It all started with a faint whimper coming from the vacant lot next to where I work. At first, I thought it would stop, but the sound kept coming back. Hours passed, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was in trouble. Curiosity turned into concern, and I finally decided to check it out.

I climbed over the fence, my heart pounding. As I stepped closer, I couldn’t believe what I saw. A dog was stuck in an abandoned oil sump, neck-deep in a thick, cold mixture of oil and water. His eyes told the story—he was tired, scared, and out of strength.

I called a coworker for help, and for 30 long minutes, we tried to figure out how to save him. A ramp didn’t work, so we slipped a strap under his front legs, braced ourselves, and pulled with everything we had. The dog was heavier than we expected, but we couldn’t give up.

With one final heave, we freed him. For a moment, he tried to run, but his body was too weak. Shivering and exhausted, he surrendered to us, his eyes silently pleading for help.

We wrapped him in whatever warmth we could find and called a local rescue group and animal control for assistance. Time was crucial. Off to the vet he went, where it took five baths to wash away the oil. An IV helped him regain strength, and soon after, they scanned him for a chip.

That’s when we discovered his name—Rocky. He had been missing for two long weeks. Somehow, he had wandered three miles from home, lost and alone, until fate brought him to that lot.

A few days later, I visited him again. This time, Rocky wasn’t the weak dog stuck in the oil pit. His eyes were brighter, his tail wagging gently. He leaned into me, as if to say, “Thank you.”

Rocky may have been lost once, but now he’s found—for good. What started as a rescue became the beginning of something even better: a lifelong friendship.