Pet cemetery helps owners with their grief

When my friends Bonnie and Mark lost their beloved dog Wolf to lymphoma, they had her cremated at Pine Ridge Cemetery in Dedham. Wolf was a big, beautiful German shepherd, black with tan markings, whose name belied her gentle nature. A few days later when the Breslins went to pick up her ashes, they were startled to see a large plastic container with the name "Wolf Breslin" written on it. It's a sight you never want to see.

"I opened it up and I expected to see black-and-tan ashes," says Bonnie, who realizes the notion was irrational. She was impressed by the staff at Pine Ridge. "It's a beautiful place, and they didn't make you feel like an idiot for crying."

Which made me wonder about this place that is the repository of so much love. So I took a tour with caretaker Mike Thomas, who has been there 37 years. Pine Ridge, which celebrates its 100th anniversary this month, is the oldest continually operating pet cemetery in the country. It is run by the Animal Rescue League of Boston and covers 28 bucolic acres.

Thomas walked me through the historic section, where Admiral Richard Byrd's dog Igloo is buried. "He was more than a friend," reads the tombstone of the toy fox terrier. Another tombstone, belonging to Lucky, reads: "We Will Love You Forever. Mommy and Daddy."

A large statue of a dog stands in proud tribute to "the many dogs that have given their lives in service to men." A Boston police horse, Prescott, is buried here, the lead crowd-control horse during the turbulent school busing days. "Never in the history of the Boston Mounted Police has there been a nobler steed graced with poise and stout-heartedness," reads the inscription.

Then there's the plot belonging to Lizzie Borden. Not for her parents, for her dogs: Donald Stuart, Royal Nelson, and Laddie Miller. On the 100th anniversary of her infamous 1893 trial, Pine Ridge was flooded with people from all over the world.

"She has a cult following," says Thomas. "She was the O.J. [Simpson] of her time." Though acquitted of killing her parents, Borden was widely considered guilty of the ax murders. Her pets' tombstone is an exact replica of that belonging to her parents, who are buried in Fall River.

More than 10,000 pets are buried at Pine Ridge, each of them a beloved piece of someone's life. Today, it costs $550 for a plot and a "burial box," or casket. "If you want a monument, you go get it," says Thomas, who has four cats of his own.

In the newer part of the cemetery are row after row of neat tombstones. Thunder and Shiner are buried side by side. A Lhasa apso, Thunder's likeness is carved into the stone with a gold leaf halo over her head and the words, "My little angel. O, for one of those hours of gladness." On the back is a Mark Twain quote: "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." Shiner the collie also has his likeness and a large red heart engraved on his stone: "Sweet and beautiful." Some graves are still decorated with Christmas wreaths, others with bouquets of flowers. Thomas says people visit the sites constantly.

I've lost a dog and can relate to the love, and to the grief. In some families, pets are the favorite member. It's a simple, accepting relationship uncomplicated by human craziness. It's also a fact that dogs -- if not cats -- are much more human than some people.

One man told Thomas he loved his dog as much as his children. "The dog never borrowed the car or brought it home wrecked," he said. "He never asked for 10 bucks. He just wanted to be fed, patted, and walked."

In his nearly four decades there, Thomas has heard and seen it all. People who bury their dogs with their leash, favorite toy, a pair of slippers, a spool of yarn. One woman buried her underwear with her cat. "This cat always raided the laundry basket and took her underwear," says Thomas. One woman took off her necklace and placed it on her pet. A man buried his dog with his leather bomber jacket. People will recite poetry or play music: "Stairway to Heaven" is a popular one. Once, a man came with his five-piece chamber music ensemble.

Thomas has buried an iguana, an ocelot, rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils, a corn snake, a Yucatan pig, a turtle. He has cremated a cat fish and a puffer fish, hedgehogs, all sorts of birds, a 10-foot python.

But his job is as much counselor as caretaker. Many pet owners, like Bonnie and Mark, arrive in rough shape, heartbroken and forlorn. Thomas took the car keys away from one woman: "She wasn't in any condition to drive." Grown men will sob over their cat or dog.

As I walked through the graveyard, noting the inscriptions, I came across this simple truth, on a grave for Stevie and Sabrina: "If love could have saved you, you never would have died."

Amen. Not long ago, when I experienced a large disappointment, I buried my head in Tucker's fur and sobbed -- not something you'd burden your children with, and my husband wasn't home. When I finally looked up, Tucker began to lick my tears away -- something not even the sweetest husband would do.

Mike Thomas is so right when he describes his job this way: "It's a pet cemetery, but it's a people job. I can't do a thing for the pets, but I can make people feel a little bit better than when they got here."

As for Bonnie and Mark, they are now the proud owners of an eight-week-old German shepherd puppy. Sophie, like Wolf, is black and tan.

Columnist Bella English of Milton can be reached at english@globe.com.