All of us, at one time or another, have had a pet we loved and lost. If you wish to immortalize your beloved pet in the tombs of cyber-space for eternity, now is your chance.
The Virtual Pet Cemetery is dedicated to those pets who have touched our lives and changed the way we look at the world.
We hope you find the Virtual Pet Cemetery a special place to visit and will consider it a home to all those pets who have left us.
Bear the Magnificent 1988 - 1990
Bear was a 125 lb Bouvier De Flandres. He was what is termed a "serious" dog.
My wife is only 4'5" and has Cerebral Palsy. We lived in L.A. at the time, and one day while I was at work, a car pulled into our driveway and a young gang member type got out and came up to our front door. It was summer time, and the door was open with only the screen door preventing him from coming in. He claimed he wanted a drink of water, but my wife was afraid and said he could get water from the hose but could not come inside. This angered him and he made an attempt to force open the screen.
The inside of the house was dark, especially compared to the bright sunshine outside, and the unfortunate man did not see the massive Bear-Dog sitting at my wife's side! The minute he touched the front screen, Bear went into action. He let out a growl and lunged *through* the screen and onto the intruder. The guy went into hysterics and dashed to the awaiting car and dove through it's open window. Bear was close behind, and with a screech of tires the thirsty visitor departed.
I am sure that my wife would have come to grievous harm had Bear not been there to save her, and for that he has my undying love and eternal gratitude!! It is doubly painfully because when he swallowed the bone that killed him (not given to him by us) we could not save him.
If there is a Heaven for Dogs, then I'm sure he has an honored place there.
Regards,
Lou Duncan
Blackie
Here lies Blackie,
Chased a car,
Caught in the muffler,
Dragged through the tar,
Around the corner,
Across the track,
He might not be dead,
But he never came back.
But if he is,
This I pray,
He's running through green fields,
At play.
Chasing frisbees
Eating Rump Roast round,
Up in Heaven,
Not here in the cold, cold ground.
A Labrador Retriever,
One of the best,
He saved a child,
they put medals on his chest.
Beloved by all,
Especially my niece,
WE LOVED YOU BLACKIE,
REST IN PEACE!
Mickey Huffstetter
Popeye
Been gone for a long time, never forgotten. He was a good ol' boy, born somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Endured a lot of hard times with us, and the good times, too. The old man got him when he was just a tiny pup and Pop hung tough for damn near 17 years. In the end I reckon he just got tired. Deaf, gimpy with arthritis, shotgun pellets in his ass, shrapnel wounds perhaps from taking down a deer (or a prize cow) or from messing around with the wrong woman. But, Popeye was always one hell of a dog. Eat the ass out of an intruder (or mailmen or cops), all's we had to do was just grab that ruff of fur around his neck and holler "Go!" Climb a 6 foot fence, ford a raving river for a stick or a frisbee. Didn't have much tolerance for other male dogs or cats of any kind. Nope, none a'tall. Had a few war wounds to prove it, too.
Pop used to run away. Not because he didn't love us. Just because... Doggie wander-lust and a crazy need for adventure. The old man always ran ads in the paper for him (sure, Pop could read) or just mapped out miles and scrounged around till he found Pop. One time these kids had him tied to a tree, had re-named him Killer and were counting on siccing him on other dogs. Another time, some old redneck had him and was going to breed him with his dog, that's just how good looking Popeye was. I suppose the only time Pop didn't want to come back home was the time he ran off and landed on easy street. Be damned if some rich one wasn't riding Pop around on his yacht, feeding him top sirloin and calling him "Handsome" But the old man whistled and Pop sailed right on up into the bed of that pickup truck. Think he held a grudge about being found that time...
Popeye crossed the country at least three times and back, in all sorts of bogus vehicles -- slept in motels and under trucks and out in the cold and down by the river. He was always there and he was always just a good old boy. He's buried up in the Oregon Cascades next to a river, in the cool of an old Douglas Fir. He died in California, but the old man didn't feel it was fitting to lay his boy down in the land o' fruit and nuts. So, we made a sad sojourn to lay Pop away fittin'. The old man got drunk and stayed drunk for about a year after Pop died. The old man won't ever be the same. I'm just glad he didn't have Pop stuffed and mounted on wheels so he could always have him nearby. Took a heap of talking, but I finally convinced the old man that Pop was the best of dogs and deserved a safe, comfortable place to rest.
So, Popeye, here's to you, boy. Thanks for being a fine friend and courageous companion.
Stout of heart, Sound of spirit
the very last of all the Carolina Yeller Dogs
Good Boy.
Popeye The Dog
Henry I Sven 1991-1994
At first I wanted a gerbil. But my friends were able to convince me to get a hamster. Three weeks later we went to the pet store to buy a hamster. I chose one that I liked but accidentally got another one that looked exactly the same. We took the hamster home, and I decided to name him Henry Sven (We were living in Sweden at the time). At first Henry and I played a lot together. One day Henry bit me, and I had to go to the nurse. He was still young at the time so we figured that he didn't know that my finger wasn't food.
We had many adventures together. One day when we had some guests over, a two year old girl decided to pick Henry up. We don't know why but our guess is that when his nails touched her hand it hurt a little and she threw him against the wall. I put him back in his cage, and he stayed in his little house for a few days, but after a while he was good as new.
One day when it was getting close to the time to bring Henry to America, we found Henry in a coma. One or two days later, I woke up at about 6:00 A.M. and found Henry dead in his little nest that he had made a few weeks earlier. After a nice little burial I got used to life without Henry, but I needed another pet. Now I still miss Henry, but in my room is Henry II.
The epitaph about Henry the hamster was submitted by Sam Leven, age 10.
Misty 1979 - 1988
Misty was a brown mutt. She was very loved. My parents had saved her from being killed by some people who didn't want her any more. My parents had her a couple of years before I was born. She passed away when I was 8 years old.
Misty and I were very attached. I would not be alive today if it wasn't for her. I lay choking in my crib when she awoke my parents. We had our bad times when I was bugging her and she bit me, but I always forgave her. We also had our fun times like when we played Tug Of War with her sock.
We soon found out she was blind when she got lost in the woods. We found her though. She was then diagnosed with Kidney failure. She passed away at the vet's office. I will never forget that dog. I cried for 3 days straight and still get choked up when I think of all the fun we had together. We used to do everything together. I am now 14 years old and miss Misty very dearly.
Melanie Gillis
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
Chu Chu Dog
What do I do with your ashes? Remember the time when I first rolled up the automatic window of the new car and rolled your head up in it? Remember when I left you home alone for more than 20 hours, and you demolished the sofa and ate so much sofa-foam you bloated? Was I good enough for you then?
What do I do with your memories? Remember when I walked you without a leash and the wolf-shepherd mix got you by the neck and you screamed while he tossed your little dachshund body back and forth violently? Remember how I screamed louder than you? Remember when you fell down between the rails on my bed and were caught in the covers all day while I was at work? Was I attentive enough for you then?
What do I do with my guilt? Remember when we lived alone for all those years, and I took you everywhere I went because I couldn't be without you? And then I would end up leaving you in the car for half an hour at a time. And how you always greeted me happily anyway. Remember when I gave you all that warm beer to drink and you pissed all over yourself and me too? Was I kind enough for you then?
What do I do without you? Remember how we spent the last two months of your life, when you were old as could be -- an eighteen year old weenie dog with solid gray paws and muzzle, with a tumor under your chin, having seizures every week and wearing a diaper because you couldn't hold your water -- remember how I stayed at home with you in my arms, thanking you for showing up to stay with me and letting me know how to love someone else? Remember how you forgot how to bark but never quit whining to sit in my lap and look into my eyes while I mourned you even as you still took breath because I knew each one could be our last? Was I there for you then? I would do it again.
Forever,
Pam Rea
Ceris Hamilton
Touche Turtle -- R.I.P.
When I was a small child, I was given a Desert Tortoise as a pet. I loved him dearly and named him Touche Turtle after the famous Hanna-Barbera cartoon character. One day, I was shocked to find that Touche had dug himself into a burrow and had died. I was heartbroken, and was afraid to touch him for a couple of days, but I decided I had better be brave and give him a decent Christian burial. I put him in a cardboard box, dug a deep hole in the back yard and laid him to rest with a few improvised words and a bier of flowers from the garden. As time went by, I adjusted to the loss of my cherished pet, until several years later, when I discovered to my horror that Desert Tortoises hibernate through the Winter. I'm sorry Touche...where ever you are! Please forgive me!
Elder Perm Poom
Peppy (1983-1993)
I remember when my sister came up with the name Peppy in the car coming back from the S.P.C.A. shelter. You were so hyper, anything other than Peppy would have been wrong. I remember those days coming home from school and letting you in from the backyard. You always ran up and down the stairs inspecting each room for other people, though I was always the first one home and no one else was around. Realizing this you'd come back and hang out with me, waiting to greet everyone at the door when they finally came home. You use to love raiding the trash cans and hiding under the beds with your booty, knowing we could never quite get you out of there. I'm glad you finally outgrew that. You were always up for a game of tag in the backyard or for chasing the ball though you never got a hold of the concept of bringing it back to me. I'll always remember the image of you up on our dining room table chomping away at the left over roast beef (it looked like you were smiling) and stealing away to your underbed hideaway before we could catch you. You were always so fast. Or the time the neighbor's dog came through one of the holes you dug, and you guys decided to party all night, knocking over our trash cans and dragging everything out across the backyard. What a mess I had to clean up the next day. I remember waking up the day after the accident happened. I thought it was a dream, until I saw my stained clothes on the floor. I remember my sister pledging all the money in her bank account for any operation that would save you. I remember opening a little booklet the pet hospital gave me title, "When Your Friend Dies," and having the receipt from the hospital fall out. Though dad always called you "dummy" or "el stupido" and pretended to not care about you, I remember his face when we told him you were hit by a car and we had to put you to sleep. I have those memories, the good ones and the bad ones, but those good ones always out-weight the bad.
Richard Cook
Moretta and her kittens
Moretta and her kittens will live forever in our hearts. We are sure that we will meet again, someday Paolo and Maria Teresa (Italy).
Carnate (Italy), January 29, 1996
In Memory of Moretta and her Kittens
Dear Sirs,
I sent you an epitaph yesterday for some cats of mine who died or disappeared. After the delivery of the message I printed some pages of your site and I read them carefully.
I seldom read before some thoughts as touching as those read in the Virtual Pet Cemetery™ . And I suddenly cried after reading some of them because I understood the sorrow of the owners of those pets, having experienced the same feeling when I lost some cats of mine: Moretta who died from a mistaken sterilization, two kittens of hers who died under cars, and two others who disappeared.
I can state that my pets surely made me a better person. They have taught me and are continually teaching me a lot of things: for example how it is possible (and right) to live happily with not too much, and how they can fight to defend their dears. They have brought a lot of joy and happiness in the lives of my wife and of myself. I live with ten cats now, but I never bought one, all of them were wandering. One of them (Trullina Pooh Trezampe, Three Legs) has three legs, and in spite of this, she gave birth to a nice kitten who lives with us too. They run together in my garden now. That was a great lesson of optimism and trust in life, too !
But each cat has a special personality of its own. And, for this reason, when a cat dies it can not be replaced in our heart by another one. Our heart is the greatest Cemetery for our pets.
The sensibility of these pets, the gaze we saw in the eyes of some of them when they were dying, taught us the most important thing and made us closer to God. These creatures MUST have a special type of soul and that is why we are sure that we will meet our lost pets, some day.
For this wonderful, tender and educational site we say: thank you from the deep of our hearts where our pets sleep, waiting for us.
Paolo and Maria Teresa Sassetti -- Italy
Tonka the Wonder Dog
One golden afternoon my daughter came in carrying a fluffy black and white morsel of squirming puppy, weeping that the man down the street was going to kill all the puppies he couldn't find homes for. Her younger brother promptly burst into tears too, for they had been told we couldn't get a dog as our new home had no fence. My husband and I, also captivated by the creature's charm (although skeptical of the "killing the puppies" part), knew we were goners. We contacted a fence builder and began a lively debate about what to name the newest member of the family. I wanted to name him "Quadpod," but was resoundingly overruled. His name became "Tonka" because he was a tough little toy for the kids. (Only a few days later--before the fence was completed--he was hit by a car and lost a front leg. Had he been named Quadpod, we would have had to change it to Tripod, creating who knows what kind of canine psychological havoc!)
Tonka was a beloved member of our family for ten years. He never got over his astonishment that we left and returned, and never failed to greet us with hysterical barking and howling, and his "happy to see you" dance--whether we had been gone ten minutes or ten days! It took us many years to consider getting another dog (mainly because they all had too many legs), but finally Tonka was succeeded--but not replaced--by Hasbro, a scruffy but lovable miniature schnauzer.
Tonka the Wonder Dog, we miss you.
Ode To Spanky
Oh I remember the telephone cords you used to eat,
The funny way that you walked (so ungraceful and un-feline-like),
That blank stare, so void and yet so characteristic of you,
Would touch upon my heart as you meowed.
Countless dead birds littered the carpet in those days,
Brought forth with a hunter's skill; but so bloody and unclean!
Father used to say that you were fit only to be made into tennis racquet strings,
But I loved you all the same.
And then came that fateful day when even the most patient heart was tried:
With so many phone-cords inside you, its a wonder you were still alive, to see the light of day!
But alas, what could we do?
Emergency surgery and fourteen hundred dollars later,
Our efforts were a testament to our devotion, Spanky.
But once recovered there was but a brief respite,
Before you turned back to your obsessive self-indulgence.
Cured though you had been by the surgeon's shining blade,
We had hoped and we'd prayed for even a more miraculous cure:
That you would cease and desist from your peculiar eating habits,
And save us all some money and grief.
But when once again the doctor proclaimed "It's in there all right,"
The reminder of money past-spent was too much for Dad.
And though we loved you very much,
We could not come to terms with one hard fact:
That the mental disorder that plagued you,
Was once again made manifest,
This time to the tune of over two grand.
Goodbye, Spanky.
T.J.
Father would not have it. He was haunted by images of wasted money past-spent, as he suffered flashbacks of money once spent.
Sunny 1994-1996
Sunny was the kindest, cutest, sweetest dog I have ever known. She was a red miniature pinscher, only 4.5 pounds. Officially, she was registered as Sunny Little One. She was born on November 28, 1994, and died tragically on March 20, 1996. But during that short life, she provided so many hours of sunshine in our lives. After my son Eddie was diagnosed with epilepsy, and almost died, in February 1994, we decided to let our dog Lucky have puppies because we loved animals so much, and the puppies would give our lives a happier focus. Sunny was the smallest one in the litter. The night they were born was very, very cold, and we suddenly had a power failure that lasted for 2 days. We all huddled up and kept blankets around the puppies to try to keep them warm enough. Luckily, they all survived.
Sunny became the focus of our life. She was small enough that my son (7 years old) could carry her around with him, and she, and he, loved that. Every time I sat down, Sunny was in my lap. Especially when I was at the computer, she was always curled up there. The first time I sat down at the computer after she died, and looked down to my empty lap, I started to cry. My son brought me a stuffed Snoopy dog to put in my lap. That was so touching. My name on the internet has always been sunny, because that dog represented everything nice and joyful. We had sunflower shower curtains and rugs and stuffed sunflowers sitting on both PC s, all because of Sunny. Her picture graced our coffee mugs and was wallpaper background for the PC.
She went to the vet only to have a baby tooth pulled, and when we came to pick her up, they told us that there had been a terrible accident. They said some new handler had tried to take her for a walk and somehow she had gotten loose from the self-tightening leash that they used. She ran away and was hit by a car and died. All I can hope is that she didn't suffer, and that she had a smile on her face at the end because she thought she was running to the comfort of her loving home.
sunny
Emerson the Parakeet 1995 to 1995
A Poem for Emerson
Emerson, you silly bird...you've left us in the lurch!
You only lasted three days before falling off your perch!
At first it was a crushing blow (though now we are much calmer),
And still we have your cage-mates: the feathered "Lake" and "Palmer".
So Emerson you leave behind this simple legacy:
a deep appreciation for the "Pet Smart" Guarantee!
The Harbur Family:
Jim, Karen, Andy and Casey
Buster Brown 1992-1995
Buster Brown was a little brown mutt. He weighed twenty pounds and was bow-legged. He chased cars and wouldn't come in at night. He loved everyone but my grandpa. He slept in my bed at night, he puked on my pillow at least once every three months. We will all miss him. Buster Brown was two and a half. We had him since he was six weeks. We saved his life. He was being sent to the pound. My mother saved him from that fate and took him home to us. He got ran over when we were going to the fair. Ironically, my mother accidently ran him over. We love him.
Haley, Bill, Leisa, Jasie, and Lindy Stokes.
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