I'm getting ready to move. What do I do with my dog's remains?
Dear s.e.,
A few years ago, we buried our dog Mustard under a lilac shrub. Now, we’re getting ready to move. I’m not sure what to do here. Do we dig her up and take her with us? Leave her there? Am I going to get in trouble for having a dead dog in my back yard?
—Trouble in Paradise
Hey there, Trouble!
This is a tough one! Your situation definitely isn’t uncommon. We buried our pets at the house when I was growing up! Even without this conundrum, moving is stressful business. I hope the move is for good reasons and that you’re feeling good about whatever lies ahead on the other side, and that you have a lot of comrades to help out. (And not just the ones with trucks.) If it’s not a happy move, I am so sorry, and I’m sending good vibes and the hope that it will be as smooth as it possibly can be.
Mustard’s resting place obviously still feels sacred and important, and I know it feels weird to think about leaving it behind in the midst of everything else in your life that’s changing too. You say “we,” so I am guessing that there are least two humans, and possibly other species, in your household who have fond memories of Mustard and want to honor her.
You didn’t mention whether you own or rent your house, which might affect some of the options available to you. (Especially if you are renting, your landlord did not know that you buried Mustard there, and you do not necessarily want to bring that particular fact up at this juncture.)
You’ve probably gamed out these scenarios as well, but I think we’re looking at three options here, and I have some thoughts about the optimal choice.
One: Leave the lilac bush, and your dog, be. Hopefully the new tenants will enjoy the shrubbery, and you can leave some suggestions on caring for the bush to keep it alive and thriving without specifying that Mustard is buried there. (Maybe mention that it’s special to the family or you have fond memories if you want to encourage them to leave it in place.) I would be thrilled to inherit a mature, healthy lilac and I suspect many other people would be too.
Two: Leave the lilac bush, and your dog, be, but also alert the new tenants to the fact that Mustard is buried there and you’d appreciate it if they could leave the site undisturbed, if you feel like the vibe is appropriate. Hopefully they’ll be respectful and honor your wishes—and if you are selling, you could talk to your realtor about options for including it in your contract, although depending on where you are, your chances of success may be variable. If it makes you feel better about this, I once inherited a pet grave at a house I moved into and I was careful to leave it undisturbed, keep it weeded, and make sure the person who moved in after me knew the score.
If you go for either of these options, you might consider taking a few cuttings with you so you have something to remember her by. I’m guessing you know your way around a garden, but just in case, I’ll note that lilacs grow really well from cuttings, and you can keep them potted for a while as they mature if you’re not quite sure where life is taking you.
Three: Transplant the lilac bush. At this point, it’s likely that Mustard’s remains have probably completely broken down in the soil under the bush, depending on your soil type and some other factors, including how you prepared her body—a plain shroud versus a coffin, for example. I don’t think you’re going to have an exhumation surprise, but if you’re worried about what you might find, you could call a friend who would be willing to help, or even handle the digging for you. You will probably find her collar, tags, and other durable items that you buried with her, including possible fragments of a shroud or blanket, if you used one.
It’s unfortunately not a great time for transplanting lilacs, or most other plants, right now, but I suspect you’re aware of that—it will probably not bloom next year because it’s a little stressed out, which is, honestly, very relatable, but lilacs are pretty resilient.
Her contributions to the garden will live on; lilacs can live for decades and even over a century if they’re well cared-for, which is a great legacy to leave even if the new tenants are unaware of the plant’s origins.
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If you’re writing in to me, a noted enthusiast of being intimate with remains and getting hands-on with the dead, I suspect you may have a degree of comfort with the idea of handling Mustard’s remains, and since you buried her at home, clearly keeping her near you is important to you. If the thought of leaving her behind is weighing on you, I don’t like to think of you having regrets later in life because you were a little worried about the process of exhumation.
For these reasons, I actually favor a modified version of option three: If it’s feasible, get consent to come back in the fall to transplant it at a time that will be better for it. (You don’t have to mention Mustard, you can just say the plant is meaningful to you!) You could even offer to set the new tenants up with a replacement by way of thanks for letting you dig up their yard several months after they moved in.
The delay isn’t just to give the lilac a better chance of thriving: It would also let you settle in to your new house and get a sense of how you want the garden to look, instead of feeling like you’ve got to get this lilac in the ground ASAP or try to nurse it along in a big container while balancing the eleventymillion things that come with moving. It also means that if you decide that you don’t feel like you need to move her, and you’ve gotten the closure you need, you can just let the new tenants know you changed your mind and appreciate their bearing with you. I think sometimes the act of moving in situations like this actually brings on a sense of acceptance, while at other times, moving makes you realize how important this is to you, so putting a delay on this gives you time to have some feelings without feeling like you’ve hit the point of no return.
If you do opt for the transplant move and find remains, you of course have the option of reburying them at your new house, but you could also consider cremating her if you’re worried about another move. Once you have an urn, you could display it somewhere, or bury it and know that it will be movable in the future.
Artist and cat-lover Paul Koudounaris has actually exhumed and relocated several of his beloved cats; he wrote a lovely post about that experience a few years ago (warning, the post does include photos of skeletonized remains). I know it was very important and meaningful to him, and I’ve heard the same from other people who chose to exhume pets or their grave goods, or to transplant shrubs like your lilac.
Glamamour is in foster through Muttville, a San Francisco-based senior dog rescue. Her foster says: Glamamour does not walk. She prances. She loves her walks, she prances, throughout the neighborhood. She wants to smell everyone’s and engage with every dog/every human that she meets, big or small. She loves to sit on my lap and just cuddle me and this is just after an hour of being with her. She is a doll. She’s got a good appetite. She’s not finicky. Everyone that sees her just falls in love. All she wants is cuddles and love. Have a pet of the week nomination? Send it to POTW at allmydeadcats.com.
Know that at any point in this process, you can tap out or take a break; exhumation can be an intimate process, and when you don’t know quite what you will find, your brain and spirit may be pretty stressed out. You can get a few shovels in and realize nope, this is not for you, or you absolutely cannot physically do this and you need to phone a friend, and that is okay. If you don’t have an option to come back in the fall, consider digging the day before moving day to give yourself some time and space—keep the root ball damp and wrapped in burlap, and the lilac itself in a shady spot—because I don’t want you out there frenziedly digging at 10pm.
If exhumation isn’t for you, for any number of reasons, and you do need to leave her behind, whether or not you tell the incoming tenants about her, that space will still remain hers. The energy and joy she brought to your house while she was alive were a big part of your life, and will leave some lingering good vibes. And her contributions to the garden will live on; lilacs can live for decades and even over a century if they’re well cared-for, which is a great legacy to leave even if the new tenants are unaware of the plant’s origins. While she moved on and leave her mortal remains behind, I know that you also carry her with you, and you always will.
To speak to your concern about getting in trouble: Depending on where you live (especially if you are within a city) there may be ordinances against burying pets (or anyone, really) in the back yard. I don’t personally know anyone who’s gotten dinged for this, and I think it will only really be an issue if The Authorities find out. If it is, I think we’re probably talking a fine, and possibly a request to exhume her remains, not a black mark on your permanent record. There are lots of ways to handle this situation without attracting formal notice, and if it does come up, you can note that you (genuinely) weren’t aware of the legal restrictions and are ready to make it right.
Tell your dog I said…
Whether you stay or go, you’ll always be with me
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