We have until Friday

a life hangs in the balance

There are times when I wish I could tell you everything.

This is one of those times.

But there is an active investigation underway, and what I can share must be careful, measured, incomplete. So I’m going to ask you to trust me—and to trust what you already understand about how suffering happens when no one intervenes.

Right now, there is a pig who has survived something no being should ever have to endure.

What I can say is this: he was not cared for, he was not fed, and he was not protected. And he was not alone.

When his situation was finally discovered, he was the only one still alive.

He is alive right now because, somehow, he endured what the others could not.

Law enforcement stepped in, which matters. It means accountability is possible. But it also means that decisions are being made within a system that does not always recognize what a life like his is worth. He has been placed somewhere that does not represent safety—not for him, not in any meaningful sense.

We have been given a narrow window.

Until Friday.

Until Friday to bring him here, to bring him out of a place where his story could end the same way so many others do, and to give him something radically different: time, care, relief, and a chance to experience—perhaps for the first time—what it means not to suffer.

But here is the reality I need you to understand. Rescue is not just about saying yes. It is about having the resources to sustain that yes, day after day, month after month, for the rest of his life.

When animals come to us from situations like this, they don’t just need food and shelter. They need medical care, careful monitoring, space, warmth, and safety. They need to be seen as individuals whose lives matter beyond the moment of rescue.

And we can say yes to all of that. Because of you.

And something else is true, too.

Those of us who are drawn to this work know, on some level, that showing up for another being in their moment of need changes us. There is a kind of healing that happens when we refuse to turn away—when we choose, instead, to act. Not because it erases what we’ve been through, but because it reminds us of who we are.

Right now, our emergency rescue fund is what allows us to do that. It is what stands between a moment like this and the unbearable reality of having to say no.

If you’re able, please make a donation today to help us bring him here before Friday and give him the care he will need for the rest of his life:

If we are going to bring him here by Friday, we need to strengthen that fund immediately—not just for him, but for the next call, and the next, because they always come.

If you are here because you care about animals, because you have been following the stories of those pulled from places where they were treated as expendable, then you already understand what is at stake.

This is one life.

But it is also what we choose, collectively, to stand for.

Please help us say yes. Donate now:

We will share more when we can. For now, please know this:

He is still here.

He is still waiting.

And we have until Friday.