Lately, I’ve felt a bit like Goldilocks when it comes to dog rescue. I’ve been trying different organizations, hoping to find the one that feels “just right.”
Over the past few months, I’ve left two rescues because they simply weren’t the right fit. Looking back on all the rescues I’ve volunteered with, partnered with, or supported over the years, I’ve realized that I’m much clearer on what I’m looking for—not just in terms of the rescue’s mission, but also its ethics, leadership, and team culture.
We spend a lot of time talking about rescues vetting adopters and fosters, but I think volunteers should be vetting rescues just as carefully. Where you choose to invest your time, energy, and heart matters just as much as where a dog is placed.
It’s easy to assume that everyone involved in animal rescue is compassionate and has the best intentions. While many people absolutely do when it comes to saving dogs, the reality is that rescues are made up of humans, and humans bring different personalities, communication styles, and ethical standards to the table.
Ironically, the same compassion that is extended to dogs is not always extended to fellow volunteers.
Most of us recognize the obvious red flags when stories emerge about rescues involved in hoarding, neglect, and abuse. But there are other issues that aren’t as public (and maybe they should be) involving transparency, professionalism, communication, and respect. Those things matter just as much because they directly affect volunteers, fosters, adopters, and ultimately, the dogs.
In my experience, when good volunteers walk away, it usually isn’t because they’ve stopped loving the dogs. It’s because the people or culture around them made volunteering unsustainable. That’s a tragedy because experienced volunteers are one of a rescue’s greatest assets.
One value has become completely non-negotiable for me: I want to be part of a team where every member treats one another with respect.
I’ve learned that it only takes one person whose behavior consistently undermines that culture to make an otherwise good organization feel like the wrong fit.
What does that look like?
For me, it means I will not stay in an environment where someone repeatedly tries to one-up others, inserts themselves into responsibilities that have already been assigned, withholds information teammates need to do their jobs, or excludes people from conversations they should be part of. It feels very “Mean Girls”-like and, as much as I wish women outgrew that type of behavior, they don’t always. (I say women because my rescue experience has been overwhelmingly comprised of women.)
In one rescue experience, I encountered this dynamic almost immediately. Nearly every suggestion or insight I shared was dismissed without meaningful discussion. During the only team meeting I participated in, I was interrupted repeatedly while trying to speak.
Eventually, I said, “You keep interrupting me. Let me finish my sentences.”
I didn’t feel bad about speaking up. Too often, the discomfort falls on the person who addresses disrespect rather than the person creating it. Respectful communication should not be something that has to be fought for.
That moment clarified something for me: I no longer want to volunteer in environments where basic respect isn’t the norm or where those behaviors are simply tolerated.
To be clear, I fully expect people to have different opinions. Healthy debate makes organizations stronger. But there is a difference between respectfully challenging an idea and dismissing someone without listening. Once that line is crossed, disagreement becomes disrespect—and that’s no longer an environment where I can do my best work.
My experience in rescue has solidified the value I bring. For someone who is generally modest and lacks a lot of confidence, it’s a big deal that I know what I bring to the table. I’m only willing to bring that to rescues that appreciate it, respect it, and treat me with the same respect they expect me to show everyone else.
I’ve also learned that it doesn’t take an entire team to make a rescue the wrong fit. Sometimes it only takes one person who consistently dismisses my ideas, undermines my contributions, or makes it clear they don’t want me there. That’s enough for me to know it’s not the right rescue. If that behavior is tolerated, then the culture isn’t aligned with the kind of team I want to be part of.
One thing rescue has also taught me is that passion alone isn’t enough. Every role requires a different set of skills, and not every volunteer is the right fit for every responsibility. My strength has always been working with people—building rapport, asking thoughtful questions, identifying potential concerns, helping applicants think through whether a dog is truly the right fit, and supporting fosters and adopters through the process.
Other volunteers bring strengths that I don’t have, whether that’s fundraising, transport, networking, or social media. Healthy teams recognize those differences and allow people to contribute where they’ll have the greatest impact.
I don’t need to do every job in rescue. I just want to be trusted to do the job I’ve been asked to do, and to trust others to do the same.
Beyond team dynamics, I have also become much clearer on the ethics and philosophies that matter to me when it comes to rescue. Saving dogs is the foundation, but responsible rescue requires more than simply finding a home. It requires thoughtful decision-making, understanding behavior, setting dogs up for success, and recognizing that the right placement is not always the easiest placement.
There are also ethics surrounding dog behavior, proper introductions, integration into the home, and what I consider to be responsible ownership and fostering practices.
Over the years, I have often found myself being the more conservative voice when it comes to behavior and safety. At times, I found myself apologizing for that, as though my cautious approach was something I needed to justify. More importantly, I’ve learned that I want to be part of a team whose philosophy aligns with my own.
That doesn’t mean everyone has to agree on every training technique or management strategy. Healthy teams can have different perspectives and respectful discussions. But when it comes to core principles—setting dogs up for success, making thoughtful introductions, respecting behavior, and putting safety ahead of convenience—I want to know we’re all working from the same playbook.
These are some of the things that came up repeatedly that I still feel strongly about when it comes to placing dogs in the best homes—not only for the dogs themselves, but for the resident pets and humans as well:
1. Dogs from breeds with high prey drive should not be placed in homes with cats unless they are under about 6 months of age and the adopters have successfully integrated dogs with cats before. One caveat would be if the home has the ability to safely and reliably separate the cat(s) from the dog if needed.
In rescue, we often don’t know a dog’s full history or whether they’ve ever been around cats. Even with mixed breeds, if there are breeds known for high prey drive in the mix, I believe it’s better to err on the side of caution rather than assume everything will work itself out.
I have had too many fosters and adopters reach out with heartbreaking stories of cats being attacked, and in some cases even killed. Many of these situations could have potentially been avoided with better management, proper introductions, or recognizing that certain homes were simply not the right fit.
Rescue isn’t about hoping for the best. It’s about managing risk before tragedy happens.
2. Slow and thoughtful integrations between the new dog and resident dogs are crucial to creating a harmonious household.
That can look like keeping the new dog separated for days, if not longer, to allow the dogs to adjust to each other through scent and sight before they ever physically interact. It means feeding dogs separately, introducing them only when everyone is calm and settled, keeping high-value items like treats and toys put away, and paying close attention to body language so you can diffuse potential conflict before it escalates.
Adding a dog to a household can be stressful for all dogs involved, and a decompression period is absolutely necessary. Not respecting that process can lead to dangerous encounters between animals and even humans.
I could go on and on about this, but ultimately, rescues that do not encourage adopters to follow some level of slow, thoughtful integration are rescues I do not wish to be associated with.
3. If a dog—whether it’s the foster, the newly adopted dog, or a resident dog—has shown reactivity, whether toward the new dog or another dog in the home, that dog needs to be separated if the trigger is either unclear or cannot be managed. Hard stop.
Management is not failure. It is responsible ownership.
If a rescue’s own team doesn’t follow these basic safety protocols, that’s a team I do not want to be part of. It’s a contradiction for a rescue to be responsible for placing dogs into homes while not modeling the same safety practices they expect adopters and fosters to follow.
To me, that lack of judgment and willingness to prioritize safety is a major red flag.
I struggled for a while after leaving one rescue. I agonized over whether it was a “me problem.” Was I too sensitive? Should I have just pushed through despite someone else’s behavior? I was there for the dogs, and shouldn’t that take precedence over any personnel issues?
Eventually, I realized something important: if someone consistently made it clear they didn’t want me in the role I’d been asked to do, then it wasn’t the right environment for me. The issue wasn’t that someone else wanted to help. The issue was that there wasn’t an appreciation that different roles require different strengths.
It was also a reminder that rescue should be a place where people support and include one another, not compete with each other. The mentality of competing with each other has no place in rescue. Intentionally stepping on toes, taking over responsibilities someone else has been assigned and is actively working on, or repeatedly leaving someone out is not collaboration. It is behavior that creates exclusion and undermines the teamwork that rescue depends on.
Thankfully, there is no shortage of rescues doing incredible work. That means I can choose to invest my time and energy in organizations where my skills are valued and where the culture aligns with my own.
Having a similar experience again soon afterward only reinforced that lesson and helped me recognize the signs much faster.
So yes, maybe I am Goldilocks when it comes to rescue, and I’m okay with that.
I know what “too hot” looks like. I know what “too cold” looks like. And now I know what “just right” looks like.
I’m no longer looking for a rescue that simply saves dogs. I’m looking for one that saves dogs and values thoughtful decision-making, treats its volunteers with respect, and isn’t afraid to put safety ahead of emotion.
And I may have found a rescue that is just right. Follow along my rescue journey to hear more about that.
Have you heard Actually Romantic by Taylor Swift? It really captures a lot of what you’re sharing here.