A tough diagnosis for Peanut: help with the fight for time.

Hi, I’m Peanut. I’m just a smol pean, as my tiny woman calls me—a Jack Russell who used to zoom so fast no one could catch me. I loved chasing balls, hunting squirries, and making sure every manmonster I met felt a little less broken inside. I’m an emotional support doggo for my tiny woman (she’s small, but her heart is big), though honestly, I think I’m the emotional support dog for all manmonsters.

But now… something’s wrong. My back legs don’t listen to me anymore. Stairs feel like mountains, and I have to wait for tiny woman to carry me up and down. I try to be brave, but I don’t understand why my legs won’t work or why she looks at me with watery eyes when she thinks I’m not looking.

They took me to bad place (the V.E.T., they say) and did many bad touches. They said there’s a big, scary thing called a tumor inside me. It’s sitting on my spine, making it harder and harder to move. They can’t take it out, but they said there’s something called radiation and special pictures that might help. But my tiny woman told me it costs more treats than I could ever dream of.

I don’t understand things like money or tumors, but I do understand love. And I know I don’t want to leave her. Not yet. Jack Russells like me can live to be 16. I’m only 9. I still have so many days left to lay on the big soft, to go to the beach, to wag my nubbins.

She says I’m the love of her life. But she’s the love of mine, too. She saved me, and now I need her—and maybe you—to save me.

She promised she would always take care of me - I know she is trying.

Please, if there’s any way to help, I want to stay. I want more days, more kisses, more adventures.

I’m not ready to go to heaven (tiny woman says all doggos go there)