8 things you should know before starting an animal rescue
In which Jill subscribes to the theory “forewarned is forearmed.”
You say you want to start an animal rescue?
That right there is the difference between you and me: I never wanted to run a rescue. But here I am, Executive Director of Outta the Cage, an L.A.-based non-profit. I’ve saved dogs for as long as I can remember. In 2014, my partner and I, along with some friends, visited a shelter and asked if we could photograph a few dogs. The reluctant shelter manager eventually relented. We posted the pictures on social media, and the dogs were all adopted.
We realized that getting dogs out of their kennels, letting them run around freely in shelter play yards, engaging with them a little bit, and then convincing friends (and their friends) to adopt them worked! It was fun, we were helping, and we were meeting lots of fun dogs.
The more photos and videos we took, the greater the number of dogs finding homes. We were giddy. Then we heard that two dogs we’d found delightful were killed when they became kennel-reactive. Three more were killed for space. When the shelter sent 48-hour notices, all we could do was share the videos again, emphasizing the urgency in capital letters. It wasn’t enough.
That’s when we created a non-profit 501(c)(3) organization. Our non-profit status allowed us to rescue dogs and place them ourselves. Sadly, supply still exceeds demand and we can’t take them all.
Saving shelter animals is gratifying, full of accolades and fist-bumping. It’s also physically taxing, time-intensive, and heart wrenching. We’ve learned a lot since we launched our rescue.
Here are eight things we wish we knew beforehand:
Running a non-profit is more work than you think. Applying for a 501(c)(3) designation is its own paperwork nightmare. Now throw in the government reporting—state and federal!—tax preparation—ditto!—accounting and expense tracking, donation campaigns, foster outreach, vendor pitches, anonymous emergency texts, and other miscellany. Who has time for animals? It’s like running a business. Only you don’t make money.
You don’t make money. Our rescue is all-volunteer, so no donations go to salaries or compensation. Other charities pay executive teams and board members. Either way, running or working for a non-profit isn’t going to make any honest person rich. We do it because we love animals. In our case, donations keep us afloat, but most years we barely break even. When we’re low on funds, we have decisions to make. Get used to setting up account transfers from your personal bank account to your charity’s. (Yes, really.)
People will disappoint you. Rescue is like the rest of life: not everyone does what they say they’ll do. A committed long-term foster returns the dog after a week. A perfectly nice family completes the adoption process, then ghosts you on pickup day. Adopters have a life change (moving…having a baby…getting a roommate…) that won’t accommodate keeping their pet. Donors’ checks bounce. You keep going. Or you don’t.
Animals evoke passion. Many of my fellow rescuers are introverts. We do this for the love of animals, not to reply to a text from an out-of-state number demanding, “Why are you REFUSING to give me the dog?” with some slurs thrown in. You have no idea who the sender is. The wind goes out of your sails a little bit. Rescues get dozens of messages that start with: “THIS DOG DIES TODAY!!!” or “I’m crying so hard…” When we left Biggie (Carson shelter), a big cropped-ear goofball, with his new mom in Oregon, we cried like a baby. Same when we placed Grady (Camarillo shelter), a dog who was spinning in his kennel, with a loving family. Same when we had to say goodbye to Tiny (Downey shelter), one of the cancer dogs we rescued, after being with her wonderful dad for only 7 weeks. Sometimes the happy tears mingle with the sad ones. You never get used to it.
You’ll question your own competence. Before I launched our rescue, I considered myself a savvy business person. My clients were large companies who paid me to talk to them about their data. I’d traveled to five continents, flew on private jets, and had some amazing meals. A few weeks after I left my job as a vice president of a software company, I misread a cue and got bit by a crusty Chihuahua. Honestly, I know nothing.
You’ll discover your niche. There are large national rescue organizations that place thousands of animals every year. These rescues secure 5-digit donor matches so they can afford poignant TV commercials and big billboards. For many, the higher the numbers of animals saved, the higher the average donation amount. Smaller rescues like ours focus locally. Our niche is harder-to-adopt dogs, like seniors, medical cases, and large-breed dogs. These dogs are more likely to linger in shelters. And more likely to die there. They are also more expensive to rescue and take longer to find homes. Despite our size, we’re drawing attention to these forgotten cases—and to the heroes who foster and adopt them. These are solid people worth knowing.
You’ll find your tribe. Karen, who adopted Moose, a staffie mix who lingered in boarding for no apparent reason aside from his big head, lives in a villa near the beach and considers Moose her bestie. (Karen’s mom and sister are equally besotted.) Karen found Moose through Anthony, who adopted our bulldog boy, Gilbert—euth-listed at a high-kill shelter for having a second round of kennel cough. In addition to clipping Moose’s toenails and dog-sitting Gilbert, Mika has fostered several of our dogs and adopted Kiki, one of our mammary cancer cases. Our adopters are compassionate, dedicated, and interconnected. We’ve been to their homes, shared good wine, and cried together. I love them all.
There’s always something. You’ve rescued more dogs than you said you would, and just placed your last one. You’re taking a break. Then an adopter calls and says they want a playmate for the dog they adopted from you last year. Another adopter emails, requesting a recommendation for a veterinary dermatologist. And you get your dream call: someone willing to hospice foster a sick senior so she doesn’t die in the shelter. Voila, three new projects! So much for your break.
The fact is, the more wonderful families you find, the more people will call you for help. You’ll get busier. But if you’re lucky, it’s the good kind of busy: you’re saving lives.
If after reading this you’re not deterred and you’re still energized, then please consider starting your own animal rescue. Truth is, we need you. Now go file that paperwork!
