Rocky

Tucson

Al's cousin, Holly, wrote this story about one of their dogs. After asking her permission, I had to share it.

ROCKY

The first weekend of April 2003 was a horrible weekend to go camping. The weatherman said “possible rain and cold wind for the weekend”, but we were determined to get out of town. There is a place called “Rock Creek” in the mountains, we would go at least once a year. It is secluded and far away from people and civilization.

My husband, our daughter and I love our pets, we had three dogs. Several strays have crossed our path, we would always feed and water them, but we could not keep them, feeling ”we didn’t give the pets we had enough attention”. So with heavy hearts, we would take them to the Humane Society and hope for the best.

Deep down we really didn’t feel like camping. Determined, we gathered all supplies, and hoped I didn’t forget the frying pan (which I have done in the past). The crew cab truck was packed full. Our three dogs in the bed, nestled among the sleeping bags and tents, our daughter and her friend in the back seat, my husband driving and I was riding shotgun.

Driving to “Rock Creek” was long and uneventful. Arriving safely, we set up camp, made dinner and cleaned up. The girls had their own tent and were protected by “Tootsie”, our sheltie mix. Extinguishing the fire and stowing the trash, my husband and I retired to our tent with “Riley”, a husky/chow mix and “Lady”, a rottie mix.

The weatherman’s predictions came true. Wind began to howl, causing an eerie conversation high within the pine trees. Feeling anxious about hearing voices and things that go bump in the night, a noise was heard from our campsite. Flashlight in hand, we peeked our heads out the tent door and looked around. Everything looked fine, and then off to the right a pair of eyes glowed. Seeing it was probably a coyote or a raccoon and not a bear, we were able to sleep, somewhat.

The next morning, our dogs ran off. The problem, we didn’t know which direction down the road. My husband went one way and I the other, calling, “Tootsie, Riley, Lady” over and over. I remember seeing some fresh scratch marks in the dirt, like a dog did it, thinking it was weird. We had not been down this way with our dogs and we were the only crazy campers in the area. I heard my husband yell, “I have the dogs”, so I returned.

Throughout the day, the wind kept building and bringing more cold. The girls found enjoyment getting wet in the stream. I had them change clothes and instructed them to stay dry. What did they do? They got wet again! No available dry clothes my patience ran thin. I told them to put on their pajamas and play games in their tent. My husband and I are miserable, we were cold, we were tired, and we had two board, pre-teen girls. There was no way we could expect them to stay in their tent when it was hours before turning in for the night. We looked at each other and decided it was time to go home.

I took the dogs for a walk, on the way back they ran ahead of me. My husband yelled, “I have a dog!” Thinking to myself, ‘yeah, I know they‘re our dogs’, it was not. He was peppered black and white with black liver spots. He was emaciated, his eyes were glossy and sunken, we could see every bone in his body, and every rib more defined with each breath, petting him was like petting a straw broom. My husband fed this dog, he ate like I have never seen any animal eat; we probably over fed him at the time.

Tootsie, Riley and Lady’s reaction amazed me. Our three usually show no restraint when protecting their territory. I feared they would hurt this dog. They reacted just the opposite, they were gentle, they gave him space, and didn’t try to eat his food my husband put down.

We leashed our visitor, intently he watched with a worried expression as we loaded the truck. I told him, “everything will be okay, we won’t leave you behind”. He kept his eye on the tailgate. All packed, I took him off the tether and held onto his only possession, a brown leather collar with no tags, I feared he would run off. There was no need, he soared into the back of our truck and nested down. This new dog had a few bowel movements on the way home, his very large feces contained mostly of grass and twigs. We would stop, clean up, and then continue our journey with all sorts of scenarios on how he became lost in a very isolated part of the mountains.

We had left home with three dogs, returning, there were four that walked single file into our backyard. Secretly each of us wanted to keep him, we didn’t know if he would live and if somebody already loved him. Naive as I was, I couldn’t imagine anyone not missing this beautiful animal. I reported him found with the local Humane Society, they scanned him, no microchip. I sensed they were relieved when I said, “he could stay with us”.

A week passed and no one claimed the Queensland heeler mix, I was relieved. I called a vet for a check up and prepared to put up a fight with my husband to keep him. What I didn’t know, my husband already intended to keep our visitor. The vet examined him, and found he was more than likely abandoned, around 3 ½ years old, and neutered. Receiving all needed vaccinations and prescribing tape worm medication, our job was to find a name. Since my husband first saw him, and he was found at “Rock Creek” he became ‘Rocky’, my husbands dog.

Rocky may be the reason our three dogs took off running that morning. The scratch marks I saw, probably belonged to him, as he scavenged for bugs to eat. I think Rocky had been watching us from a distance and it was his eyes we saw glow in the night. With our three dogs out of camp, Rocky knew he had to be brave, he had to take a chance and come forward, he had to ask for help, if he was going to survive.

A good bath, time to heal, and learning to trust us, we all fell in love. How Rocky became lost in the mountains, we shall never know. Now years later, gray is showing on his sweet face. Our seniors, Riley and Tootsie, have passed on and a special bond has developed between Rocky and Lady, they are like “peas and carrots”. Of all our camping trips, the one that was the most miserable turned out to be the most memorable. Rocky was meant to be apart of our family. We believe the only reason we went camping that cold windy weekend was because there was a lost soul who needed to be found, Rocky had too much love left to give. Someone else’s reject became our treasure.

By, Holly Sanderson