Rescued July 2024 · Maun, Botswana
As told by Peanut
Leaving Survival Mode
The first year after my rescue, my world quickly changed into something I had never known. More space. More kindness. Yummy food. But most of all, other dogs. A whole pack of Africanis dogs, older and wiser than me, who became my teachers without even trying, as they have healed from their trauma, and I was only starting my healing process. And then there was Spirit. From the moment we met, he became my best friend, my mentor, my safe place. I also found unexpected companions in the cats from the Oister Sanctuary — Terra, Amanzi, Umlilo, Sky, Pearly, Cherubim, and Seuntjie. I was no longer in survival mode.
Spirit: My Gentle Guardian & Mentor
I found my comfort and safety snuggled up next to Spirit. He was gentle with me from the very start, as if he could feel my pain — both the emotional and the physical kind. His sheer size gave me a feeling of reassurance that nothing would ever harm me again. I followed him everywhere. Or at least, I tried.
Because of my disability, keeping up with Spirit is no easy task — and it never will be. When we play lying down, I am in my element. Pure joy. But when Spirit gets the zoomies and launches into a full sprint, something shifts in me and all I want to do is run with him. I get up — with effort, using only my front legs — and I give it everything I have. My front legs spin like wheels, full of determination. But the rest of my body, heavy and dragging, slows me down. My spine twists with every movement, like a cloth being wrung out. It hurts. It really hurts.
The Thorns and the Sand
Living in Botswana comes with its own challenges for a dog like me. The Kalahari sand is soft, which helps, but the Acacia thorn trees that surround our sanctuary shed their thorns constantly. Devil thorns hide in the deep sand. They find their way into my bum and my dragging back legs, causing wounds and infections that are as relentless as they are painful.
My guardians rake the property as best they can. They try to clean my wounds and remove the thorns. But the slightest touch sends a bolt of intense pain through me, and I bite — not out of aggression, but pure instinct. I make it nearly impossible for them to help me, even when I desperately need it. On top of that, my bum has giant hematomas from the constant bouncing around; they are the size of golf balls.
The Search for Doggy Wheels
Shortly after my rescue, the Oister Foundation set out to find me a set of doggy wheels — a cart that could lift my rear body off the ground and give me the freedom to move without pain. What followed was one of the most exhausting, heartbreaking, and ultimately revealing journeys of my first year.
It began at the local vet in Maun, where X-rays were taken so they could be sent to a trusted vet in South Africa for professional analysis. That vet — the one in Maun — looked at me and told my guardians there was no hope. He wanted to put me to sleep.
My guardians said no.
They had looked into my eyes. And a dog's eyes always tell the truth. Mine told them I was not ready to leave this earth. They knew it. He did not. A university textbook teaches scientific reasoning. But dogs don't communicate through science — we speak through our eyes, our body language, our presence. We are sentient beings, not products with an expiry date.
Betrayal on the Road to Help
The Oister Foundation found an NGO in South Africa that provided wheels to disabled dogs. Contact was made. A donation of R500 was paid. An agreement was reached. What my guardians didn't know — and wouldn't discover for months — was that the vet in Maun had already sent my X-rays directly to this NGO, behind Oister's back, without ever informing the people who had paid for them.
For three months, one of my guardians contacted the vet weekly, asking for the X-rays they needed to transport me to South Africa. For three months, he ignored them. All the while, the NGO already had the X-rays and said nothing.
It took my guardian walking into the office of the police chief in Maun and asking him to personally call the vet before those X-rays were handed over. The vet had no choice. He was not pleased. His ego was scarred.
A 1500 Kilometres for a Broken Promise
With X-rays finally in hand, the two founding members of the Oister Foundation made the decision to drive me to Pretoria. It was a long journey — several days in the car, uncomfortable and exhausting. But they believed it would be worth it to go see the NGO to pick up my new wheels.
It wasn't.
When we arrived at the home of the NGO founder, she brought out a set of wheels that were old, incomplete, and clearly the wrong size. Screws and bolts were missing. When they were fitted to my body, I was in immediate pain — and my body language made that unmistakably clear. The founder carried on as though everything was fine.
Then she admitted that they received my X-rays months ago. She pretended that she thought we knew about this, despite the constant communication of telling them that we will drive to Pretoria as soon as we have the X-rays.
When my guardians asked why she hadn't said anything, she deflected — it was her partner who had been in contact, not her. My guardians thanked her politely, and we left. The wheels were thrown away. They were beyond use.
As a dog, I don't judge. I don't carry resentment the way humans do. I was just happy to be with my humans. But I could feel their sadness. I could feel their fury. We dogs use every sense we have as an antenna for the emotions of our humans. I felt all of it.
Plan B and the Vet Who Understood
My guardians quickly resorted to plan B. They drove to an outdoor shop and bought me a small four-wheeled trolley — not the solution they had hoped for, but something. A way to take me on walks without me dragging through the sand.
We spent several months in South Africa, and during that time, I was seen by their most trusted vet — a woman named Leilanie. She is the kind of vet who combines clinical skill with the rare ability to read what a dog is truly saying. She did not want to put me to sleep. She saw me, she saw what my eyes told her.
Leilanie was honest with my guardians: as I get older, the way I move will cause increasing pain. But she gave them advice — exercises in a swimming pool, ways to keep me moving without the damage of dragging. This is, however, easier said than done, as I am scared of swimming pools.
What I Need. What I Dream Of.
I would love to run with Spirit. With my Africanis family at the sanctuary. To see the dust rise around me, to keep up.
For that to happen, I need specialised wheels — custom-designed for my exact condition, built by true professionals. My guardians have found experts outside South Africa who can do this. They have shown me footage of dogs just like me, running freely, effortlessly. It looks unreal as this has not been part of my reality, so it is unreal in my world. Not the wheels themselves — but the running. The freedom. The dust rising around me, just like it does when Spirit has the zoomies.
The only thing standing between me and that freedom is funding. It will cost thousands. But my guardians haven't stopped looking for a way.
Why I Am Here
I am one of the reasons Africanis™ was created.
Despite my chronic pain, despite the hematomas, the thorns, the sand, and the broken promises — I am the happiest dog on the face of the earth.
And I am not done yet.
Peanut is now an ambassador for the Africanis™ brand and the Oister™ Foundation's mission to protect and preserve the Canis Africanis — Africa's aboriginal landrace dog. Every purchase from Africanis™ helps fund special needs cases like Peanut's.