When a little Maltese named Cherry died of old age in 1881 at home in London, the dog’s owners were at a loss for what to do with the remains. At that time in the city, there were only a few options for disposing of a deceased pet’s body: throw it into the River Thames, toss it out with the rubbish or take it to a rendering plant to be turned into glue or fertilizer. None of these options was acceptable to Cherry’s family, so they did something unheard of: They asked the gatekeeper of nearby Hyde Park, known as Mr.
Winbridge, if they could bury their dog in his cottage’s garden, next to the park’s Victoria Gate entrance. Rather than scoff at this unusual request, Winbridge agreed. The family gathered for a short funeral and then laid their beloved friend to rest under a headstone simply inscribed, “Poor Cherry.
Died 28 April 1881.” Cherry’s family likely had no idea, but they had just committed a “revolutionary act,” says Paul Koudounaris, a historian, author and photographer who specializes in death and cats . Although household pets had become increasingly common for 19th-century city dwellers in London and other European metropolises, until Cherry was laid to rest, urban animal companions had not received dignified burials there.
News of Cherry’s grave quickly spread around London, first by word of mouth and then through the media. Other bereaved and yard-less pet owners began showing up at Winbridge’s door, imploring the groundskeeper to allow them.