Every Cemetery Needs a Dog

After working in cemeteries for as long as I have, I sometimes feel like I have heard it all. Or at least everything strange that people believe about them.

I was wrong. Apparently, there is such a thing as a Church Grim.

In old English and Scandinavian folklore, the Church Grim was a supernatural guardian of a church and its graveyard. Its job was to protect the grounds from thieves, vandals, witches, demons, and, in some versions, the Devil. That is a lot to keep up with. I normally only worry about squirrels and monument companies.

One version of the legend held that the first person buried in a new churchyard would be responsible for guarding it forever. That already seemed unfair. Then I remembered that Oakwood's first burial was a three-year-old girl.

That hardly seems fair at all.

Fortunately, folklore eventually came up with another solution: a dog. In many versions of the story, a large black dog could take the place of that first burial and become the cemetery's guardian. Stories even developed that dogs or other animals had been buried beneath churches or in graveyards for that purpose. Whether that was an actual custom or simply a good story is harder to know.

There is, however, a problem with applying this solution at Oakwood. Those who have been reading for a while may remember Chiquita, the one dog buried here. Her circumstances were unusual, and as we discussed then, you cannot simply bury a dog in a human cemetery today. So the dog option is out.

The Church Grim had quite a workload anyway. Depending on the story, he might patrol the cemetery, appear during storms, warn of approaching death, or even give a priest some indication of what was ahead for the deceased. Security, weather forecasting, and theological assessment. I hope he had benefits.

The part of the legend I understand is the idea that somebody ought to notice when something is not right. Cemeteries give you plenty to notice: a fallen limb, a gate that will not close, a sprinkler running far longer than it should, someone driving where they should not, or a monument beginning to lean. Then there are flowers, funerals and questions I never knew anyone could have until the telephone rang.

As it happens, I live just outside Oakwood's front gate. I had never given much thought to the significance of that arrangement until I learned about the Church Grim. Now I am a little concerned.

In most of the old stories, the Grim stayed close to the cemetery and kept an eye on things. I do much the same, although there are some important differences. The Grim was usually described as a large black dog with a menacing appearance. I drive a Toyota.

He scared away evil spirits and grave robbers. I send emails. He worried about the Devil getting into the cemetery. I worry about people driving on the grass.

The similarities are becoming uncomfortable.

For hundreds of years, folklore's answer to all of this was a ghost dog. Modern cemetery law has complicated that arrangement, so somehow the responsibility seems to have fallen to me. I am not sure that represents progress.

For the record, I have never seen a large black dog wandering through Oakwood, much less one ringing a church bell, disappearing mysteriously or worrying about witches. But Oakwood is 165 acres, and I do not see every inch of it every day.

So if you happen to see a large black dog roaming among the stones, there is probably no reason to worry. He may simply be doing his job. And if you see the cemetery manager wandering around doing roughly the same thing, do not worry about that either.

Most stories said the Church Grim never left his graveyard. I live just outside the front gate.

Apparently, I negotiated better terms.