There are seasons in life when everything feels like it happens at once - the moments that stretch your heart, your strength, and your wallet further than you thought possible.

This is one of those seasons for me.

When I moved into a small mountain community, I had no idea I was unknowingly signing up to become the unofficial animal rescue lady. Stray after stray began showing up like they’d been sent by word of mouth.

So far, I’ve:

• Had four stray cats spayed or neutered

• Taken in and cared for a pregnant abandoned dog and found homes for her puppies and had her spayed.

• Paid $800 for a male stray’s emergency leg surgery

• And I still have two more female cats scheduled for spay appointments this week and next.

• Put down a sickly stray cat.

I don’t share this to paint myself as a hero. I share it to show the reality that I’ve poured myself thin, and I’m overwhelmed.

Then came Ralphie.

The Mountain Dog

A month or so ago, a small black speck danced across the ridge behind my home. At first, I thought it was a bear cub. (I live in Bear Valley) I grabbed binoculars- because, well, mountains — and realized it was a young dog. Thin. Alone. And far too brave for his own good.

Slowly, he crept down toward my yard.

Then into my yard.

Then into my grass — my once-pretty green grass — which he now treats like a personal excavation site. He digs holes with the enthusiasm of someone convinced buried treasure is just beneath the surface.

He also delivers “presents” to my porch which often consist of one of my neighbor’s extremely suspicious-looking trash. I don’t ask questions. I don’t think I want the answers.

I named him Ralphie.

Because he’s chaotic.

Curious.

Scared.

And weirdly lovable.

He started trusting us in tiny, flickering moments of little tail wags, quick zoomies, seconds of letting us pet him before panic reminded him he was supposed to be afraid.

We posted flyers.

Posted online.

Asked around.

No one claimed him.

My gut knew: he was likely dumped.

Then Sunday happened.

This wasn’t just any Sunday.

It was the end of a long and heartbreaking weekend my dad had suffered a heart attack, was flown out on a medi-flight, developed pneumonia and an infection, and had just come out of heart surgery. I was exhausted, worried, and on my way to cook dinner for my mom, trying to hold myself together.

My mind was on my dad.

On the hospital.

On everything that was uncertain.

And then Ralphie ran into the road.

It happened so fast I didn’t even have time to hit the brakes. The impact made my whole body go cold. I knew immediately it was Ralphie the little mountain dog who’d been learning, slowly, painfully, how to trust again.

He bolted, terrified, limping badly, refusing to let anyone near him.

I called animal control, but since it was nearing dark, they said they’d come in the morning.

I raced home, grabbed a blanket, and returned but he was already gone.

The neighbors said he disappeared into the trees, dragging himself through brush to hide. I searched for a long time.

I barely slept that night.

The Next Morning

Before the sun had fully risen, I was outside searching again. Walking through wet grass, peering into shadows, calling for a dog who didn’t know I was trying to save him.

Nothing.

By midday my heart felt like it was splitting in two — one part with I needed to be a work and my responsibilities and one part somewhere in the forest with a hurt animal who didn’t understand why he was in pain.

Today… I found him.

Curled up.

Shaking.

Hurt.

Exhausted.

And still alive.

His eyes looked so defeated like he wanted to trust but didn’t have the strength left to try.

Animal control told me he would likely need to be put down.

But after everything he has survived?

No.

He deserves a chance.

He deserves care.

Healing.

Warmth.

Gentleness.

A life that isn’t just fear and survival.

Even if he decorates my yard with holes and questionable stolen trash.

Even if he’s still half-wild and unsure of himself.

He’s worth saving.

This is where I am asking, humbly, for help.

Between helping strays, unexpected surgeries, spay appointments, and now Ralphie… I’m financially overwhelmed.

Ralphie needs immediate medical care for what looks like a broken leg and possible internal injuries.

I cannot do this alone.

If you feel led to help — even the smallest amount — it goes directly toward saving this dog’s life.

If you can’t donate, sharing this means more than you know.

Ralphie has lived his whole short life in survival mode.

I want his story to change here.

I want him to know safety and comfort, maybe for the first time.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for caring.

And thank you for helping give Ralphie a chance. If you have any advice I am open to that too!

Susan & Ralphie