Rehoming Pets: Beware of the Comments. We Need To Stop Bullying People Away From Seeking Help.
- Liz Weiner
- Oct 7
- 9 min read
Updated: Nov 15
Animal rescue is exhausting, to put it mildly. We encounter situations that cause us to question humanity, and it takes a heavy emotional toll to see pets being discarded like an outfit that has gone out of style. Pet overpopulation is at crisis levels, and healthy animals are being euthanized simply because there isn't enough space to house them. I understand why people are angry and quick to judge those who surrender their pets, but somewhere along the way, the act of “giving up a pet” has become highly polarized, leaving us in a troubling place.
I find we are lumping people who situationally rehome their pet into the same category as those who abuse and neglect, and fail to see anything in between. Real life is nuanced, and devastating. Circumstances, from health to finances, can change in an instant. As such, we need to keep in mind that reasons for rehoming are not “one-size-fits-all”, and refrain from vilifying people whose situations we know nothing about. There is an entire side of the story we don’t know, and we need to stop filling in its blanks — it’s not our story to write. It’s cyberbullying at its worst, and it’s frankly dangerous. I worry that we are creating a climate of shaming people away from seeking help.
Here’s the deal: Not every surrender call results in the person actually surrendering their pet. It’s a conversation that involves listening, troubleshooting, and, in the best of circumstances, problem-solving. It provides an opportunity to raise awareness about resources that may help people keep their pets, such as pet food banks, low-cost veterinary care, or temporary pet-friendly housing. Sometimes it’s as simple as first-time pet owners not realizing that training is a tool that can improve their relationship. Other times, it’s a matter of tapering expectations, normalizing the challenges that come with a new relationship, and encouraging them to give it time. And if rehoming is necessary, they can learn about ways to privately rehome their pet while it remains with them, ultimately bypassing the stressful shelter environment. If we scare them off from calling, they won’t get any of that information.
I won’t sugarcoat it: Not every pet owner is open to that conversation, and you can tell the difference pretty quickly. From my time in animal rescue, I’ve also observed that not every pet is considered a beloved family member, and as such, not every owner experiences a heartbreaking farewell. There are different levels of attachment we share with our pets, and we have to start by non-judgmentally assessing where someone is. It’s not a bond that can be forced, and barring mistreatment or neglect, it doesn’t make someone a horrible human if they don’t have it.
Yes, as is commonly stated, I agree that someone shouldn’t have gotten a pet if they couldn’t afford it, didn't have the time, or didn't do the research; and in an ideal world, this would be the case. However, the reality is that people don’t always think through their decisions. In fact, I’m fairly certain that most of us can pinpoint at least one time in our lives when we chose wrong. They thought pet ownership would be something, but it turned out to be something else. Presumably, they kept the animal safe while in their care, but it turned out to be more than they had the time, resources, energy, or emotional bandwidth to handle. They are entitled to their experience, and in cases like this, I don’t believe their intent was ill-willed. We could “they should have” on them all we want, but we can’t shame people into a different worldview or change their circumstances. So let them do the responsible thing by reaching out and giving that animal a chance at finding a better life. There is nothing more satisfying than watching an unwanted animal strutting out of the shelter with a doting new pet parent.
When it comes to rehoming, the other important thing to know is that even the most loving animal owner can face irreconcilable differences. Unless you’ve had a dog that killed your cat, or your child is so allergic you have an EPI-PEN on every floor, you cannot pretend to be in their shoes and swear that you would be able to keep that pet. Or a cat that, despite years of working with and ruling out medical issues, continues to pee all over your home — laundry baskets, couch, your bed — you can’t know what it is like to live with it. There are behaviors that not everyone can work with, and sadly, not every animal can overcome them. People have a right to boundaries and should not have to live in fear of the next incident. And when it comes down to it, is it fair to keep a pet in an environment in which they are not thriving? Should a fearful cat have to live with four rambunctious children under five years old and hide the majority of its days, or would it be better suited to a calmer household? There are times when the fit just isn’t right, and no amount of training will change that.
And most heartbreaking, there are those who describe their emotional attachment to their pet as maternal, and the loss breaks them. I get it — my pets are the closest thing to children I have, and I would literally do anything for them. But while we humanize pets, they are technically considered property in the eyes of the law. So when someone preaches how they would never give up their child, even though it can feel the same, it's not. You can love your pet like a child and still fall victim to life’s circumstances.
Here’s the difference between pets and children: Children have a safety net called “government benefits.” They can be claimed as dependents on taxes. They are eligible for free healthcare, daycare, and school lunches. They receive a free education, where they learn how to navigate the world (dog training is expensive). If they have a disability, they may qualify for Supplemental Security Income. Meanwhile, you can’t even use food stamps to buy pet food. This isn’t meant as a political critique — just a statement of where we are.
The good news is that we live in a time when people are recognizing the barriers to pet ownership and are intervening. There are organizations dedicated to assisting with pet food and veterinary care. Vaccination clinics are popping up everywhere, from shelters to major pet store chains. Many cities offer free (or very low-cost) spay/neuter services. Practical strangers are contributing to GoFundMe campaigns for emergent veterinary care. There are non-profits whose mission is to offer grants for more complex veterinary care, such as cancer.
I’m not going to sugarcoat it though. While these are incredible supplements to offset the cost of pet ownership, clinics typically offer only routine veterinary care, and you can’t depend solely on the donations a pet food bank has available at any given time, or that you are chosen to receive a grant that has limited funding. Plus, these resources are also not available in all geographical areas.
We find ourselves in an interesting conundrum within the animal welfare community. On one side of the shelter (Intake), onlookers are judging people for “giving up” their pet. On the literal other side of the same shelter (Adoption), they are begging people to adopt to save lives — and not only at the shelter, but at all types of offsite events in the community, from sporting events to breweries. Many shelters are literally giving pets away for free to anyone who is at least eighteen years old, has a valid photo ID, and passes a background check for animal-related offenses. Please know, this is not a criticism of shelters AT ALL. Promoting adoption through community involvement, in a non-discriminatory way, is the most effective way to save lives, and we must continue to do so. But, it’s a vicious cycle, and we can’t be surprised when it doesn’t always work out.
Before I worked in animal rescue, I would have never believed the dire situations I hear about every day are a thing that happens in a world I am apparently very sheltered from. When you have support to fall back on, it’s hard to imagine a reality where you don’t. I humbly admit that I can’t picture a world where I would lose my home. Or where I couldn’t afford the surgery my dog needs. Or where I couldn’t afford to have my dog groomed every six weeks. Or where I didn’t have the money to hire a behaviorist to work with my dog. It’s easy to berate people and tell them what they should be doing when we view someone else’s life through our worldview, but it’s like comparing apples and oranges, and it’s not fair. While there are days I pay $50 for my dog to spend the day at a fancy doggie daycare, there is someone else who, on that same day, can’t afford the medication their pet desperately needs. This is the devastating and bleak reality.
And that is why it breaks my heart when I see people pouring the same brand of shame onto the person who has little to no emotional connection to their pet as we do to the person who is distraught over losing their beloved pet. Or the person who tried nothing to better the situation versus the person who gave it their all. As if they deserve a medal, from behind computer screens, the people who proudly tell the world how they would live in their car with their dog before giving it up, aren't considering the reality that not everyone owns a car. The person who brags about how they would never move somewhere that didn’t allow their pet is assuming everyone has housing options. They are fortunate to have the resources to overcome any obstacle to keep their pet, but it's a privilege not afforded to everyone — again, apples and oranges. It bears repeating: You can love your pet and still fall victim to life's circumstances. Trust me - I see it every day.
I used to feel an intense feeling of frustration (maybe even anger?) toward those who made judgments from behind the scenes — and, as a people pleaser who is terrified of conflict, that's saying a lot. But in the process of writing this, I realized that I was doing the same thing — just toward the critics, and silently in my head. At the risk of sounding cliché, I now see where they are coming from, and I feel compassion for these loving protectors. They are experiencing a human reaction, driven by a love for animals and the outrage they feel upon learning that the animal is now homeless and at risk of dying. Of course, they are angry. They are standing up for the animal that has no voice. And as such, my anger came from my desire to stand up for the misunderstood grieving human who is being attacked. No one wins here.
Over the years I’ve worked in Intake, I show up with empathy, and I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I am not in their position. I make sure to tell them how sorry I am that they ended up here — and I mean it. In certain conversations, I’m surprised to find myself in awe of these truth-tellers, who are brutally honest and vulnerable. Sometimes they call to check on their pet. They hold their breath while they wait to hear if they were euthanized or adopted. I imagine their heart feels torn between jealousy and joy when they find out they are starting a new life.
The circumstances that lead to surrendering a pet are endless, and some feel more morally acceptable than others. Maybe someone is a terrible person — I’m not denying that there are far too many awful people out there — but unless we know the whole story, it’s best to exercise caution with our words. Shaming doesn’t help the situation. Not only can it scare people away from seeking help, but when someone does seek help, they risk being further broken by a type of public humiliation. We need to keep in mind that there is a person behind the vague backstory who may be going through the worst time of their life, and consider the human consequences.
So if you’re going to vilify anyone, vilify the actual monsters that mistreat animals. The ones that abandon them on the side of the road. The ones who tie their dog to a pole beside a “free” sign. The ones who leave their pets behind without food or water to die in a vacant house. The ones who dump their domesticated rabbit in the woods. The ones who surrender their elderly cat to replace it with a kitten. The ones who can keep their pet but no longer want to, and drop it off at a shelter, knowing it may die. Those who feel nothing at the loss.
We are all entitled to our feelings, and I’m not here to change anyone’s mind or even ask that you start offering condolences. I'm just at a place where I can no longer let the fear of backlash stop me from speaking up. And, most importantly, to the grieving pet parent: You have every right to grieve for a pet that you chose to give up. You're not the monster people are making you out to be. I see you, and I am so sorry for your loss.
I’ll leave you with this: I adopted my soul dog twenty years ago after his family’s was threatened with eviction if he stayed. He was a well-rounded, all-around friendly dog who was clearly shown love in his previous home. The family left a note letting his future adopter know that he loves ice cubes, fetching balls, and is not fond of plastic bags. He wasn’t abused or neglected. They were far from terrible people, and I am forever grateful to them for surrendering him to the shelter, which ultimately led to me becoming his mom.
Visit my website, Pet Therapy Notes, for resources and more insights on pet love and loss.
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This Isn’t What I Signed Up For: Navigating Emotional and Behavioral Challenges In Pet Relationships
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