04/22/2025
I think this was written for all of us in rescue! I could relate to every single word, as I'm sure most in rescue can.
It’s Monday after a long weekend… and I feel like I’m drowning.
We took the weekend off to celebrate my birthday, and then Sunday was Easter. For once, I had a little time to myself. And I realized just how much I don’t have that. Ever.
Now it’s Monday, and we’re right back to the chaos—trying to play catch-up, except you can’t ever really catch up in rescue. It’s a 24/7 job. There is no clocking out. There’s no pause button.
We have dogs that need to move—either out of their current fosters or into new ones. Some fosters change their minds. Some say it’s no longer a good match. Some refuse to train the dog or help them adjust, and then act like we gave them a broken animal. People want dogs already perfectly behaved, already settled, already problem-free. But rescue doesn’t come in a perfect package. These animals have been through trauma, abandonment, neglect. Of course they need time. Of course they need patience. That part is supposed to be part of the commitment. But it rarely is.
And moving animals around constantly? It’s brutal. Physically, emotionally, financially. Coordinating transport, finding space, scrambling at the last minute when someone bails—it’s soul-crushing. It makes me want to scream when I see people upset that I can’t drop everything to help a new animal immediately. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I literally cannot. If I don’t have a solid, committed place for an animal to go, I will not say yes. That’s not me being cold—that’s me trying to prevent more chaos and damage.
We have bios that aren’t always 100% accurate. Because guess what? We’re working off what we see in the moment. Some dogs act a certain way in foster and then become completely different in a home. We do our best, but we’re not mind readers. And when people adopt or foster without being flexible, without being open to that adjustment period, it becomes a revolving door. Dogs get moved around, returned, passed off like luggage. And every move is traumatizing for them and draining for us.
Right now we have nine dogs in boarding.
$30 per dog, per day.
That’s nearly $300 daily just to keep them safe.
We made a plea—not one person offered to foster.
Meanwhile, we’re juggling vet bills stacked into the thousands. We’re trying to do meet and greets, get updated pictures, write bios, schedule surgeries, respond to messages, chase down meds, and handle emergencies—all while people on the outside have the audacity to say “you didn’t thank me for my donation” or “why haven’t you responded yet?”
Because I’m tired. Because I’m drowning. Because I can’t do 50 things at once, even though I try to.
This weekend, I finally felt what it was like to breathe. I did normal things. And I couldn’t help but think—how do people live like this all the time? How do you sit and relax and not feel guilt or pressure or grief or rage 24/7? How lucky you must be to walk away when something gets hard. To not feel responsible for the lives you’ve saved. To not have your health collapsing under the weight of the stress.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
Today I feel defeated. Angry. Sad. Tired.
I feel like no matter what we do, the dogs sit. The cats wait. The fosters back out. The system breaks.
I don’t have a local network. I don’t have a massive team. I have a few amazing people and a whole lot of animals who need help, now.
This isn’t a post to guilt anyone.
This is a post to tell the truth.
Because behind every cute adoption photo is a mountain of pain and effort you never see.
I love rescue. But today, I hate what it’s doing to me.
Please—if you can foster, adopt, donate, or just share—do it.
Because we can’t keep carrying this alone.
—Dom