Rocky was named because she ran wild at a local rock quarry. I’d wanted to pick her up but was afraid she belonged to someone; when it was obvious she didn’t she was rather ensconced as the quarry stray. I’d always look for her when I drove past to work, occasionally tossing food out for her. She lived out there for about a year; I’d worriedly search for her especially after tornadic weather or heavy snows and ice storms. Then one day she was gone…but not before I had taken a photo of her. A few months later I spotted a very familiar dog on Petfinders, a network of humane societies and rescues. Excitedly I told my husband I had found the “rock dog”, but he wasn’t sure it was the same. I brought up the photo, and they were identical to the very last spot so off to a neighboring county’s humane society we went. No clue how she ended up there as the quarry was in a 3rd county, but the rest, as they say, is history.