There are stories of the loyalty of dogs that go back as far as
domestication itself. This is one of them.
He was a little black dog. No one knew where he came from but
what they wondered about more was who he was waiting for. He seemed
to appear out of nowhere one summer day in 1965, right here on the
spot these coordinates lead you to. And here he stood, waiting,
watching, examining every car that passed by.
The locals began to call him Blackie. Some tried to adopt the
dog, but he wouldn't budge from his post. If they took him home he
would simply find his way back to this spot and stand there, day
and night, rain or shine, even in the snow and ice. Watching and
waiting.
And it was that winter, right here on this spot that it finally
happened. On an icy morning Blackie was struck by a passing car and
killed.
Years later, on one of his "On the Road" tours,
commentator Charles Kuralt would stop here, interview some locals
and write a bit about this spot. As he commented:
"He was just a lost dog, and it all happened a long time
ago. It's hard to explain the impression Blackie made on the people
around here; hard to explain why all these years later, the kids
still take turns mowing the grass and keeping the place cleaned up.
Maybe the explanation is in what they wrote on Blackie's grave
marker:"
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from, "On the Road With Charles Kuralt"
I'd love to read your own stories as you log this cache. Was
there a pet in your life that rivaled the love and loyalty of
Blackie? Does Blackie's story strike a chord in you somehow?
This is a log only cache. The coordinates will lead you to
Blackie's gravestone (seen in the picture above). The cache is a
thin plastic container. Thanks to the road crews, the hide is in
plain sight and very secure.
