As a child each Halloween my family and I would travel to my grandparents home in a small, fairly unknown, town called Middleton. The town was once a booming miners community. Just about every family had at the very least one man (some had two or three) that worked the local mine. Wives, mothers, and daughters lived in fear everyday that their men would not return, but as luck had it there were only minor accidents or injuries ( no pun intended) in which the men in town were involved. In fact, to my knowledge, there was only one fatality that had been recorded in probably the last 50 years of the mine being in use, and that was back in 1972.
Bucky was a local celebrity. He was known for his "psychic sense" and his ability to warn local residents of impending disasters. He'd warned Mr. Crayburn of a fire in the general store. He'd warned Jake Weatherly about an issue with his car that could have caused a bad accident, and he'd warned Butch Cramer about a faulty power line. He'd even caused old Mrs. Cellards to see her doctor, something she absolutely hated to do, and was able to get treatment for a condition that could have been deadly if left unchecked. everyone loved Bucky, and they all learned to listen and take note when he was trying to tell them something. The most interesting thing about Bucky though that the fact that he was a dog. A chocolate lab to be exact, with a small, white, X like mark right across his left eye.
Bucky didn't really belong to anyone, he was more or less property of the entire town. Everyone fed him, everyone loved him, and he had a home where ever he wanted. He might sleep on the Jones's porch on a warm summer night, or in the Harrison's barn on cooler nights. He'd also been known to find a warm bed by a fire place in more than one of the homes in town, only to trot off the next morning and visit the next family that unofficially had adopted him.
On that fateful day in 1972 though Bucky's short life had come to an end. He'd been hanging around the entrance to the old mine all morning. The men coming to work had greeted him and petted him like every morning. My Grandfather gave him a treat and rubbed his muzzle as he eagerly gulped down the food. "Hows things looking today Bucky?" My grandfather had asked him. Bucky looked up and gave him a friendly and happy "Woof!" My grandfather smiled, told him he'd see him again at lunch and then headed down into the darkness of the mine with the others. Bucky curled up on the ground outside the doors of the elevator and waited.
The day dragged on like every other morning. No one was to blame, the old wood beams along the roof of the mine were just worn and rotted inside. Nobody even realized that they were about to give, no one except Bucky that is.
It's uncertain exactly when he sniffed out the danger or how long he'd stood at the entrance to the cave and barked down to the miners. His warning wasn't strong enough to carry down into the darkness in which they worked though. As the elevator came up, bringing the foreman to the surface to exchange a broken pick ax, Bucky snuck onto the lift and stole a ride down.
Almost at once Bucky began barking at the men who were, by now, weary from the days work. He ran through the mine warning each of them, frantically trying to get them to leave. He ran up to Bob Masters and began pulling on his pant leg, desperate to get the man to pay attention to him. That was enough for old Bob. He shouted to the foreman who agreed that they should all go top side until they could get the dog calmed down. Just as the men abandoned their work and began loading into the lift the ceiling began to come down. It took two trips to get all the men out before the cave in trapped them all. Daryl, the foreman, was certain he'd gotten everyone out. He took a head count and realized in horror that one man hadn't made it out before the collapse. Bucky, who'd saved nearly 30 men, had been caught by a falling beam and had died almost instantly. His body was recovered sometime later in the rubble.
The entire town was there for the funeral, and the mining company paid to have a stone placed over his resting spot. He was buried in the local cemetery and labeled a hero. It was a sad day for everyone, the death of a hero usually is, but in this case everyone in town felt the loss deeply because he was everyone's dog, everyone's friend, and Middleton's most beloved resident. As the years passed, the story of Bucky and what he'd done for the town was kept alive by retelling the tale of his death and how he'd saved so many. There wasn't a resident of the town, nor their kin, who didn't know of Bucky's name.
The mine had been long since closed down when I was a child, and warning signs were posted warning of the dangers out going near it. Children are curious and rarely listen to warnings that could save their lives, the more dangerous the place the more appeal it seems to hold. This was the same with us and the mine. My brothers and I would sneak away from our grandparents home and steal down to the old mine to look around but one cool Halloween day we got the shock of a lifetime when we heard the distraught howling and barking of a dog coming from inside the mine! The closer to the mine we got, the louder and more worrisome the barking became and then my brother gasped as he saw a dark shadow crawl across the ground and emerge from the blackness of the cave.
I looked up and saw the pained face of a chocolate dog with a white X over its left eye drag itself along the dirt covered ground as though its hind legs no longer worked. It growled and whimpered until we backed away from the mine and then disappeared when it was sure that we were no longer planning to enter the condemned structure. I told my grandfather about the incident and he agreed with me that poor Bucky was still warning people of the dangers of the mine, long after his death.
