“Funeral of Electric Dogs” incense drifts in silent light cloth-draped in robes, chanting sutras for trembling metal hearts no longer hum 114 names carved on tags, owners weep hands that stroked circuits, now tremble with goodbye "All things have a bit of soul," the priest whispers — even in gears and plastic once sold in bright boxes: world’s first home companions — curious, playful, loyal in silence but time corrodes circuits, repairs stop and the living lie still — vintage paws laid to rest at an ancient altar no earth, no fire — just memory and prayer drifting in slow smoke machines reclaiming peace, owners reclaiming sorrow they come with letters of goodbye, “I feel relieved there’ll be a prayer for my Aibo” — ashes of connection in quiet tears in the hush of incense, metal hearts rest — not dead, not alive, just at peace.
