Valley hosts fairy shrimp, pet cemetery

Phil Hagen

Saturday, Aug. 2, 1997 | 3:34 a.m.

BOULDER CITY -- Like any desert valley, Eldorado has its share of life and death.

In none other, however, will you find the most notable examples of each to be, respectively, fairy shrimp and pets.

When the rains make the dry lake wet, strange little things emerge in the muddy puddles. They're long-tailed apus, a k a fairy shrimp, or tadpole shrimp.

"They're cute little prehistoric creatures," said Boulder City historian Dennis McBride, who has witnessed this phenomenon on a few occasions.

Since a prerequisite for those occasions is heavy rain, the viewing opportunities are few and far between.

"Their eggs will lay dormant for however long it takes till the next rain -- months, even years," McBride said.

After hatching, these crustaceans thrive on microorganisms in the water and grow to about 2 inches in length. When their homes dry up, so do they. But the females leave eggs behind, for the next cycle.

A little piece of advice to future fairy shrimp spectators:

"You don't want to get too close in your car when it's gooey and wet," McBride said. "You'll just stick. Then it'll harden and you'll become part of the landscape."

Speaking of becoming part of the landscape ...

On the other side of U.S. 95, about four miles south of the Railroad Pass junction, you might notice some small, white picket fences peeking out from the creosote bushes. Turn onto an unmarked dirt road and, after a few yards, you'll run into what looks like Boot Hill. Upon closer examination, it's more like Puss 'n' Boot Hill.

Since the mid-'50s, locals have taken their dearly departed pets here, 10 miles from the city, for proper -- albeit unofficial -- burials. Today, there are hundreds of graves clustered over three acres of the valley floor.

"It's huge. It goes way out there," said McBride, who stopped by to pay his respects to the forgotten-but-not-gone Eldorado landmark the other day. "It's pretty much intact. I saw Sam I and Sam II and their little chew toy that they'd left behind, the dog dishes ..."

Some are elaborate monuments with wrought-iron fences and marble headstones, inscribed with such prose as "Dukie, Our Little Angel, 1948-1962." Others are more bare bones: "Boots, 1953-1964." Many are rock or dirt piles beneath weather-beaten crosses.

The cemetery was the pet project of Emory Lockette, a longtime civil engineer with the federal Bureau of Reclamation. He started offering his funeral services in 1953; charges varied with the customers' requests.

In 1968, for example, The Nevadan reported: "One local pet owner, Elton Garrett, said he was pleased with the way Lockette handled the burial of his dog, Snickle Fritz. The pet was placed in a clothlined wooden box and the grave was fenced and marked with a wooden cross. The charge was $50."

Lockette told The Nevadan that when he was no longer able to handle the job, he'd arrange for someone else to carry on. But today it seems to be a dying art.

While the cemetery survived an effort in the '70s to, according to McBride, "keep people from going out there and planting their pets," the body count slowed in the '80s and more substantially in the '90s.

But there are still a few who dig the site. There was Fatums in '93, Holly in '94, Taffy in '95 and Rusty in '96.

May you all rest in peace -- and say "hi" to Snickle Fritz.