/ 15 January 1999

It’s a dog’s world in heaven

Angella Johnson: VIEW FROM A BROAD

`She was my baby,” wails Bobba Rosenbaum at the graveside. The bowed octogenarian leans shakily on her walking stick. “I loved her so much. Oh Sarah, I’m really going to miss you …” The thin voice breaks with emotion.

Rosenbaum’s daughter, Sonia Abrahams, stands beside her over the freshly dug hole, sobbing hysterically. Three other mourners make up this grieving funeral party.

I spy the tiny bundle wrapped in a blue and white blanket lying in a plastic case on recently mowed grass, under a leafy jacaranda tree just past its bloom. “Hold her gently,” cries Abrahams, as the gravedigger picks up the bundle. “Wait! I want to see her one last time.”

The handler slowly replaces his charge to the ground and peels apart the blanket’s edges to reveal a grey furry figure. This is Sarah, beloved poodle and family pet. A flurry of flies buzz vulturelike over the lifeless form as frantic hands reach out to swat them away.

Sarah, who ate only pot-roasted chicken thighs cooked by Abrahams – served warm on her plate at noon and 5pm sharp – died on December 28, aged 21 (that’s about 150 in human years) and is being buried at Pets Rest, South Africa’s only animal cemetery.

Now, I don’t want to appear unsympathetic, but I’ve always had difficulty relating to people who treat animals as if they were human beings. To me they are just one step away from the kind of folks who claim to be on intimate terms with aliens from outer space, or those who believe Elvis Presley is still alive.

According to family friend Vivienne Levy, of Rembrandt Park: “Actually, Sarah sometimes forgot that she was a dog, but I believe that she has gone to a good home in dog heaven.”

Levy is here to here to support Abrahams, a divorcee with three adult daughters, who admits to having looked after the poodle as if it were her own child. “She was the last one left at home,” mutters Abrahams through a fresh flood of tears.

OK, so this bunch has not brought along a preacher to hold a full service (which has apparently been done on several previous occasions), but what a performance! Yes, Sarah was a family pet, but surely there is no need for such theatrics. Heck, in the townships some people simply chuck an animal’s carcass into the municipal dump (and that’s when it was well loved).

“You can also bury your pet in the back garden, but that’s illegal. However, what happens when you sell your house?” asks Rosenbaum. “This way we can always come here and see them whenever we want.”

Glancing up at my bemused expression, she adds: “You don’t understand, do you?”

I make a feeble attempt to nod reassuringly, but she sees through my reporter’s cynicism.

“Look, I can barely walk, but I’m here today because she was my baby,” the old lady continues. “I would not stay away if you gave me R1-million. My heart is so sore and the house is so empty since she passed away.”

This is not the family’s first visit to the Ferndale kennels and pet cemetery in Bryanston. Chaka, the golden Labrador, is a few plots away. This “gentle giant” died in 1996 from injuries received after a heroic attempt to save Rosenbaum’s granddaughter from a house fire.

Set in a valley not far from Fourways Mall, Ferndale is the perfect resting place. “Maybe I should get a plot here for myself. Then you would come and see me more often,” Levy jokes.

The cemetery is run by Chris and Michelle Ward, who started the business after their Alaskan malamute died 10 years ago.

“The vet told us that the body would be dumped on the municipal tip, but we just could not accept such an undignified resting place.”

They decided that there had to be other people equally upset about where they could dispose of their deceased pet and opened a crematorium. “Would you send the bodies of your mother or sister to a dump?”

(Excuse me, but I do not see the equation.)

Initially, the local vets were very sceptical. There may be more than 600 such resting places for pets in the United States, but would South Africans go for it? “We were busy from the outset,” says MichelleWard.

Soon they were getting requests for burials from people who objected to burning on religious grounds. They now average about two burials per month, and about 100 cremations.

Sitting under a thatched gazebo on the lawn overlooking the graves of about 150 pets, she explains that some people grieve harder for their animals than for their human relatives – especially if they are elderly.

Burials (the most unusual was that of a horse) cost about R600, including gravel and headstone. Coffins, which are requested by one in six clients, are an extra R150 to R400.

Michelle Ward, a kindly looking former administrative manager, explains why most clients don’t opt for a coffin: “Most believe the closer the body is to the earth the better.”

Cremations (anything from a Burmese python to a parrot) are R255 or R425 depending on when and from where the body is collected.

After the last shovel of dirt had been poured over Sarah, and her distraught mourners had departed (perhaps to hold some kind of wake in celebration of her long life), I ambled among some of the miniature graves.

The headstones – many with freshly laid flowers, teddy bears and other mementos – were particularly revealing. “RIP. In loving memory of Tessie Traub [a dog]. Our beloved baby girl, who brought so much joy to our lives.”

Then there was the moving message for Brandy Widdowson-Smeddle the cat: “No heaven will ever heaven be, unless my cat is there to walk with me. God bless and keep you Brandy.”

I ask Vincent Mayisela, a gardener-cum- gravedigger from Swaziland who has been working at the cemetery for 10 years, if this is not just a waste of time and money.

He admits to having found it a difficult concept to grasp: “We don’t have anything like this in my country. I used to think these white people were strange, but now I’m used to it.”

He is even planning to bury his own “big dog” back home after its death. But I detect a wry smile on his face which suggests that like me he thinks this is really all emotional hysteria.

Then again, Michelle Ward may be right when she declares pragmatically: “Look, it’s difficult to explain this to someone who does not love animals – we don’t understand you, or you us.”