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Grieving and finding solace after loss of pet as animal funerals become common in Japan
MAINICHI   | Desember 31, 2024
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Possan the rabbit lies on my chest while I take a nap, as seen in this photo taken on May 11, 2023. (Mainichi/Hideo Suzuki)
"Possan" has died.
This Mainichi Shimbun reporter brought an urn to a temple in Tokyo the other day. Inside was the cremated remains of "Possan," my pet rabbit whose real name was Popo, I had kept for about seven years and five months. On the morning of Nov. 24, 2024, I woke up to find her unresponsive. She was fine the night before. At age 49, I experienced my first loss of a pet, and it devastated me.
I found myself crying for her and calling out her name at every chance I got. Possan doesn't have a death certificate, and no death report was needed. No one asked me to hold a wake or funeral. There was no condolence leave from work. In other words, no medical institution, no government agency nor society took Possan's death seriously. That may be something to be expected, but I couldn't comprehend it.
Feeling lost, I went to see the ocean and to the pet shop where I met (purchased) her, while holding the urn. After some days of wandering around in Tokyo, with the urn in my arms, I ended up at Kannouji temple, a Pure Land sect Buddhist temple in Setagaya Ward. It's known for its services for dead pets.
Holding funerals for 4,000 pets
Grave stones for people and their pets in a single slot are seen at Kannouji temple in Tokyo's Setagaya Ward on Dec. 6, 2024. (Mainichi/Hideo Suzuki)
On the temple grounds are communal graves for animals, the ones for humans and their pets, as well as graves where pets and their owners rest together in individual plots. The temple has held some 4,000 funerals for pets over the past 20 years. About 80% are dogs and cats, but other pet animals include hamsters, ferrets, birds, tortoises, snakes, crabs, and of course, rabbits.
Adjacent to the temple is a pet crematorium. Head priest Junkyo Narita says, "Cremated tortoise shells are pretty. One snake was cremated with a mouse, its favorite food, but it gave me mixed feelings because some people keep mice as pets."
The temple also houses an indoor ossuary. Rows of lockerlike compartments line the space, many with glass fronts. Each compartment contains an urn, a framed photo of the pet and offerings such as pet food. It has a light atmosphere, due partly to the owners' love for their pets and the cute photos. Before I knew it, I was talking to Possan, or more accurately her remains, inside a bag I was carrying on my shoulder, "They all look happy, don't they?"
Possan the rabbit's urn is placed in front of a standing Amitabha statue in a room where pet funeral services are held at Kannouji temple in Tokyo's Setagaya Ward on Dec. 6, 2024. (Mainichi/Hideo Suzuki)
Narita offered to hold a service for Possan. I felt grateful.
We then moved to a downstairs hall from the ossuary, which is used for funerals for people and animals alike. In front of a standing Amitabha statue, I placed Possan's urn, held my hands in prayer as Narita chanted Buddhist sutra. Tears welled up as I voiced a mantra.
That night, I was able to eat meat, something I could barely touch after Possan passed away. I think I had some sort of closure.
Animals can go to 'heaven'
While many temples in Japan hold funeral services for pets, there are two reasons I visited Kannouji: first was Narita's maternal grandfather was Daikichi Terauchi (1921-2008), a Naoki Prize-winning writer and a monk. I'm a fan of his work, and wrote an article to announce his funeral. I felt a connection. The other reason was a story in the book titled "Pet to Soshiki" (Pets and funerals) written by Hidenori Ukai. I read it after Possan left me, and it introduced a story by Narita's paternal grandfather, who also was a monk. He collapsed and fell into a near-death state on his 90th birthday. He almost passed away, but the next morning, he called out, "Hey, I'm back!" Having had a near-death experience, he spoke about what he had seen in the Pure Land, saying that dogs and cats were there. This part of the story made me cry.
This isn't just a story about animals in heaven. If we apply the basic teachings of Buddhism as they are, animals cannot go to "heaven" or attain "Buddhahood" unless they are first reincarnated as humans or similar beings. Interpretations vary by sect, but within the Pure Land Sect, following doctrinal debates in the late 2000s, the belief that "pets can go to heaven" is becoming increasingly mainstream.
Kannouji temple head priest Junkyo Narita is seen in Tokyo's Setagaya Ward on Dec. 6, 2024. (Mainichi/Hideo Suzuki)
Incidentally, I underwent ordination at Higashi Honganji temple in Kyoto 11 years ago. Although I haven't done much as a monk in recent years, I often turn to Buddhist teachings when faced with major life events. However, this time, I struggled to find any logic that resonated with me. In the midst of this, the story of "dogs and cats in the Pure Land" unexpectedly gripped my heart. It wasn't about whether I believed the story.
Why are pet cemeteries increasing?
Still, why does this feel so unbearably sad? I've experienced the deaths of close loved ones multiple times -- my parents, friends, people younger than me and even those who died by suicide. Yet, this grief feels different. I can understand why some people say, "I cried more over my pet's death than my parent's." Meanwhile, human funerals have seen a trend toward simplification, sending the body directory to a crematorium without wakes and other ceremonies. In contrast, there appears to be a growing tendency to grieve more deeply over the deaths of animals.
To explore this, I spoke with the aforementioned Ukai. While being a journalist, Ukai is also the chief priest of Shokakuji, a Pure Land sect temple in Kyoto. Speaking via video call, Ukai said, "The relationship between humans and pets in Japan changed particularly from the 1980s onward. Pet cemeteries began appearing around the same time and have seen remarkable growth in the past 20 years."
He pointed out that there are two main reasons for this shift. First, particularly in the case of dogs and cats, their status as "family members" has risen. With more people keeping pets indoors, especially in apartments, the emotional distance between humans and their animals has narrowed.
For example, in my home over the past few years, Possan would almost always wander around the house during the day. She would sit on my lap while I worked remote to interview people or stand on her hind legs, leaning against me. She was not just a pet or family member -- more like an irreplaceable presence in the room, almost like a zashiki-warashi (a spirit traditionally believed to protect a household).
Legally speaking, animal remains are classified as general waste. However, I would feel reservation about discarding a family member as garbage. In urban areas, burying pets in a small backyard is also challenging, even for those in houses, let alone apartments. In Possan's case, for now, I've decided to keep her in the living room.
Possan preferred small spaces and liked to be under the kitchen cabinet, as seen in this photo taken on June 22, 2023. (Mainichi/Hideo Suzuki)
The second factor to the change in how we view our pets' deaths is that we humans are aging. It has always been the case that the overwhelming majority of people die in hospitals rather than at home, but especially recently, more people pass away after prolonged stays in care facilities. When someone dies in their prime or closer to their working years, there are typically many people to mourn their passing. However, when someone dies after their presence at home and ties to society have diminished, the emotional response to their death tends to weaken.
Ukai added, "To put it bluntly, people may find it easier to grieve for their pets, who die much earlier than humans and they can shower with love like they would with a young child until the end, than elderly individuals, whose deaths are often accompanied by issues like caregiver fatigue or inheritance disputes."
In other words, pets that die at home or after a short hospital stay may evoke emotions similar to the way society once mourned human deaths.
The absence of platforms to commemorate their deaths
Over the past few weeks, I've received numerous condolence messages from friends, acquaintances and people I've interviewed before. Most of these people have previously experienced the loss of their own pets. Until now, I had lived my life without knowing their pain -- until Possan taught me.
There are no established platforms to commemorate the life of pets, as there are for humans. That's why I decided to share my experience in this article as an example, having recovered enough to put my feelings into words. Now that I've finished writing, I have begun taking small steps to walk a path to continue my relationship with Possan, even after her death. I will carry on living with Possan in my heart.
(Japanese original by Hideo Suzuki, Opinion Editorial Department)
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