Cremating pets, seeking nirvana
The Siberian husky burned in Bangkok, the flames devouring her thick fur. Holding hands in the pet funeral hall, the dog’s owners wept soundlessly.
They had paid $160 (U.S.) for their dog, Friendly, to be cremated in the proper Thai way, festooned with marigolds and sprinkled with holy water at a Buddhist temple, or wat.
Bangkok, a messy city with little green space, is not ideal for pets. A park near where I live is home to three-metre-long monitor lizards that looked capable of snacking on Agatha, my family’s miniature schnauzer. Pets swallowed whole by pythons are not as uncommon an occurrence as one would hope.
The Bangkok government takes a blasé attitude toward stray animals, so there is little in the way of spaying or neutering. As a consequence, an estimated 100,000 street dogs, in varying states of disrepair, roam the streets of the Thai capital.
A recent rabies outbreak spooked the city. Animal shelters are overflowing, and the zoos are hardly a bastion of animal rights, with elephants forced to perform for tourists.
Still, many Bangkok residents are mad for dogs and cats, and they try to create pet havens in this urban jungle, which is my home base in my role as the Southeast Asia bureau chief for the New York Times. The animal hospital where Agatha got her vaccinations has its own chandeliered lobby, café with doggy treats and VIP rooms where humans can sleep over should their hospitalized pets prefer the company.
When it gets cold in Bangkok — by which I mean around 20 C — pet owners dress their dogs in sweatshirts or, if they have the money, Burberry raincoats.
Agatha, more used to northern climes from having grown up in China, was content to venture out with nothing more than her own fur. Unlike the poodle that lives around the corner, she was never treated to a pedicure, complete with red nail polish. The final send-off for Thai pets can be equally lavish. Thailand is overwhelmingly Buddhist, and the faithful believe that animals, through a cycle of rebirth into different life forms, can eventually attain nirvana. At our local wat, monks often chant for dogs, cats, hamsters, lizards, snakes and turtles, the prayer hall filling with the murmur of their incantations.
On occasion, pious Buddhists who find deceased strays make merit by helping them transition to their next life through a wat funeral. Most animals can be cremated at the wat, although pet pigs present difficulties for the crematory because of their copious fat.
Friendly’s owner, Watcharasit Siripaisarnpipat, knew he and his wife had spoiled their dog. In this tropical country, they kept Friendly and six other Siberian huskies in an enclosure with 24-hour air conditioning, even if they themselves would sometimes make do with a fan. On her birthday, Friendly ate ice cream.
“She enjoyed a good life,” Watcharasit said, as they sifted through the bones that emerged from the crematory. “She deserves a good afterlife, too.”