I had to see it. I heard it was up North Carolina way: the resting place of mules and horses. 
To see this poignant cemetery is to see how urban encroachment chews up farmland. To see it is to witness a changing Southland. 
Granite tombstones stand in a ridge of woods overlooking I-540. To their back sits a large apartment complex. Farmland no more. Mules and horses no more. 
A man who loved and appreciated the hardworking animals that kept his farm and his life going buried them with dignity. That was a ways back before combustible engines put mules and horses out to pasture for good. 
Mr. Fabius H. Page possibly is buried on this ridge as well. At least the coordinates for his grave will take you there. That’s how I found wooded graveyard for faithful farm animals. I parked and walked up a wooded ridge. Then I began to see the stones. 
“Lulu, Bay Mule, Very Swift, 1902, Age 28”
“Bessie, Driving Mare, Brown, White Face, 4 White Feet, 1903 – 1937”
You’ll find 8 other graves here, the resting place of Fab Page’s beloved farm animals. Back then locals knew the man who buried his animals with dignity as Fab. 
It’s said that Fab’s will stated that his family could not sell the land the cemetery is on. He intended it to be a perpetual memorial, and so far it is. 
It’s not far from the Research Triangle Park. You can stand on this wooded ridge, close your eyes, and imagine what Paige’s farm might have looked like. 
Perhaps a sweep of green pastures stood where the apartment complex and all its cars sit. Over there, perhaps, stood a handsome barn. I-540, with all its speeding traffic, used to be a dirt road. Every 4th of July locals would host a horse race there. Now it’s the site of traffic jams and accidents.
You can stand on that ridge with your eyes closed and imagine cattle lowing. You have to concentrate hard, however, to block out the commercial air flights roaring low overhead. 
You can imagine rows of corn standing green in the sun, but that takes focus too. Asphalt and buildings dominate the land. Wholesale change has arrived full force.
This mule and horse cemetery represents change in a way I have not seen. If you drive the land as much as I do you will see junk yards filled with twisted, crushed, rusting vehicles. You will see, too, forsaken tractors overtaken by vines and weeds here and there. 
I suppose these are cemeteries, too, but none have gravestones like Fab Paige’s mules and horses. The closest I have come to such magnificent places are the handmade monuments at the graves of dogs and cats that were beloved members of the family. 
I have no doubt these faithful beasts of burden were members of Fab Paige’s family, and it touches me that he erected monuments to them. It is a memorial to the South, the likes of which we will never see again. Each day the land surrounding us dies a little, but we fail to take notice. 
Long may your faithful ones RIP.