Down the end of a small alley off Truong Dinh street in Hanoi, I find an archway built in the style of O Quan Chuong, the only surviving gate from the Thang Long citadel built in 1749AD.

“But this is my passion. I love pets and want to take care of them in their afterlife. In the drizzling rain we walk around the graveyard, which is called “Te dong vat nga” (loving animals like loving people). I read out the names on small tombs: To To, Lucky, Xuka, Sinky, Lo Lo, Milu and Pu Tin, no doubt the pet of someone with an eye for Russian’s prime minister.

Currently there are more than 100 tombs for dogs and cats. According to Sinh everyday the tombs are cleaned and incense is lit in honour of the deceased quadrupeds. There’s an obvious question I have to ask: How on earth did Sinh end up managing a graveyard for pets? The 70 year old, who is cordially referred to as “Sinh cho” by his friends, speculates that destiny has always been at work. “When I was small, I was so wild that my father said that when I grew up only dogs would be able to feed me,” he says.

“I think I might have led a life of sin against animals in my previous incarnation. So I have a debt to pay now.” It is hard to believe there’s a demand for such a lucrative business. Vietnamese people are not known as great animal lovers – this is a country where dogs are a much more likely to be a dish rather than an adored pet – though perhaps that is about to change.

Once in the north of Vietnam raising dogs was actually banned in 1954 to stop rabid dogs spreading diseases. Dog owners would be heavily fined or even imprisoned (presumably if they couldn’t pay the fines). Between 1954 and 1985, only the ministries of National Defence and Home Affairs were technically allowed to raise dogs to help hunt criminals. Not that this was actually the case. Sinh says he bought a German shepherd in 1975 from the Ministry of Home Affairs. He named the dog Bach Tuyet as she had hair which was as white as snow.

“I raised Bach Tuyet and her children without ever being discovered as no one ever came near my house. Only my friends knew about the dogs,” says Sinh, before adding that some children in Hanoi didn’t even know what a dog was back then. In 1985, the ban on raising dogs was officially lifted but each family was restricted to keeping just one dog. Each dog had to have an identity card, just like a citizen. Puppies could not be kept but had to be submitted to police stations. It might sound a tad draconian nowadays but Sinh puts it in perspective.

“Leaders thought that people’s lives remained too difficult. So, it was a waste to raise animals,” says Sinh. A dog’s life Sinh shows me a tall tomb of Bach Tuyet’s puppy, Ami (As in the French for friend), who marked the start of Sinh’s pet business in Vietnam in 1978. He was Bach Tuyet’s puppy and weighed 60kg.

“Ami used to be the biggest dog in Vietnam and he was the father of countless dogs!” says Sinh, beaming with pride. “I owe this guy so much,” says Sinh, referring to the image and statue of Ami on the tomb. “In my room I also have a picture of Ami.” Placing a joss-stick in a bowl on Ami’s tomb, Sinh says sadly: “On the brink of death, Ami dragged himself towards me.

His eyes shed tears before slowly closing. Then he passed away.” “People only thought about their animals’ afterlife since 2000,” says Sinh. “After the pets die, they rent a piece of land here to bury them. After 2-3 years, the bones of the animals will, in accordance with Vietnamese culture, be exhumed and buried in another place within the vicinity.”

Each owner of a tomb pays VND2 million ($117.6) for permanent burial. The money will be used to buy joss-sticks and other offerings on the first and fifteenth days of each lunar month. “On those days, owners also visit their pet’s tombs,” says Sinh. Recently Sinh asked monks to come and perform a ceremony to pray for the peace of the animals’ souls.

“I always pray for a good afterlife for the dead animals. Humans have their worshipping places. Why can’t these beloved animals have their own places of worship?” he says. Before I leave, Sinh shows me the pond in the middle of the cemetery, on which stands the statue of Bodhisattva Kuan Yin, the Taoist Goddess, who is associated with compassion and whose name means “Observing the cries of the world.” “I will build a platform in the pond which will be used for ceremonies for the deceased animals,” he says before adding, “Then I will build a cremator.”

VietNamNet/Timeout