Btw, a bit of a thread creep, but just a bit of a one.
One summer morning, in a year when we were in the midst of a gypsy moth catapilliar plague (happens on a ten year cycle or so: 7 years of almost none, then a year with some, then more, and finally population boom; then almost none for another 7 years), Mother thought she saw something in an old dog house by our front door (that our other dog had outgrown). She had to sweep away the catapilliar silks that were draped over the doghouse to see properly, but sure enough, there was a tiny black puppy -- no more than 8 weeks old -- sitting in the doghouse, as pretty as you please, with an old sneaker in front of him.
Now, our house was in the middle of the forest, and not visable from the road. Our driveway was 1/5 mile long, and unpaved, and if someone wanted to drop a puppy off at a doorstep, it would be far easier to do so at a neighbor's door, and the puppy was so young and small, it's hard to imagine him walking up the driveway himself, without any sign of injury or stress, and settling into the doghouse as though he were posing for a Hallmark greeting card. Yet there he was, as if dropped from heaven.
...in honor of the Gypsy moths all around him, we named him Gypsy Davy. The sweetest little dog I ever knew...