The Hard Truth of Rescue Dogs (and Why I’ll Never Look Away Again)

The world is full of dog lovers. You can see it everywhere. People light up when they talk about their dogs. Their voices change when they tell stories, full of pride, humor, and love. They’ll pull out their phones and swipe until they find just the right picture to show you. And you can see it in their faces when they’re out walking their dogs, that easy kind of joy.

I get it. I really do. Because I’ve always been a dog lover, too.

But I’ve learned over the years that being a dog lover and being a dog rescuer aren’t quite the same. The love is the same, but the perspective, the emotions, the weight of it all, it’s different. Sometimes painfully different.

Back When It Was Simple

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a “dog guy.” Growing up, we had a Cocker Spaniel named Kiwi who came from a breeder. My grandmother always had Labrador Retrievers (Dutchess and Lady), also from breeders. That was just the way things were done where I grew up. And I adored those dogs.

As a kid, I knew every dog in the neighborhood. The friendly ones, the shy ones, even the ones that barked or growled when I passed by during my first job at the age of twelve, delivering newspapers. Didn’t matter, I loved them all.

The Day Everything Changed

Then came Daisy.

It was the summer after my sophomore year of college, 2003. I walked into the Clearfield County SPCA after seeing an ad in the newspaper (remember those?) about puppies needing homes. I met the D litter: Ditto, Digit and Dot. Tiny and perfect, but already spoken for with adopters coming to pick them up.

And then a staff member said, “Do you want to meet their mom?”

Her name was Daisy. She was rough around the edges, tired from raising her litter. And I’ll never forget what the staff member told me:

“She probably won’t get adopted.”

That hit me hard. She wasn’t broken. She wasn’t mean. She wasn’t sick. She was just overlooked because of bad timing. And that moment changed me. I couldn’t see shelter dogs the same way anymore. Suddenly they weren’t just companions, they were lives hanging by a thread.

Carrying the Weight

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. Healthy, loving dogs being euthanized because shelters were out of space. Kennels full of faces, eyes that didn’t know if they’d ever see the outside world again.

I started fostering after I bought my first house. Then volunteering in various capacities. Then traveling to shelters in other states helping them streamline and make their operations better. No matter where I went, the story was the same: too many dogs, not enough homes. I even had the opportunity to consult for a shelter in the Hamptons, one of the richest areas in the country. Yet, the problem there was the same as everywhere else. Those different roads eventually led to what we now know as Happy Bark, a team of incredible volunteers fighting for the dogs who might otherwise be forgotten.

And I’m proud of that work. But it also comes with a weight that never really leaves you.

The Quiet Battle

Here’s what I didn’t expect: the emotional tug-of-war inside me.

When a friend shows me a picture of their new puppy from a breeder or a pet store, part of me lights up. But another part of me breaks inside. Because I know there’s a shelter dog out there whose time just ran out because of that choice.

I’m not mad at my friends. I don’t hate breeders. I don’t dislike puppies. What hurts is knowing the truth behind the numbers. And it makes me awkward sometimes during those interactions. Quiet. Maybe even cold. I can see it in people’s faces, “Maybe he doesn’t love dogs as much as we thought.”

But the truth is the opposite. I love them so much it hurts.

My Plea

Rescue isn’t easy. It’s messy and heartbreaking. It will rip you apart on the hard days. But the wins, the moments when a dog walks out of a shelter and comes to Happy Bark, make every ounce of pain worth it.

So if you love dogs, and I know you do, please think about rescue. Think about the ones still waiting behind kennel doors, the ones nobody’s showing off pictures of, the ones who deserve just as much love as the puppy in the window. Every single one of them matters. Every single one deserves a chance.

Back in 2003, Daisy walked out of that shelter on the other end of the leash I was holding. I had no idea she would change everything for me. She lived a beautiful life until 2019 when we had to say goodbye. And in those years, she gave me more than I could ever give back.

Daisy’s Legacy

What I didn’t know that day in 2003 was that Daisy would start a ripple. A ripple that would grow into Happy Bark.

Over 20 years later, Daisy’s story lives on in every dog we rescue, every family who welcomes a new best friend, every shelter partner who sees fewer dogs at risk because of the work we do together.

We’ve saved over a thousand dogs since Happy Bark began. We’ve partnered with shelters that once had heartbreaking euthanasia rates and helped them reach no-kill.

And we’re just getting started.

Each dog we save carries a piece of Daisy’s legacy. Each one reminds me why we fight, why we keep going, and why love. Real, hard, sometimes painful love - is worth it.

And sometimes I think about Kiwi, Dutchess and Lady. Those dogs were family. They were loved deeply. But the truth is, they didn’t need saving. Daisy did. And so do the thousands of dogs like her still waiting today.

That’s Daisy’s gift to me. She opened my eyes. She gave me this mission.

Daisy was just one dog. But she changed my life. And through her, she’s helped change the lives of countless others.

That’s the power of rescue. That’s the power of one dog.

Daisy in 2003 and in 2019