08/12/2026
It started with a text.
Wednesday, 2:40pm: “I’m sure someone in Yakima this week has already begged you for help lol. God it’s rough out there.” That was Anna from Washington Health Outreach, heading into a weekend of spay-neuter clinics at Yakima Valley Pet Rescue. There was no ask yet, but it was coming. (And we always say yes to Anna if we can. Her advocacy and efforts through WHO and The Fixers Collective have been synergistic and aligned with our mission always.)
I was just praying the ask wasn’t for intake of a large litter of pit bull puppies.
Then the video landed.
It was a modern-day Sarah McLachlan-worthy Facebook reel from Valley Spay & Neuter highlighting dozens of discarded puppies (some of whom would likely be helped) and then, at the end, two nondescript medium-sized brown mutts who, without rescue, would be altered by the clinic and released right back where they came from – onto a reservation with no municipal animal control and no solution for homeless dogs. It’s not a rare situation. It’s happening in more places than most people realize.
They were the same as every other discarded dog, except these two also had congenital defects – one with nubs for back feet, the other with a single front nub and what looked like a chicken wing – which meant the usual unknowns of welcoming a stray came bundled with unknown medical costs on top.
We didn’t have a plan. But we’d just placed a run of puppies and onboarded a few new foster homes, so minutes later we responded: “We can take a few non-aggressive, semi-normal not-puppies. And probably a couple pups too.”
This is rescue code for: send us some dogs who won’t be projects.
That’s how Pogo and his brother Skip – along with four other Yakima strays, six in total – entered our world this last week. Over text, on a Wednesday, with more optimism than plan.
The days that followed were the same as with every other intake: a regular occurrence, multiple times a week, but never a routine one. Dogs without homes, at risk of euthanasia or death on the streets – or in the orchards or encampments, as it were – are on the way, and we have to secure fosters, prepare for their arrival, and anticipate their needs to our highest standards.
We don’t do this work alone. It’s a collaborative effort by rescue partners and shelters, veterinary collectives, networkers, volunteers, transporters, professionals, and good Samaritans – all contributing. (Is there any other system that embodies “it takes a village” quite this literally?)
Between Wednesday night and Saturday morning, the cute little puppies from the reel had found placement, but Anna said three others needed help. They’d been found in an orchard a week earlier.
“They’re a little older 😅” – Anna texted with a photo, the emoji doing the work of mutual understanding that these “puppies,” already over twenty pounds each, would be harder to find fosters for and harder to place.
Instead of a video featuring squishy bouncy puppies with a story to tug at heartstrings and help turn a reluctant foster’s “no” into a “yes,” we would have a photo showing three larger worried-looking puppies with no real information or known history. Just… “found in an orchard.”
Nevertheless, we agreed: “We’ll figure it out.”
Then came: “Mom was trapped to be spayed. She’ll need placement too.”
There wasn’t much to discuss. As a rescue powered by badass mothers, we have a simple rule: No Moms Left Behind.
Mom turned out to be a German Shorthaired Pointer who, after having a litter just four or five months earlier, was already pregnant again by the time she was trapped and spayed. We joked she should be called Fertile Myrtle, but settled on May.
Saturday, 7:40pm: Anna arrived. It had been a long day. After ten hours of surgeries, she drove from Yakima to Bothell in a car loaded with five dogs: Pogo, Skip, and three pointer-mix pups, Bonnie, Bonita, and Lola. From Bothell, Anna headed home to her wife in Tacoma. I like to imagine her walking through the door and collapsing onto the couch, though in reality, she likely had her own household and animals needing something or other from her, too.
Surprisingly, all of the new arrivals were relatively social and friendly. (You never really don’t know what a dog is going to be like until they arrive – and decompress.) Our two newly onboarded fosters each headed home with a real-life rescue dog, transplanted from Yakima to a new beginning and the promise of a life worth living. Meanwhile, we set about getting the three other dogs settled into our quarantine area at the Community Center – a necessary precaution given the prevalence of Parvo coming out of eastern Washington.
On Sunday, two more puppies were picked up. One went home that morning with Cathy, who had recently lost her DGS alum, a foster fail from 2017. Another headed out that afternoon with a foster referred by Holly, longtime rescue partner and founder of Elphie's Animal Alliance.
That left only Pogo, and he landed a foster home Monday afternoon just as we received transport details for mom, who was recovering from a spay-abort in which she lost nine pounds: puppies who would never be born into the same cycle of abandonment and uncertainty.
*A note on spay-aborts… Rescue isn’t about saying yes to every possible life; it’s about making ethical choices with limited resources. Foster and adoptive homes are a finite resource, not an elastic one: every litter born competes for the same limited number of homes as the homeless puppies already in shelters and rescues or on the streets. Unplanned canine pregnancies create more homeless puppies and rescue is a zero-sum game where math matters. A spay-abort isn’t choosing to end lives instead of saving them; it’s prioritizing dogs who are already alive over dogs who are not yet born when there simply aren’t placements for all. (For more information, listen to Podcast Episode 3.1).
Tuesday 12:45pm: May arrived, underweight and clearly exhausted by her ordeal. In the last six days with us, she has enjoyed friendly faces, a comfortable resting spot, and three square meals a day. Tomorrow, she goes to a foster home.
Of course, a rescue story wouldn’t be complete without an ask we had to say “no” to, and sure enough, it was a litter of pit bull puppies. Mom would be spayed and, without rescue, the entire family would be returned to the encampment where they were found. With the puppies just six weeks old (and without a foster waiting in the wings) we had no options. They were too young to be housed at the Community Center, and we said so. We aren’t magic, however much we wish we were.
It doesn’t get easier to say no. But knowing when you don’t have the capacity to do right by a dog is its own kind of responsibility — even when it means walking away from puppies… and a mom.
(We maintain there’s a special place in Hell for “rescues” who will happily take a group of puppies while leaving mom behind with no options, and we will die on that hill.)
Pogo and Skip will both need a little extra. Their nubs are adjusting to pavement, and Skip has some sores that are being tended to, while Pogo, we anticipate, may benefit from an amputation. They’ll be checked out by our partner veterinarian, Dr. Vlad at Crossroads Vet, and — like every dog who comes into care with Dog Gone Seattle — will get whatever he needs.
Pogo (along with Skip, Lola, Bonnie, Bonita and May) are just a few of the 93 dogs currently in our rescue. Some will be ready for a home in a few short weeks. Some will need months or longer before they’re adopted. And some have already been waiting for more than a year.
Rescue doesn’t happen because one person says yes to a text. It happens because dedicated humans give their time and expertise to drive across the state and perform surgeries for ten hours, then drive half a day more to deliver dogs. Because good people open their homes and say yes to a dog they know next to nothing about. Because the Community Center exists as a safe landing spot for dogs who need help immediately, even when no foster home has confirmed yet. It’s a massive collaborative undertaking: it takes a village, every single time.
For anyone in the village, you know: Dogs — and the people who advocate for them — are suffering. Need is growing. Capacity is shrinking. Adoptable dogs are staying in foster care longer nationwide. Qualified foster and adoptive homes are harder to find than they used to be. Basically, the village is in a constant state of crisis.
Still, even with more losses than ever before, we have to count the wins. Mama May, Pogo and friends will have their happily ever after because good people — like you, if you’re reading this — keep showing up for the dogs in need. And we are ever grateful for that.
