twilight behind the woods. I illegally parked on private property, waved to the suspicious neighbors like I was totally not trespassing, and hiked my way in. You’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there. It was right off the highway, tucked away, on the side of a hill.

A sign snags my attention as I step through the gates:

“Hartsdale Pet Cemetery. Established 1896.

In 1896, a prominent New York City veterinarian, Dr. Samuel Johnson, offered his apple orchard in rural Hartsdale, New York, to serve as a burial plot for a bereaved friend’s dog.

That single compassionate act served as the cornerstone for what was to become America’s first and most prestigious pet cemetery.”

A veterinarian. In the 1800s. Treating pets in a time when it was difficult to treat humans. Memorializing them in death.

Even now, 130 years later, I can count on one hand the number of pet cemeteries I’ve heard of. This tiny sanctuary, tucked away on the side of a hill, is clearly very special, possibly predating some of the human cemeteries back home.

I walk down the pristinely paved path past tiny headstones with pictures of Pomeranians and Pinschers. Alongside giant family plots with long lists of names. Next to teeny tiny plots reserved for smaller friends. Pine trees dance lazily against the sunny blue sky. Colorful spinning flags windmill rapidly, contributing to the serene surroundings.

Some of the tombstones are heart shaped. Engraved bench stones for visiting. A few scattered mausoleums and giant monuments. One of them holds a tall painting of a cat and dog looking longingly up at a butterfly.

One shady plot is simply marked by a doghouse, sitting at the top of the hill against the wooden fence line, keeping watch over the others.

This is my third cemetery of the day, and it feels by far the most welcoming. It feels like magic. And nostalgia. Tails wagging and wet noses smooshing and long relaxed stretches under the sun.

Cocoa. Eloise. Buddy. Chubby. Meatball.

Fresh flowers and little gifts adorn their graves. Beautifully cared for burial plots claimed by the most heart-wrenching epitaphs:

“You gave us so much happiness.”

“Forever in my heart.”

“He was a good boy.”

“Our beautiful smart girl. Always love you.”

“Forever cherished. Part of me dies with you.”

I know now that these beloved family members were placed lovingly in their graves. They were buried with their toys and their favorite treats and bedding. They were given final scritches in their favorite spot just before they were given to the earth.

May they always rest in peace here, in this community of friendly dead. In this tranquil pet cemetery, tucked away, on the side of a hill.

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This memory is one of my favorites from my travels to the East Coast. I’ve been saving this post for a special occasion. I just spent the past month interviewing for a job in animal death care - this was to be my celebratory post if I received an offer and accepted.

The interview process spanned multiple weeks, ending with a weekend of shadowing and taking care of deceased loved ones. It was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life.

Alas, I did receive the offer, but had to decline for financial reasons. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. It feels like turning my back on my dreams and the Universe, or whatever you believe in, for the sake of pragmatics (yawn).

But I did the thing, and found my calling. I received unlimited support, from friends and family, coworkers at both jobs. An employer who recognized the weight of my decision, and gave me the opportunity to shadow to be sure.

I’m still publishing this post as a celebratory piece. For all the reasons I just mentioned, but mostly because these cemetery stories want to be told. These little (and sometimes not so little) voices should be heard beyond the grave. How can we respond to an unconditional love, that continues beyond death? Through our memories and stories, these sacred spaces, the ultimate tribute of devotion and respect.

I may not have a career in death care just yet. But I can contribute by writing and telling their stories. Holding their hand.. or their paw. Protecting their dignity, honoring their memories.

Walking beside them and keeping them company on a sunny afternoon, in a pet cemetery, tucked away, on the side of a hill.

You can also buy me a coffee if the spirit moves you.