by Cathy M. Rosenthal

Susana “Sue” Della Maddalena fell in love with horses when she was six years old after reading Black Beauty. Like many children who fall hard for an animal they don’t actually have, she did the next logical thing: She pestered her father into taking her to a horse rental stable every weekend. There, she always rode the same pony, Peanut.

At 11, Sue’s persistence paid off in a much bigger way when she got a horse named Tina for her birthday. The two were inseparable until Sue left for college and had to give Tina up, something that broke her heart. Fortunately, Tina went to a farmer near Sue’s home who wanted a horse for his grandchildren, so Sue was able to visit her for a long time afterward.

But apparently, once a horse person, always a horse person.

When Sue turned 40, she decided she was finally at a place in her life where she could have a horse again. So, she got one. Then one horse became four.

Over the years, several of Sue’s horses have been rescues or have had special needs. She likes being able to give a horse that might be harder to place somewhere else a good home for life.

And I think the horses Sue has chosen to make room for in her life tell us something about her. She sees potential. She sees possibilities. She isn’t put off because an animal may need a little more patience, understanding, or care. Instead, she looks at what that animal needs and what might be possible if someone is willing to provide it.

As it turns out, that’s a pretty good description of how Sue approaches people and ideas, too.

The Instinct to Connect

When I first met Sue, she was executive director of PetSmart Charities. She hired me to write several of the organization’s annual reports and organize conferences, which gave me the opportunity to work with her and her team over the years. I always enjoyed those projects, in part because Sue is one of those people who can quickly see the big picture. You can bring her an idea, and she gets it – not just what you’re trying to accomplish, but where the idea might lead and what it could become.

I was reminded of that when I first told her about Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare. I reached out because I wanted Sue to contribute to the book. With decades of experience that have taken her from leading PetSmart Charities to running community-based animal welfare organizations to her work today as Senior Advisor, Strategic Partnerships for Best Friends Animal Society, I knew she would have something important to say about leadership.

Sue agreed to contribute, but almost immediately, our conversation became about more than her essay. She started suggesting other animal welfare leaders I should consider – people she respected and believed had something valuable to add.

And then she offered to connect me with them.

That’s Sue.

She’s a connector, but not simply because she knows a lot of people. She pays attention to what people do well and seems to instinctively recognize where people, ideas, and opportunities might fit together. When I asked her to be part of the book, she didn’t just think about what she could contribute. She started thinking about who else might make the book stronger.

That generosity extended even further when I asked Sue to serve as a contributing editor for the book. She agreed to read all 45 leadership essays before publication and offer her perspective on the collection as a whole. It was a significant commitment, and I was grateful to have someone with her breadth of experience looking at the book not just chapter by chapter, but as a whole.

Making Room for Good Ideas

Perhaps that’s why the title of Sue’s own essay in the book, “Following Your Gut: Embracing New Ideas That Change Things for Animals,” suits her so well. Without giving away the stories she shares, her essay reflects something I’ve seen in Sue myself: She pays attention to good ideas, recognizes possibilities others might overlook, and understands that the best idea in the room doesn’t necessarily have to come from the leader.

One of the ideas Sue helped put into motion years ago has become so commonplace in our everyday lives that most of us encounter some version of it regularly when we’re out shopping, without giving much thought to where it originated. There’s something wonderful about that. A good idea doesn’t need to remain attached to the person who first had it. Sometimes, its greatest success is that it catches on, spreads, and eventually becomes something we simply expect.

Sue understands that. She doesn’t have to be the person with the idea to recognize its potential. She knows when to listen, when to ask questions, when to encourage someone to keep going, and when to help open a door that might allow an idea to become something bigger.

Maybe that’s what makes Sue such a natural connector. She sees the bigger picture – not just the people or ideas in front of her, but what might be possible when the right people and ideas come together.

It’s not all that different from the six-year-old who fell in love with Black Beauty, the 11-year-old who adored Tina, or the 40-year-old who decided there was room in her life for one horse – and somehow ended up with four.

Sue has always made room for possibilities. And throughout her career, those possibilities have turned into meaningful change for animals.

To me, she is one of those people whose impact can be found not only in what she has done, but in all the things she has helped make possible.

by Cathy M. Rosenthal

Dogs are wonderful companions. They are loyal, affectionate, intuitive, and often able to know exactly when we need a little extra love.

They also have absolutely no interest in preserving our dignity.

Invite someone important into your home, and your dog may immediately bury his nose in the guest’s crotch. Gather the family for Thanksgiving, and this may be the moment he decides to enthusiastically hump someone’s leg. Buy a beautiful new area rug, and sooner or later, your dog may sit down, lift his back feet, and drag his rear end across it.

Naturally, he will do this while you’re explaining how much the rug cost.

But as embarrassing as some canine behaviors may be to us, dogs aren’t trying to embarrass anyone. Most of these behaviors have perfectly reasonable explanations, at least from a dog’s point of view.

Take butt-scooting.

When a dog drags his rear end across the carpet or grass, something is usually bothering him back there. One of the most common causes is impacted anal glands, two small sacs located on either side of the anus. Normally, they empty naturally when a dog defecates, but sometimes they become full or impacted, creating pressure and discomfort.

Your dog has no idea this is socially unacceptable behavior. He just knows his backside itches and your carpet feels pretty darn good.

My butt itches.

The carpet scratches it.

I have solved the problem.

The fact that eight people are watching him over cocktails is irrelevant.

Scooting can also result from allergies, skin irritation, parasites, or other medical problems, so persistent scooting deserves a veterinary visit. And while some people learn to express their dog’s anal glands themselves, this is one area of pet care where many of us are perfectly happy to support the veterinary profession.

Then there’s humping.

Despite what people often assume, humping isn’t always sexual behavior, nor does it necessarily mean your dog is trying to “dominate” someone. Dogs may mount other dogs, people, toys, or pillows when they’re excited, overstimulated, anxious, or simply playing.

Unfortunately, dogs have never learned that Aunt Martha’s leg is not an appropriate outlet for their excitement. When this happens, Aunt Martha freezes. You freeze. And everyone else suddenly becomes deeply interested in the cheese tray.

The dog, meanwhile, appears to believe the evening is going extremely well.

Rather than yelling or punishing your dog, calmly interrupt the behavior and redirect him to something else. If your dog tends to hump when visitors arrive or during exciting situations, giving him a toy, chew, or another activity before he becomes overstimulated may help.

And what about the dreaded crotch sniff?

For dogs, sniffing is information gathering. Their sense of smell is vastly more powerful than ours, and areas of the human body containing more scent-producing glands naturally attract their attention.

Your dog isn’t being rude. He’s gathering information.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The person takes a step backward.

The information is leaving.

The dog follows.

This is the point at which you begin wondering whether pretending not to know your own dog is still an option.

But you can work on teaching your dog an alternate greeting, such as sitting for attention, and reward him for keeping all four paws—and his nose—to himself.

Keep in mind, dogs also roll in foul-smelling substances, eat things we would rather not identify, lick themselves in front of company in the most inappropriate of places, and occasionally choose the exact center of the living room to perform this personal grooming.

We call these behaviors embarrassing because we view them through human social rules.

Dogs don’t.

They aren’t trying to humiliate us, offend our guests, or make us regret inviting the neighbors over. They’re responding to an itch, excitement, an interesting smell, or some other perfectly reasonable canine impulse.

The embarrassment belongs entirely to us.

And maybe that’s part of the deal when we share our lives with dogs. We provide the food, walks, toys, veterinary care, and a comfortable place to sleep. In return, they give us companionship, unconditional love, and the occasional reminder not to take ourselves too seriously.

Although if your dog starts butt-scooting across the carpet during your next dinner party, you’re still allowed to pretend, for a minute or so, that he must belong to someone else.

by Cathy M. Rosenthal

One thing many people may not know about Shelly Moore, President & CEO of the Humane Society of Charlotte, is that she is an avid world traveler. While most of us are still adding destinations to our bucket lists, Shelly has explored places I can only dream of visiting. She loves wandering through art museums, discovering neighborhoods off the beaten path, and finding the local restaurant that doesn’t appear in the guidebooks. Ask Shelly about her favorite destinations, and you’ll hear stories of wandering Boquete, Panama (a place she returns to several times a year), exploring Medellín and Machu Picchu, marveling at Easter Island (the most remote place on Earth), and soaking up the history and culture of Amsterdam, Italy, England, Ireland, and Chile. She doesn’t just visit places; she immerses herself in them, always looking for what they can teach her.

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that’s exactly how Shelly approaches leadership. Shelly doesn’t simply explore the world when she travels; she brings that same mindset to her work. Rather than following familiar routes, she’s willing to venture into new territory, challenge conventional thinking, and remain open to ideas that others might overlook. While many leaders become comfortable with the way things have always been done, Shelly never stops learning. She listens carefully, seeks out perspectives different from her own, and isn’t afraid to rethink long-held assumptions if it means finding a better way forward. It’s an approach rooted in curiosity, but strengthened by humility.

The Leader Behind the Journey

I first met Shelly more than two decades ago when she hired me to give a customer service training for her staff. Since then, we’ve crossed paths as colleagues throughout the animal welfare profession, and I’ve come to know her as someone people naturally turn to for advice and perspective. It’s not because she has all the answers or tries to be the smartest person in the room.

Quite the opposite.

Shelly has a genuine curiosity about people and ideas. She listens more than she talks, asks thoughtful questions, and isn’t afraid to challenge old assumptions if it means creating a better future for animals. Whether the conversation is about organizational culture, a new approach to animal welfare, or a difficult leadership challenge, she has a way of helping others think more deeply about the issue at hand.

It’s one of the reasons I admire Shelly — and why I immediately thought of her when inviting contributors to the book, Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare. It’s not just what she has accomplished, but the thoughtful, authentic way she has accomplished it.  In “Creating Space for What’s Possible,” Shelly writes, “I discovered that, for some reason, I liked addressing the chaos and putting systems in place. That’s when I  realized I’m a fixer.”

That certainly sounded like the Shelly I’ve come to know over the years. But what stayed with me wasn’t that she described herself as “a fixer.” It was realizing that, even after decades of leadership, she was still asking herself difficult questions about what leadership really means. That kind of self-reflection is rare, and I believe it’s one of the reasons she has continued to grow while helping others grow alongside her.

I’ve known Shelly long enough to know that this isn’t simply something she writes about; it’s who she is. Whether she’s exploring a city halfway around the world or helping an organization imagine its future, she approaches both with the same sense of curiosity and wonder.

Perhaps that’s why her chapter stayed with me. An explorer’s mindset isn’t really about discovering new places. It’s about remaining curious enough to discover new ways of seeing the world – and ourselves. Shelly’s chapter in the book is an invitation to do exactly that.

About Shelly Moore
Shelly Moore has led animal welfare organizations for more than 40 years, built shelters, inspired leaders, and transformed communities. She has also perfected the art of getting delightfully lost in unfamiliar cities—all in the name of discovering great food, great art, and even better ideas. Shelly may be an explorer at heart, but her three dogs — Sergio, Joey, and Rita — believe the only destination worth pursuing is the best spot on the couch.

“That dog is mean!”

I’ve heard those four words many times.

Usually, they’re spoken by a child who has just seen a dog barking from behind a fence. Sometimes, it’s because a dog growled when someone reached for his toy. Other times, it’s because a shy shelter dog backed away instead of greeting visitors.

Children aren’t trying to be unfair. They’re simply doing what all of us do when we don’t understand behavior. We make assumptions.

One of the first things I teach children in my humane education programs is that animals are always communicating with us. They may not use words, but every bark, growl, wagging tail, flattened ears, tucked tail, hiss, purr, or quick retreat has meaning. Animals are constantly telling us how they feel, what they need, or what they’re about to do.

The challenge isn’t that animals aren’t communicating.

It’s that most of us have never learned how to listen.

That’s why I encourage children to stop asking, “What’s wrong with that dog?” and begin asking, “What is that dog trying to tell me?”

A barking dog may not be aggressive. He may be excited to greet you, protecting his home, frustrated because he’s behind a fence, or frightened by something unfamiliar. A cat that walks away isn’t necessarily unfriendly. She may simply be asking for space. A rabbit that freezes isn’t being stubborn. Freezing is one way rabbits protect themselves when they feel uncertain or afraid.

When children begin to look for the reason behind a behavior rather than reacting to it, they become curious. And curiosity changes the conversation.

Instead of judging, children begin observing. They notice a tucked tail, ears pinned back, or a stiff body posture. They start looking for clues before drawing conclusions.

I’ve watched this happen hundreds of times over the years.

A child who moments earlier insisted a dog was “mean” suddenly says, “Maybe he’s scared.”

That’s not just a lesson about dogs.

It’s a lesson about understanding.

I think we sometimes make compassion more complicated than it needs to be. We tell children to “be kind” or “show empathy,” but those are abstract ideas. Understanding is something children can practice.

They can learn why a cat flicks her tail. Why a dog offers a play bow. Why a frightened animal chooses to walk away.

Every lesson helps children replace assumptions with understanding.

What’s fascinating is that this lesson doesn’t stop with animals.

Children who learn to pause and ask, “What is this animal trying to communicate?” begin developing a habit of looking beyond behavior. They become more likely to wonder what another person might be feeling instead of immediately judging their actions.

Animals become the teachers, not because they’re teaching compassion directly. But because they give children an opportunity to practice one of compassion’s most important building blocks: understanding.

To me, that’s the true power of humane education. We’re not simply teaching children about dogs, cats, rabbits, or birds. We’re teaching them to slow down, observe, ask questions, and understand another living being before making assumptions.

When understanding comes first…compassion follows.

by Cathy M. Rosenthal

After writing grants for nearly four decades, I’ve learned something that surprises people.

The strongest grants are designed long before the application is ever opened.

That may sound strange, but the proposal is rarely where a successful grant begins. Long before the first sentence is written, the real work should already be underway.

The strongest grant proposals grow out of thoughtful planning. Someone has identified a community need, talked with the people who will be affected, explored potential partnerships, determined how success will be measured, and built a realistic budget and timeline. By the time the application opens, much of the difficult work has already been done.

Writing the proposal then becomes something very different. Instead of trying to invent a compelling project on paper, you’re simply telling the story of a program that already makes sense.

One of the first questions I ask clients isn’t, “When is the grant due?” It’s, “Tell me about the program.”

• Who asked for it?
• What problem are you trying to solve?
• How do you know it’s really a problem?
• Have you talked with the people you’re hoping to serve?
• Who else is already working on this issue?
• How will you know if the program is successful?

Those aren’t grant writing questions. They’re leadership questions.

Over the years, I’ve watched organizations struggle because they believed the grant application was the starting point. In reality, it’s much closer to the finish line. The application simply gives you the opportunity to explain why your organization is prepared to solve a problem and why your solution deserves investment.

One of the hardest conversations I have with clients happens when they call a week before a grant deadline and ask if I can write a proposal.

“Can you write a grant for us that is due next week?”

“Maybe,” I say.

Not because I can’t write quickly. Because I can’t help them design a strong program in a week if they haven’t put in the work to create — or at least imagine all its components.

Good programs take time. They require conversations with staff, community partners, clients, volunteers, and sometimes even the people who may never receive the grant. Those conversations shape the program. The proposal simply tells its story.

I often think about the humane education programs I’ve helped develop over the years. The grants didn’t begin with a funding request. They began with a question.

How can we help children safely interact with dogs while also building empathy and respect for animals?

From there came conversations with school districts, teachers, and community partners. Together, we designed age-appropriate lessons, bilingual educational materials, measurable outcomes, and a plan for evaluating success. By the time I sat down to write the grant, the program already had a solid foundation. My job was simply to help the funder understand its value.

The same is true of nearly every successful proposal I’ve written. The strongest grants rarely describe an organization working alone. They describe partnerships. They demonstrate that people have taken the time to listen before proposing solutions. They explain not only what will be done, but why it matters and how success will be measured.

One of my favorite questions to ask is, “If the funder approved this grant tomorrow, could you launch the program within 30 days?”

If the answer is no, it’s probably too early to start writing.

That doesn’t mean every detail must be finalized. Programs evolve, and good ideas become better through discussion. But the foundation should already exist. You should know who you’re serving, why the program matters, who will help you deliver it, and how you’ll know you’ve made a difference.

Some of the easiest grants I’ve ever written have also been the strongest. Not because they were easy to write, but because the thinking had already been done. Everyone understood the need. The partnerships were in place. The goals were clear. The evaluation plan made sense. All I had to do was tell the story.

People often ask me what makes a great grant proposal.

Of course, writing matters. Clear, compelling writing helps reviewers understand your vision. But writing alone won’t rescue a poorly designed program.

A great grant proposal is simply the written expression of an organization’s good planning.

Every successful grant I’ve written began with thoughtful questions, relationship-building, and the design of a program that truly addressed a community need.

The proposal was simply the last step.

For more info, check out:  Camp Writing Boot Camp for Animal Advocates.

By Cathy M. Rosenthal

One of the easiest mistakes we make is assuming successful leaders are born confident.

We see someone standing on a conference stage, leading an organization, or speaking with authority, and we imagine they have always been that way. We see the executive director who seems to have all the answers or the leader everyone looks to for guidance, and we forget about everything that came before.

Somewhere along the way, many of us begin telling ourselves a story: I could never do that. I’m just not a leader.

But that story isn’t true. In fact, the leaders you admire have probably asked themselves that very same question.

Most leaders don’t arrive fully formed. They often grow into leadership, one opportunity, one challenge, and one uncomfortable step at a time.

That’s one of the reasons Jordan Craig’s essay, “Discovering My Voice: How Courage and Confidence Shaped My Leadership,” in Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, resonated with me, and will likely resonate with many emerging leaders. She writes candidly about persistence, taking risks, and wrestling with imposter syndrome*. Her story reminds us that confidence isn’t something you’re born with. More often than not, it’s something you build by saying “yes” before you feel completely ready.

Leadership Begins Long Before the Title

I first met Jordan when she accepted the executive director position at Spay Neuter Network several years ago. I remember hearing then-Executive Director Bonnie Hill talk about the search process and this incredibly talented candidate they hoped would say “yes.” Bonnie knew they had found someone special. The only question was whether Jordan would leave Dallas Animal Services and take the leap.

Fortunately for the organization, she did.

Having the opportunity to work alongside Jordan over the next several years, I quickly came to understand why people gravitated toward her. Yes, she is one of the smartest people I have ever met. She has an extraordinary ability to hold multiple ideas, priorities, challenges, and opportunities in her head all at once. She can untangle complex problems, identify practical solutions, and see connections others miss.

But intelligence alone doesn’t explain why people follow someone.

What impressed me most was that no idea was ever too small to discuss, and no person was beneath her attention. Whether she was talking with a board member, a veterinarian, a shelter employee, or a consultant sitting across the table, Jordan listened. Really listened.

Listening is one of those leadership qualities that’s easy to overlook because it doesn’t draw attention to itself. Yet over time, people remember the leaders who made them feel heard.

Looking at Jordan today, it’s easy to assume leadership came naturally to her. She projects confidence, makes difficult decisions look manageable, and carries herself with the quiet assurance people often associate with experienced leaders.

In her essay, Jordan pulls back the curtain on the doubts, risks, and experiences that shaped her along the way. She reminds us that the leaders we admire most often appear confident today because of everything they worked through yesterday.

I’m grateful she chose to share that journey because I suspect many emerging leaders need to hear that confidence is often learned one difficult decision at a time.

The Work Behind the Confidence

If you want to know what people really think about an animal welfare leader, don’t look at their title. Watch what happens when they walk into an animal welfare conference.

Whenever I attend conferences with Jordan, people are constantly stopping her. Someone waves from across the room. Someone else calls out, “Hey Jordan!” A colleague pulls her into a hug or stops to ask for advice.

It is impossible not to notice how deeply respected she is throughout the animal welfare community.

What people don’t see are the years that came before those conference hall conversations. They don’t see the leadership cohorts she signs up for, the mentors who challenged her, the professional certifications she pursued, the difficult jobs she accepted, or the countless times she stepped outside her comfort zone because she believed growth was waiting on the other side.

Leadership didn’t simply happen to Jordan. She intentionally invested in becoming the leader she hoped one day to be.

It’s a little like watching an Olympic athlete stand on a podium with a gold medal and forgetting the thousands of hours spent training when nobody was watching. Or seeing an actor become an “overnight success” at age fifty after decades of auditions, rejections, and small roles.

Leadership works much the same way.

We see the confidence. We don’t always see the years spent developing it. We see the success. We don’t always see the risks, setbacks, self-doubt, persistence, and quiet courage behind it. We admire the accomplishments without realizing they were built one conversation, one difficult decision, and one act of courage at a time.

Jordan’s essay reminded me that growth often happens long before anyone else notices. It happens when we say “yes” before we feel completely ready, when we raise our hand for opportunities that stretch us, and when we keep moving forward despite the quiet voice asking, Are you sure you can do this?

Leadership Is a Lifetime of Growth

Today, Jordan serves as Chief Operating Officer at Operation Kindness Humane Society. For those who know her, that rapid rise in the ranks isn’t surprising. It reflects years of preparation, humility, perseverance, and a commitment to keep learning long after many people would have settled comfortably into what they already knew.

Over time, those moments shape who you become. That’s the lesson I carried away from Jordan’s essay.

Her story shares the setbacks, risks, and moments of self-doubt that shaped her path to leadership—details I won’t give away here because they’re best experienced in her own words. But if you’ve ever questioned whether you’re ready to lead, whether you belong at the table, or whether you have what it takes to make a difference, I think you’ll find something of yourself in Jordan’s story.

* Imposter syndrome: The persistent feeling that you don’t deserve your success or accomplishments, even when your skills and achievements show otherwise.

About Jordan Craig
Jordan Craig, CAWA, is Chief Operating Officer at Operation Kindness Humane Society. Previously, she served as Executive Director of Spay Neuter Network, where she led the organization’s expansion across North Texas and San Antonio, increasing access to affordable veterinary care for thousands of pets. Throughout her career, she has demonstrated how innovation, perseverance, and collaborative leadership can strengthen communities and save more animal lives.

One of the most common mistakes I see children make around animals isn’t because they’re being unkind.

It’s because they’re excited.

A child spots a friendly-looking dog across the room and immediately reaches out to pet him. Another sees a cat sitting quietly on the couch and scoops her up without a second thought. Their intentions are good. They simply want to say hello.

But from the animal’s perspective, that enthusiastic greeting may feel very different.

Imagine meeting a stranger who rushes toward you, reaches for your face, and immediately wraps you in a hug. Most of us would instinctively step back. We might even feel startled or uncomfortable.

Animals can feel the same way.

One of the very first lessons I teach during my humane education programs is simple:

Let the dog or cat come to you.

It’s a lesson that takes only a few seconds to explain, yet it has the potential to prevent bites and scratches while helping children build respectful relationships with animals that can last a lifetime.

Dogs and cats, like people, appreciate having a choice. When we allow them to approach us at their own pace, they have an opportunity to gather information. They can sniff, observe, and decide whether they’re comfortable interacting. That simple act of waiting communicates something important.

“I respect your space.”

Children understand this concept surprisingly well. When I explain that animals have feelings too—that they can feel excited, nervous, overwhelmed, curious, or uncertain—they begin to see the interaction from the animal’s point of view. The lesson is no longer about memorizing safety rules. It’s about understanding another living being.

I’ve watched children who were eager to rush toward every dog suddenly stop, smile, and patiently wait for the dog to approach. Instead of reaching first, they let curiosity replace impulse.

The amazing thing is that many dogs respond by choosing to come closer. Trust begins with choice. That’s an important lesson for children. When we teach children to give animals space, we’re teaching much more than dog safety or cat behavior. We’re helping them recognize that every living being deserves to feel safe and respected.

Compassion doesn’t begin with petting a dog. Sometimes it begins with waiting. Sometimes it begins with understanding that kindness isn’t always about doing something. Sometimes it’s about giving someone else the choice.

When understanding comes first, compassion follows. 

]]> https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/07/01/compassion-can-be-taught-lesson-1-let-dogs-and-cats-come-to-you/feed/ 0 https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/06/30/the-biggest-threat-to-affordable-spay-neuter-isnt-money-its-the-veterinary-shortage/ https://cathyrosenthal.com/blog/2026/06/30/the-biggest-threat-to-affordable-spay-neuter-isnt-money-its-the-veterinary-shortage/#respond Tue, 30 Jun 2026 16:29:24 +0000 https://cathyrosenthal.com/?p=17573

By Cathy M. Rosenthal

There was a week recently when a busy, five-day-a-week nonprofit spay/neuter clinic was open for only one day of surgery.

Not because demand disappeared. The appointment book was full.

Not because funding had run out. The operating room was ready.

Not because the technicians stayed home. They were there, waiting.

The clinic simply couldn’t find enough veterinarians trained in high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery (HQHVSN) to keep the operating tables running.

More Than a Funding Problem

Funding remains essential for spay/neuter. But for many nonprofit clinics, the bigger challenge today isn’t money—it’s finding enough veterinarians trained to perform high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery.

This isn’t just one clinic’s experience.

In the 2024 study, The Nonprofit Veterinarian Shortage: Who Will Care for the Pets Most in Need?, researchers (Susanne Kogut, Meredith L. Montgomery, and Julie K. Levy) found that 73% of animal sheltering organizations reported they were short-staffed for veterinarians, while 74% reported shortages of veterinary support staff. The study also found that 66% of shelters had vacant veterinarian positions they were actively trying to fill.

The consequences are impossible to ignore. More than 90% of organizations reported backlogs in spay/neuter surgeries, with nearly 18,650 animals already waiting for surgery among the organizations surveyed. Meanwhile, 79% of access-to-care clinics reported clients were waiting longer than usual for care, and more than half said those delays stretched two months or longer.

Without enough veterinarians trained to perform high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter surgery, clinics reduce the number of surgery days despite overwhelming demand. Pet owners wait longer. Unplanned litters continue to be born while families remain on waiting lists.

The ripple effects extend far beyond the clinic. Animal shelters take in more puppies and kittens. Rescue groups stretch already limited resources. Municipal shelters absorb additional costs. And ultimately, more animals enter a system already struggling to keep up.

A Call to Action

Perhaps one of the clearest signs that the field is recognizing this challenge came earlier this year when the ASPCA announced a major expansion of its grantmaking for shelters and spay/neuter clinics. In announcing up to $14 million in funding, the organization acknowledged something many nonprofit leaders have been experiencing for years: affordable spay/neuter surgery has not recovered to pre-pandemic levels, and workforce shortages continue to limit access to care.

That acknowledgment from one of the nation’s largest animal welfare organizations matters.

For a time, many funders shifted their attention toward other emerging needs. Shelters were making tremendous progress, euthanasia was declining, and spay/neuter appeared to be one of the field’s greatest success stories.

Then the pandemic reminded us otherwise. It exposed just how dependent those gains were on veterinary capacity. When surgeries stopped, backlogs grew. When experienced veterinarians retired, operating schedules shrank.

The numbers tell the story. Researchers at the University of Florida found that low-cost spay/neuter clinics still haven’t recovered to pre-pandemic capacity. They estimate the national shortfall has grown to more than 3.7 million missed spay/neuter surgeries, driven in part by ongoing veterinarian and staffing shortages

The demand never disappeared. The workforce did.

A Generation of Expertise

The challenge is also becoming generational.

Many of the veterinarians who helped build the high-quality, high-volume spay/neuter movement over the past three decades are reaching retirement. These are the surgeons who developed efficient techniques, mentored countless young veterinarians, and helped transform spay/neuter from a niche service into one of animal welfare’s most effective population-control strategies.

As they leave the workforce, they’re taking decades of experience with them. Unless the next generation is intentionally trained and mentored, that expertise risks disappearing faster than it can be replaced.

The challenge isn’t simply finding veterinarians.

It’s finding veterinarians with the training, confidence, and desire to perform 30, 40, or even 50 surgeries in a day. High-quality, high-volume spay/neuter is a specialized discipline requiring skill, efficiency, and mentorship.

Add to that the reality that many new veterinarians graduate with relatively little hands-on surgical experience. Some enter practice having performed only a handful of surgeries before beginning their first job. That’s not a criticism of veterinary education;  it’s simply the reality nonprofit clinics are navigating.

Teaching the Next Generation

That’s why mentorship has become one of the most important investments our field can make. If we want affordable spay/neuter to remain accessible five or ten years from now, we must do more than fund clinics. We must invest in the veterinarians who will lead them.

Buildings can be constructed. Mobile units can be purchased. Operating rooms can be equipped. But none of them matter without skilled surgeons standing at the table.

Because every day an operating room sits quiet despite a full appointment book, another litter is born somewhere that might have been prevented.

The future of affordable spay/neuter won’t be determined solely by how many clinics we build. It will depend on whether we build the next generation of high-quality, high-volume, spay/neuter veterinarians to keep them running.

References

• Guerios, S.D., Clemmer, G., & Levy, J.K. (2025). The Pandemic’s Cruel Aftermath: Progressive Decline in Spay/Neuter Capacity. Frontiers in Veterinary Science, 12.
• The Nonprofit Veterinarian Shortage: Who Will Care for the Pets Most in Need? (2024). Journal of Shelter Medicine and Community Animal Health. Kogut, S., Montgomery, M., & Levy, J.K.
• ASPCA. (2025). Expansion of Nationwide Efforts to Increase Access to Spay/Neuter and Support Animal Shelters. (News release.)

By Cathy M. Rosenthal

Summer isn’t just vacation season. It’s lost-pet season.

Every year, animal shelters brace for something many pet owners never see coming. As temperatures rise, so do the numbers of lost dogs and cats. Most people blame the Fourth of July. But fireworks are only one piece of a much bigger story.

Summer creates the perfect storm for pets to go missing.

Children are home from school and constantly opening doors. Families are traveling. Friends stop by to visit. Backyard projects leave gates unlatched. Delivery drivers come and go. Dogs spend more time outdoors. Cats slip through screened doors. Then add thunderstorms, neighborhood fireworks, unfamiliar visitors, and disrupted routines, and even the calmest pet can make one panicked decision.

Sometimes, it happens in seconds.

One moment your dog is lying beside you while you water the flowers. The next, a loud motorcycle, clap of thunder, or unexpected firework startles him, and he’s through an open gate you didn’t even realize was unlatched.

Over the years, I’ve heard the same sentence from heartbroken pet owners more times than I can count:

“He’s never done that before.”

Until he did.

According to animal shelters, the weeks surrounding the Fourth of July are among the busiest times of the year for stray-animal intake. But in many Texas neighborhoods, fireworks begin long before the holiday itself, often with little warning. For pets that fear loud noises, the anxiety may build for weeks.

Fear changes behavior.

Dogs have been known to climb fences they’ve ignored for years. Cats can squeeze through impossibly small openings. And once frightened, many pets don’t simply run next door. They keep running, becoming increasingly disoriented by noise, heat, and unfamiliar surroundings.

Summer also brings more opportunities for pets to slip away. Families take vacations. Friends stop by for barbecues. Pet sitters come and go. Children race in and out of the house. A guest forgets to latch the gate. A pet sitter doesn’t realize the cat bolts for the door. A family heads out to dinner just as a thunderstorm rolls in.

Most lost pets don’t disappear because someone was careless. They disappear because life happened. That’s why preparation matters far more than guilt.

If your pet becomes anxious during storms or fireworks, don’t wait until the Fourth of July to make a plan. Talk with your veterinarian now. Some pets benefit from medication. Others do well with a quiet room, white noise, closed curtains, or simply staying indoors with their family during noisy evenings.

Just as important, understand that accidents can happen. Make sure your pet’s microchip is registered with your current phone number. Check that ID tags are easy to read. Keep recent photos of your pet on your phone, and inspect gates and fencing regularly for loose boards, gaps, or latches that don’t quite close.

Unfortunately, not every lost pet makes it back home.

One of the biggest reasons is surprisingly simple: many aren’t carrying any form of identification.

The precautions may seem small — until they’re the very things that bring your pet home.

Above all, don’t assume your pet would never run away.

Every summer, shelters fill with dogs and cats whose families believed exactly that.

Sometimes, the difference between heartbreak and a happy reunion comes down to something as simple as an updated phone number on a tag or a registered microchip.

by Cathy M. Rosenthal

When James Bias hired me at the San Antonio Humane Society in 2003, he trusted me with far more than I realized at the time.

At the time, I simply thought I had found a job I was excited about. Years later, I would realize how much that trust shaped what followed.

I first met James in 2003 while working for the American Humane Association. At the time, I had spent more than a decade doing national-level work—traveling, lobbying in Washington, D.C., and working on large-scale humane issues.

Somewhere along the way of working at the national level, I realized I missed seeing the animals themselves. You know, the feeling that what you did on Tuesday could immediately change the life of an animal by Wednesday.

So after moving to San Antonio, I stopped by the San Antonio Humane Society to see their old facility and asked if I could tour the new one they were building.

A month later, James offered me a job as Public Relations Director. I was thrilled. After years of working on national issues, I was finally returning to the local shelter world where I had started my career—and where I could once again see the impact of my work on animals every day.

The Freedom to Do Good Work

What I appreciated most about working for James wasn’t just his vision, though he certainly had that. He has spent much of his career building organizations, expanding programs, and creating opportunities to help more animals. But what stood out to me was the freedom he gave his staff to do what they do best.

I didn’t want to be micromanaged, but I welcomed collaboration. I didn’t want 9-to-5 hours either. In fact, I only wanted to work 24 hours a week at the time, and I remember telling him, “Trust me. You’ll get 40 hours of work out of me.” I didn’t have to create a detailed plan, justify every hour, or prove myself first.  He said, “Okay,” trusted me to do the work, and then got out of the way.

Under James’ leadership, nobody stood around waiting for permission to do good work. If you had an idea that helped animals, educated the community, raised money, or got attention for the shelter, James was ready to support it.

Back then — before social media — we were successful in getting hundreds of stories in the traditional media every year. We were handling hoarding cases, launching fundraising events, building programs, and trying to keep the community engaged in animal welfare conversations long before Facebook reminders existed to do it for us.

And thankfully, there was never any micromanaging from James. And, in any work environment, that can be rare.

One of my favorite projects during that time was developing Camp Humane. We needed humane education, and when I pitched it, James approved. From the start, he let me create it, launch it, and run with it in 2005. It was one of the most fun projects I have ever done, and I am proud to say that Camp Humane still operates at the San Antonio Humane Society to this day.

James trusted me to do that, and that’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the years because good leaders don’t always lead by controlling people.

Sometimes they lead by removing barriers.

Sometimes they lead by trusting expertise.

Sometimes they lead by saying: “Go do what you do best.”

And that is what James did with me.

When Good Leaders Move On

A few years later, James told me he was leaving to run a larger shelter in North Texas, and my first reaction wasn’t congratulations. It was frustration. Okay, if I’m being honest, I was very, very upset. Not because I didn’t want the opportunity for him, but because I knew what his departure meant. We had built a strong team, everyone understood their role, and we were making a real difference for animals. We were constantly moving forward—helping animals, educating the community, generating media attention, handling difficult cruelty cases, and creating new programs. It was one of those rare moments when everyone was rowing in the same direction, and I didn’t want it to end.

And, naturally, I worried about what might come next. I had spent years working for a leader who trusted me to do my job. I knew there was a good chance the next person would have a very different management style, and the prospect of being micromanaged didn’t sit well with me.

Oh, and there was also one other small detail: With James gone, I had to step in as Interim Executive Director for the next nine months.

From the beginning, I did not want the position. What worried me most wasn’t the responsibility. It was the fact I was being pulled away from the work I loved most.

James knew I wasn’t interested in becoming an Executive Director. But he also knew I could lead when leadership was needed. That’s another thing great mentors do: they see not only who you are, but who you’re capable of becoming.

He trusted people. He empowered people. And he handed people responsibility before they had all the answers because he understood that confidence is often built by being trusted with something important.

And in that moment, he was trusting me with something very important – although I may not have realized it at the time. He was trusting me with the organization, the team, and the mission we had worked so hard to strengthen together.

The Best Leaders Recognize Potential Before You Do

In his chapter in Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare, “Mentors, Milestones, and Mission: The Moments That Shaped Me,” James reflects on several mentors who entrusted him with responsibility long before he felt fully ready. Reading that made me smile because it perfectly explains the leadership style he carries with him today.

Ironically, I didn’t ask James to write about mentorship or empowerment. I simply asked him to share one of his best leadership lessons. He ended up writing about the very thing I appreciated most about him.

James learned from mentors who recognized his potential and trusted him to grow into it. Then he passed that lesson on to the people who worked alongside him.

Looking back now, I realize how much that leadership style shaped not only my work during those years, but also the way I support and encourage others today.

I may not lead an organization, but the same leadership style still applies when leading projects, mentoring staff, building teams, coaching others, or simply creating an environment where people feel trusted, valued, and capable.

And maybe that’s the real legacy of great leadership — not just the work that gets accomplished, but the confidence and purpose a good leader encourages in the people along the way.

This article is part of the Humane Perspectives series, featuring stories and leadership lessons from the contributors to the book, Humane Perspectives: Leadership in Animal Welfare.

About James Bias
James Bias, CAWA, has spent more than four decades leading animal welfare organizations across the country and currently serves as Executive Director of the Connecticut Humane Society. Throughout his career, he has helped build shelters, lead major animal welfare organizations, and expand programs that strengthen the bond between people and animals.