SOUTH VALLEY BIKE TRAIL--Just north of Bridge St., behind an unlocked gate, a pet cemetery is nestled between the bare limbed trees and dry brush. It is surrounded by a little wire fence. There are half a dozen graves here, each one bearing an inscription painted on tin markers made from old metal shelving stuck upright in the ground. The site has been cared for and each animal has a stuffed toy to play with in whatever yard or field lies beyond this one here.
I have buried pets...wrapped my son's little dog up in my bedspread and dug a grave in the middle of the night. Covered her with stones. Cried. Cried for the dog, for my son, for me...for my parents, for all the sorrows and indignities I had never been able to cry for. Somehow, in the death of Ivan's little Chihuahua, I finally let it out. Thank you, Pinkie. I guess there was a tiny bit of good in all that grief.
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