DOGS' GRAVEYARD

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 296, 6 March 1928, Page 13

DOGS' GRAVEYARD

ON ISLAND IN SEINE EPITAPHS IN MANY TONGUES In the Seine, a little way west of Paris, where the river curves between wooded banks, giving glimpses of villages and pretty homes through the greenery, lies an island —LTle des Betes —dictated to a special sentiment. On it, behind high triple gates, is the Cemetery of Dogs, where people may bury animal pets. A caretaker sits at the gate exhibiting an indifference that is profound. The only thing that bestirs him is the arrival of persons with boxes under their arms. He receives 30 francs (a little more than 4s) for each plot taken for a year, besides occasional tips for keeping graves clear of weeds. iu this animal cemetery innumerable paths twist about. The shade and the form of trees and boxwood bushes are such as to give the place an aspect of solemnity. In many cases photographs of departed pets are placed above elaborate marble tombstones. One huge tombstone bears the sculptured effigies of two dogs that belonged to a Russian Princess. Inscriptions on the monuments are in Russian, Japanese, Greek, German, Spanish, Italian and English. One large flat slab has a Japanese inscription. Among the English inscriptions one finds such epitaphs as these: “So small, yet every inch a dog. Quisquis,” and “Darling Crummy, 1925.” A French couple are responsible for the following: “My dog, Pierrot, my good dog. For 14 years you lived my life. Owing to your kindness and your intelligence we were as two souls that only death could separate. I cannot be consoled. Your master and I weep over you and will never forget you.” This grave is surmounted by an iron trellis from which depend flowerpots filled with artificial violets. A photograph of a mongrel is surrounded by a beaded wreath. On the trellis are hung metal plates bearing the following tributes: “His birthday. We will never forget you,” “An affectionate souvenir,” “These flowers we place, weeping, on his grave, to show how profound is our grief.’* Many lonely persons centre their affections in dogs. Here is an example of the tributes they pay: “Little Zouka, you alone were my real friend. The best and most faithful companion of my life.” One large grave entirely covered with a thick growth of periwinkles is dedicated to the memory of Trovtown, a horse that was killed at Auteuil at a Prix de Drags. A list of his victories is given; his digree is recorded. This is a very dignified memorial. It must be noted that not all the inscriptions are ridiculous. Many of the epitaphs tell an honest and simple story of years of comradeship and appreciation. On a slab of marble six feet high is inscribed: — “Dash. “Come on, old man. “Poor old fellow.” And what a background can be fancied for the following simple words: “To our good and faithful FLAG, 1915-1922. A companion during the war.” Another serious tribute takes the form of two small stone kennels, carved with this inscription: “Bijou. He saved my life. I owe him this souvenir.” At the entrance to the cemetery looms the monument to Barrye, a St. Bernard that spent his life in the Alps, carrying at his throat a bottle of brandy for lost, exhausted mountain climbers. Forty men were saved by this dog. The forty-first, lying in a ravine, saw Barrye bounding toward him, and thinking it was a bear, shot the dog.