Grover Krantz was onto something when he
had his remains donated to science.
A professor of anthropology, he
didn’t see why death should interrupt his life-long teaching. His body
first went to the University of Tennessee’s
Forensic Anthropology Center, where he contributed to the study of human decay. His skeleton was then
moved to
Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History, where he can be found to this
day. Back when Krantz first approached the Museum about housing his
remains, he was upfront about the catch: his bones were to stay with
those of his late Irish Wolfhounds, Clyde, Icky and Yahoo.
Krantz and his beloved companions didn’t stay behind the scenes for
long. In 2009, he and Clyde, his first and favorite dog, were put on
display in the exhibition
Written in Bone: Forensic Files of the 17th-Century Chesapeake.
The position of the two skeletons, together in life and death, captures
the mutual adoration between the two species. In fact, the skeletons
were posed using a picture of Krantz and Clyde from the good old days.
Maybe you find Krantz’ final directives on the extreme side. A
Washington Post piece
profiling Krantz’s life (and afterlife) suggests he had always been
known for eccentricities. Even so, life-and-death ties with pets run
deep.
A recent study published in Anthrozoös offers a novel approach to
investigating what companion animals mean to us. For the study, lead
researcher Cindy Wilson and her collaborators decided to analyze a
unique datasource: the obituaries. Over the course of three months, they
conducted a “bi-national, exploratory, content analysis of companion
animals mentioned in newspaper obituaries.” They wanted to know: when
people pass, do their obituaries make mention of a pet or pet survivor,
and are donations requested to a pet-related charity?
A scan of 11,818 obituaries in
The Washington Post (Washington, DC),
The Richmond Times Dispatch (Virginia) and
The Zurich
(Switzerland) revealed that 2.2%, or 260 obituaries, met their
criteria. Only one obituary in Switzerland mentioned an animal (in this
case, a man’s surviving cat), and all others came from the States.
Obituaries were roughly split between mentioning a pet survivor and
requesting pet-related donations. Most non-human survivors mentioned
were dogs, and the obituaries often gave the dogs’ names.
This study makes me think that many people might understand where
Grover Krantz was coming from when he decided to spend eternity with his
dogs. For one thing, the obituaries rarely used the word ‘pet.’ As the
researchers explain, “these animals have most likely been elevated to
family status…. To be listed in an obituary which is typically reserved
for conventional kin extends the concept of fictive kin to these animals
that appear in the last tribute to their human companions.” Fictive kin
refers to non-blood relatives on equal footing with biological
relatives. It seems companion animals can also serve as fictive kin.
In the obituaries, non-human animals were often listed as survivors
alongside human family members. An octogenarian is described “as being
survived by two nieces…a nephew…and a loyal canine companion, Shirley.”
Another describes a man as leaving behind “his beloved granddogs, Brie
Sherwin and Otis Huddleston. His non-furry grandchild will arrive in
May.” The obituaries also contain the other side of the coin—the
animals’ perceived response to the loss of a significant person. For
example, “He will be sorely missed by Molly, his ever-present cocker
spaniel companion.”
A study like this gives you pause. I imagine most researchers and
practitioners in my field would agree: on one hand, we try to
objectively study the inner world and workings of
Canis familiaris
(whether in their own right or as they compare to other species), but
we also have personal relations with members of this species. There are
some dogs who think I am the bees’ knees, and I feel the same.
When I was a kid, I used to have a reoccurring, one-sided
conversation with my dog, Brandy. It usually took place at night when
she was stretched out under the covers, somehow taking up three-fourths
of the bed with her chihuahua-dachshund body. Before falling asleep, I’d
lay out the rules, “If you ever die, I’ll kill you.” At the time, it
seemed natural to couple such deep love with a threat. Like most dogs,
she didn’t listen.
——
Picture: Krantz and Clyde via Smithsonian.com
Reference
Wilson C.C., Dennis C. Turner & Cara H. Olsen (2013). Companion Animals in Obituaries: An Exploratory Study, Anthrozoos: A Multidisciplinary Journal of The Interactions of People , 26 (2) 227-236. DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.2752/175303713×13636846944204
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