Thursday. October 31, 1323
Da ly Nebraska-!
Page 7
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From a distance of about 20 yards it looked
like a garden decorated with fcitsci-like
ornaments. I've seen gardens before with
statues of St. Francis of Assisi and ceramic
rabbits. But at 10 yards the yellow 3 12-foot
statue of a pointed-eared German shepherd
seemed a little unfriendly for kitsch. The
weather was even less friendly. The furious
wind kept blowing out ray umbrella, making
it look like a whisk broom. The rain was
starting to trickle through my whole body like
ants. At five yards the kitsch had become the
opening of a gothic novel. Small statues of
bulldogs, poodles and ' cats looked at me
without blinking. SmalKcrucifjxes. stood, be-,,
hind them. And because the wind kept blow-
ing out my umbrella I didn't notice the tomb
stone that I had stepped on. With my umbrella
now a safe bubble, I looked down at the hard,
smooth surface that refused to mold itself to
my foot. As I scraped my foot across the gray
granite, I saw the carved inscription, "He was '
a horse of a dog." I reverently walked on until
I saw another inscription that read, "He was a
fat cat." I let out a sigh of relief. I hadiothing
to fear from these animals with epitaphs like,
"Twinkle, the song ended but the melody
lingers on." I didn't have to worry about Rol
ling Acres Pet Cemetery, Crematory and Fun
eral Home being the setting for a Stephen
King novel. But the blonde German shepherd
was intent upon being a guard dog even in
death.
Blondie, you must've been one hell of a dog
when you were alive, because your statue
needs to be leashed.
Since 1977, owner Pat Strnot has buried
dogs, cats, fish, ducks and guinea pigs in her
35-acre cemetery. In a Sears & Roebuck or
J.C. Penney aluminum tool shack that is
painted as a barn are six quarter horses. And
in the graves of Scrappy or Mister Ming are
the remains or bodies of six pet owners.
"Some people request that after they die
they be buried with their pets," said Rolling
Acres office manager Mary Schallau.
Just as Tom and Jerry couldn't get along in
the cartoon, neither do they in death. Dogs
. and cats are buried separately at Rolling
1 Acies unless a pet owner requests otherwise.
Cats are buried in the Garden of Loyalty,
dogs, in the Garden of Peace. But more than
half the animals at Rollin Acres are cremated.
Cremation is charged by the weight of the
animal and costs anywhere from $45 to $115.
Burying your pet with several others in a
group burial costs only $25. A private burial
costs $95. That does not include a casket,
gravestone and statue. Neither is an urn pro
vided with the ashes. Inside the office you
can buy a simple urn that looks like an
octagon-shaped, pin box,, or you can buy an
urn in the shape of a book with your dog's or
cat's name as the title. The sample in the
office had the name "Dinkie," painted in gold
leaf on its spine.
Caskets were lined and unlined plastic
and wood, pillowed and unpillowed. Bronze
poodles, terriers and cats sat on the shelf
above. Within the tiny sales office was a
smaller viewing room where you could spend
: a few moments alone with your pet. The wall
was covered with a 4- by 6-foot tapestry of a
dalmation with its mouth locked around the
handle of a basket of flowers. Below the
tapestry is a green-curtained dresser. Two
white angel lamps sit on top. One angel has
his hands clasped in prayer, the other is
playing a guitar, and the walls of this room
are painted a creamy baby blue. You can even
have your pet embalmed, but Schallau said
that few pet owners choose to do so.
Strnot became interested in starting a pet
cemetery after she could find no suitable
place to bury her son's dog. The Humane
Society told her that her dog could be crem
ated with a group of other dogs. She would
not be able to retain her dog's ashes.
As far as the Bible tells us, Jesus didn't
have a dog. If he did, would it have "trotted
behind, and followed him right to the cross?"
Andrea HoyDiversions
That is what the last line of a poem that is
sometimes read at burial services at Rolling
Acres implies.
"I wonder if Christ had a little black
dogall curley and wooly like
mine. . . I'm sure if he had, that
little black dogknew right from the
first he was God!"
At the Nebraska State Fair where Strnot
and Schallau displayed an animal casket,
fairgoers laughed and sneered. But is it just
the idea of burying pets that we're laughing
at? What's going to happen to our dog or cat
at 15 or 20 is going to happen to us at 60 or 70.
But we're not being ridiculous when we ask
for a headstone with our name engraved upon
it when we die. We're not being ridiculous
when we demand that the living remember us
with flowers and memorial services. We're
not being ridiculous when we ask that the
cemeteries we lie in be kept up and have .
visitors as often as possible. We're not ridicu
lous when we- expect some kind of God or
afterlife to receive us after we die.
In the movie "Citizen Kane," a great man
asks for his sled on his deathbed. Forget
about his newspaper empire, Charles Foster
Kane wants his tiny sled "Rosebud." And
when we look at 1986 America, what is it but
an empire of banks, industries and missiles?
But how refreshing it is to know that inside of
this giant is a shy creature who weeps for his
or her dead puppy. In spite of its capitalism
and nuclear arsenal, America is human. In
spite of their love of money and success,
Americans can still feel grief and pain and
know what it is to be human.
"And sometimes," Schallau said, "People
will bury their pets with their favorite toy,
blanket or with a picture of their loved
ones."
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