Hartsdale Pet Cemetery: Part One

Two weekends ago I travelled by Metro North for the first time a little ways upstate to visit America's first pet cemetery, in Hartsdale, NY. None of my friends are as interested in cemeteries as I am (unbelievable), so it was a solo adventure but I didn't mind at all. In fact, as much as I adore all of my friends and explorer companions, there are a few adventures that are better done as solo endeavors and cemeteries just happen to be at the very top of that list. Cemeteries are so peaceful and contemplative, and I don't ever expect anyone to be as fascinated or as willing to spend hours poring over old tombstones as I am.

Harstdale Canine Cemetery and Crematorium was established in 1896, when a New York City veterinarian offered to let a friend bury his dog in his apple orchard. There are more than 80,000 pets buried at Hartsdale, and not just dogs — I also saw headstones for cats, horses, rabbits, birds, and monkeys. I somehow missed the lion cub, who lived at the Plaza Hotel before coming to rest at Hartsdale, and I'm sure there are other species that aren't easily identified by their headstones.

It is the oldest operating pet cemetery in the world, and the only pet cemetery listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It's also the weirdest, saddest, funniest and most surreal place I've ever been. It was somehow exactly what I expected, yet so much more — it's kind of difficult to find words to describe how walking the grounds packed with stone after stone bearing names like "Jingles" or "Mr. Whiskers" made me feel, so it's probably just best to let the photos speak for themselves. Speaking of photos, I took so many (of course) that I will be splitting them into a few posts.

The first thing that hits you upon entering Hartsdale (besides how well-manicured the grounds are) are the names. If you missed the iron gate spelling out "Canine Cemetery," you will know as soon as you read the first tombstone that you're not in a regular "human" cemetery, but instead in a place where "Muffins" and "Buttons" are the norm. I didn't see any Mozarts (thankfully) but I did see a few "Sweet Peas," which is what I call Mozart most days, so those immediately caused me to tear up.

I noticed a lot of the classics — Fluffy, Rags, Spot, Sport, Rusty, Lucky, Sparky, Jingles, Princess and Pal, as well as a Grumpy, Lumpy, Souffle, Mignon, Fajita, Fudge, Winkie Barrymore, Mr. Thomas and (my favorite) Freckles Rutherford.

There was at least one Whiskers and one Mr. Whiskers, along with Snoopy, Woodstock, Lassie, Scooby, Petey, Morris, Bambi, Charlie (and Charlotte) Brown, Tweety, Toto, Lady AND the Tramp.

Gilmore Girls fans might understand my sadness at the Cinnamons and the Chin-Chin (no Paw Paw), and there were more than a few sequels including Muggsy I and II and Little Tinker and Tinker Too. I also paid my respects to Sam the Siamese, Jellicle Cat, Skimbleshanks, Buttons, Bows, Patches, Tinky, Toodles, Spuds, Sprouts and Fat Willie.

I even came across a simple stone with "Allie, My Love, Our Girl," which was the first time I'd ever seen my name carved into a tombstone before, so that was weird for me. I say Harstdale was a weird place because I've never been somewhere before that made me feel such conflicting emotions, and the names were a big part of that. I would be on the verge of tears, reading a super sweet epitaph and then immediately start laughing because how can you not when you pass by anything that bears the name Freckles Rutherford? It was completely disorienting in a way, but I was also grateful for the comic relief.

I have been to probably hundreds of "human" cemeteries and not once has any of them made me sad. I'm always fascinated by the history, the typography, the stories and the decay but I've never been the least bit sad or depressed being surrounded by the dead. Hartsdale was different though, in nearly every way, from any place I've ever been and it really hit me hard to be bombarded with row after row of departed animals.

Maybe it's because animals are so helpless and unconditionally lovable, or because I love Mozart like the kid I don't (or may never) have, but Hartsdale wins the distinction of being the first cemetery to actually make me cry. And then, of course, laugh because I am a human who will never not laugh at a name like Winkie Barrymore — may he rest in peace.