PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

One of the regular walking routes for Peanut, our agreeable chihuahua mix, includes strolls through a pair of small cemeteries.

Both are relatively humble graveyards, the type of neighborhood burial places that pop up throughout Pittsburgh’s older neighborhoods. To Peanut, though, they’re massive — sprawling networks of clear, paved pathways.

I make a point of forbidding Peanut to sniff, climb or (ahem) defile any headstones or actual grave sites. I’ve explained to him, repeatedly, that doing so is impolite, and he should limit his exploration and (ahem) deposits to neutral grassy areas far from any proper plots.

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He usually listens to these explanations attentively, then goes on his way. I’m not sure they’re getting through, but he is yet to commit any offenses, so I assume he gets the gist.

Cemeteries make for excellent dog-walking locations. The winding paths add considerable distance without traveling farther from home; the relative (or complete, in some cases) lack of cars puts dogs and owners at ease. Most are cleaned at least semi-regularly, freeing them of the litter and dangerous broken glass that can pile up on many Pittsburgh streets. They’re often superior even to hiking trails, where dirt or gravel paths can cause discomfort on some dogs’ paws and cyclists whiz by at pooch-frightening speed.

That’s why I was surprised and a bit dismayed to hear that some larger area cemeteries enforce a no-dogs policy. A colleague told me he had actually been ejected from one such graveyard for having a dog.

The next time I walked Peanut among the tombstones, I paused to check the signs at our nearby cemeteries. One said nothing about dogs, but the other did have a “no pets allowed” placard. At this one, at least, it doesn’t seem to be enforced; we’ve walked by maintenance folks and other staff dozens of times without comment (although I am sure to prominently wave Peanut’s waste bag, as if to display that we are responsible visitors).

Indeed, most cemeteries are at least nominally off-limits to dogs. And, insomuch as most are private property, it is within their purview to set their own rules.

This rule, however, is a bad one.

If the aim is to keep waste away from gravesites, that’s a fool’s errand. I’d like to point out that graveyards are frequently home to deer and geese, two species that generate far more waste than dogs — and, unlike dogs, no one is tailing deer or geese to clean up after them. If a dog owner were spotted leaving the evidence, I’d support asking them to clean up or leave, but if the contention is that cemeteries are sacred spaces unworthy of being exposed to animal leavings, that’s an impossible goal.

If the spirit of the rule is rather to keep cemeteries as places of peaceful reflection and not exercise spots for canines, that’s a misuse of land. Look at a map of a neighborhood; if it has even a decent-sized graveyard, it’s probably the biggest footprint for several blocks. Pretending that an outdoor, well-maintained area shouldn’t be incorporated into its neighborhood is wasteful. Cemeteries shouldn’t sit empty most of the time; they should be used as de facto parks, as long as visitors are respectful and clean.

I understand that it’s easier to make all-encompassing rules than to deal with nuances and complications, but we can’t give acres of local real estate over to be nothing but a final resting place. Cemeteries, at least in residential areas, need to be for both the living and the dead — and their animal companions.

I, for one, wouldn’t want to be buried in a no-dogs-allowed cemetery. I don’t want to be anywhere where dogs aren’t allowed, regardless of whether or not I happen to be dead. In fact, I may amend my will to add a dog bowl to any headstone designs.

If my gravesite happens to catch some stray waste from a passing pooch, it’ll be a small price to pay for posthumous canine companionship — and the assurance that I’m offering a living dog and owner safe space to stroll.