“INDIANA SPIRIT
QUEST”
The Indiana Spirit Quest series of
geocaches will take you to a number of small, rural, historic
cemeteries built by Hoosier Pioneers in central Indiana. You can
map out a route and get a bunch of ‘em in one trip and at the
same time learn a little about our history.
Young Lead Dog & "Skipper"
INDIANA SPIRIT QUEST
#35
”The Rainbow Bridge”
You are searching for the big wooden signs
that read "PET HILL CEMETERY". This is the final resting place of
the earthly remains of "Goober" and all his friends. (Photo by
Prairie Partners)
Just this side of Heaven is place called Rainbow Bridge. When
an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that
pet goes to the Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all
our special friends so they can run and play together. There is
plenty of food, water, and sunshine and our friends are warm and
comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and
old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed
are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our
dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and
content, except for one small thing: They each miss someone very
special, someone who was left behind.
They all run and play together, but the
day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His
bright eyes are intent; his eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly
he breaks from the group, flying over the green grass, faster and
faster. You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend
finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be
parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands
again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into those
trusting eyes, so long gone from your life, but never absent from
your heart.
Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge
together...
PLEASE FEEL FREE TO
POST PHOTOS OF YOUR OWN DEPARTED PETS, WHO ARE WAITING FOR YOU AT
RAINBOW BRIDGE, WITH YOUR LOG.
L - R: Car 54's sweet MAGGIE; Team Tigger's loyal MAX
and special kitty MO...
L toR: Xile's Bert & Ernie and Cookie;
The Swamp 4's Smoke; T Prints' Hobie
The Dog
From The Wrong Side of The Tracks
His name was Toby. He was about a six-month-old pup,
purportedly half Springer and half Brittany Spaniel. He was
basically all white, long haired, with a black head and a black
ring around his stubby tail. Toby lived under the kitchen range in
an apartment on the wrong side of the tracks, in a neighborhood
called the “Gut” in Ridgewood, New Jersey. At that time
I was a seven-year-old boy, an only child, just waiting to turn
eight so I could join the Cub Scouts. My Mom and Dad took me to the
“Gut” and we adopted Toby and he was to become my best
friend and my constant childhood companion.
Toby and I grew up together in Florida, during the fifties
and sixties, in a bygone era of orange groves, sand, gopher
turtles, and other things, about three miles from the Gulf of
Mexico and the Beach. We listened to WOWO in bed at night and
listened to the Whistle of the Orange Blossom Special. We chased
birds, captured rattlesnakes, fished and did all the hundreds of
things a boy and his dog do together.
Now, Toby was a gentle soul with people. You could
practically reach down his throat and retrieve food out of his
belly and he wouldn’t complain a bit. But with other male
dogs, it was a different deal. Toby was somewhat of a ladies man a
la Disney’s “Lady and the Tramp”. Now in those
days, nobody tied their dogs up; they all ran free just like the
kids. Once a year, like clockwork, Toby would take off and be gone
for a week or two. My Dad would drive me around town, we’d
yell for him and I’d go to bed each night praying for his
safety. Eventually one night, we’d find him, on the wrong
side of the tracks, full of dirt, insects, matted hair and dried
blood. We’d bring him home, clean him up, bandage him,
he’d have it out of his doggy system, and he’d be good
to go for another year.
I don’t know how many fights he fought, or how many
little Toby’s may have been running around, but I do know he
was the boss dog for miles around. One spring, a boxer bitch was in
heat on our street. Every day, after I got home from school,
I’d have to drag Toby’s sorry butt off their front
porch and take him home. All the other neighborhood dogs sat a safe
distance away, across the street watching, because Toby had whipped
their collective asses for the privilege of sitting on the porch.
That boxer must have slipped out of the house unaccompanied at some
point, because she had a litter, and they weren’t little
boxers, but Toby and I kind of laid low about that time. Tobe had a
long and successful career at this sort of thing and had the scars
to prove it…including an ear with a two-inch tear in
it.
A boy couldn’t have had a better pal than old Tobe. I
did join the Cub Scouts and went on to become an Eagle Scout. When
the time came, I went away to college, but when I came home summers
to work, there he was, that stumpy tail wagging a little slower,
and you could tell he was getting old. When I was done with
University, I had the opportunity to spend a year in the Orient. My
Mother wrote often, telling me the news of home, and always
mentioning Toby. Then came the letter that said nothing of the old
dog. And he was never mentioned in another letter. My mom
hadn’t the heart to put it in words, but I knew. The old boy
had passed to the Rainbow Bridge, to wait for me and chase birds
and butterflies and be young again, and who knows? Maybe a trip or
two to the other side of the tracks. ---Lead Dog
Pvt. Lead Dog & Toby
The cache container WAS about half the
size of a 35mm film can. Then it WAS a film can. NOW it's a plastic
spice jar in the woods. As always, please be respectful, and cache
in, trash out.
 Cache In -
Trash Out!  Malmutes WELCOME!
Available year-round  Less than 200 ft. from car to cache
 Check Tide Before
Caching  Accessible
in Winter
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NO NIGHT CACHING ALLOWED!
UPDATE MAY 2006: Coordinates should take you to St. Francis,
then go to the big tree behind him to begin your search