Under Rocky Hill's lawns lies sandstone that once held a dinosaur's footprint, and the town has never quite stopped being proud of it. Lawn Dawg works the grass above that old stone — the sloping yards off West Street, the flat green aprons of the neighborhoods running east toward the river meadow. Mowing here is a matter of reading ground: where the sun bakes a south face by July, where a maple's shade keeps things soft into September. The reward lands at the end of an afternoon, when the last stripe runs parallel to the walk and the edge along the driveway is cut clean enough to draw a finger down. It is lawn care, plainly said, and Rocky Hill wears it well.