It all began on a quiet suburban afternoon, the kind of day where the sun hangs lazily in the sky and the neighborhood hums softly with the distant sounds of lawnmowers and children playing. Rocky, a well-trained Golden Retriever, lay stretched out on the lawn of his owner’s backyard, his chest rising and falling in calm, rhythmic breaths. His coat glistened in the sunlight, a testament to years of care, and his gentle eyes followed the occasional butterfly fluttering across the grass. Life was peaceful—or so it seemed.