April 15, 2002 - July 24, 2016
"When I am dead, cry for me a little, think of me sometimes, but not too much. It is not good for you or your wife or husband or your children to allow your thoughts to dwell too long among the dead. Think of me now and again as I was in life, at some moment which is pleasant to recall, but not for too long. Leave me in peace, as I shall leave you too in peace. While you live, let your thoughts be with the living."
Pacific Northwest Native American
On the Death of Pets in History:
Although some feel that the concept of domestic animals as pets did not begin until about 250 years ago, consider this text by Paul G. Bahn, in Tombs, Graves, and Mummies. He is speaking of the Ertebolle hunter-gatherer culture, a 6000-year-old cemetary of which was found in 1975 north of Copenhagen:
"The dog burials at Skateholm are particularly fascinating in that the animals are treated exactly as the human dead are. For example, a dog at Skateholm II had a red deer antler laid along its spine, a decorated antler hammer on its chest, and three flint blades in the hip region alongside, in exactly the same position as is found in male human graves. Red ochre was strewn over the dog's corpse. The decorated antler hammer is unique at Skateholm, suggesting that this was a very special dog indeed."
Where to Bury a Dog
"...For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked, and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilirating cattle
graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost - if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog. One place that is best of all.
"If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call - come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there. People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing. The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master."
Ben Hur Lampman, essay in "The Oregonian", 1925