The sad reality is that owners generally outlive their pets. And whether it's a beloved goldfish, guinea pig or Great Dane, we often want to mark the pet's passing.

Newark's First Ward was once witness to a pet funeral that included a cortege, a 15-piece band, and mourners who came from other states. In 1920, "Jimmie," a canary who belonged to Emidio Russomano, a cobbler who lived at 5 Royden Street, died suddenly. Jimmie strangled on a watermelon seed. To mark Jimmie's passing, Russomano organized a white hearse to carry the body, two coaches, and a 15-piece band that played dirges during a two-mile procession "through the Italian section."

Five hundred people followed the tiny coffin that cost Jimmie's owner $25. Some 10,000 Newarkers "witnessed the unique funeral process from the tenements in the district," according to an account in The New York Times. Jimmie was buried in a vacant lot on Factor Street, near Branch Brook Park. A woman came from Philadelphia for the ceremony, bearing a wreath and donating towards the funeral. The expenses reached $400, according to The New York Times, and $100 was contributed by neighbors.

Jimmie's parents, Lorenzo and Maria, belonged to Russomano, and survived Jimmie. Still, Russomano closed his business and draped the windows with crepe. A note pinned to the door of the cobbler shop read, "Closed on account of Jimmie's death." This story is also told in Peter Immerso's 1997 book, "Newark's Little Italy." Jimmie has been listed by the Guinness Book as having one of the most elaborate pet funerals on record.

But a Rutgers publication suggests that there was more to mourn and celebrate than simply a canary. World War I claimed local casualties, and the killed some 11,000 Newark residents, according to the mayor. The city's chief health officer, Dr. Charles Craster, disputed his figures, counting double that number. Victims were buried hastily, and a hospital intended to treat the ill became an orphanage for children whose parents died.