Ava, Winnie, and Cowboy are back in California and are safe.

Ava, Winnie, and Cowboy are back in California and are safe.

They are also in need of qualified fosters or permanent, loving homes. This is an urgent need, given the circumstances — but it’s also an honest, responsible ask. These dogs need stability, predictability, and humans who understand that decompression and nervous-system healing take time.

It’s been an intense period of transition and decompression, which is why I’ve been quiet. Right now, my focus is on stabilizing routines, reducing stress, and supporting their nervous systems after a long stretch of uncertainty. I will share more context — but not all at once. I’m prioritizing safety, regulation, and doing right by the dogs before anything else.

That said, I also need to speak honestly.

I’ve been quiet — not because I don’t care, and not because nothing has been happening — but because I’ve been carrying more than I’ve had the capacity to put into words.

This past year has fundamentally changed me.

I’ve dedicated my life’s work to dogs — to rescue, behavior, advocacy, education, and doing things the right way, even when it’s hard, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it costs me personally. Especially then.

What this year has revealed is not just how broken parts of the rescue world are — but how profoundly alone someone can be when things become complicated, messy, risky, and real — when someone steps up to do the right thing and others quietly turn away to avoid inconvenience. This is the truth for those who don’t turn the other way.

I have reached out. Repeatedly. To countless colleagues, professionals, organizations, and people I truly believed would answer the call when dogs truly needed support.
They did not. In one instance, a rescue responded to their plight with nothing more than a laughing emoji.

There is much more I could share about what unfolded — including information about the “rescue” involved — but I’m being intentional and discerning about what I say, and when. What I believed was divine intervention… wasn’t. I was misled. And I’ve since learned I’m not the only one.

This experience has been profoundly educational. It has taken me to a deeper level of understanding about the darker realities that exist within parts of the rescue world — including deception, exploitation, and fraud. I’m still processing what it means to speak about that responsibly.

That reality has been devastating to confront.

I am angry.
I am heartbroken.
I am grieving the version of this world I thought existed.
And I am exhausted in a way that goes far beyond being “tired.”

The dogs have felt every ounce of this instability. Their nervous systems have been impacted. They are not “bad dogs.” They are sensitive, intelligent beings who have lived with prolonged uncertainty and stress. Anyone who truly understands behavior knows what that does to a nervous system.

I am still here.
I am still showing up.
I am still doing everything in my power to keep them safe.

But I cannot do this alone — even when it’s something I willingly signed up for, there are real limits to what one person can responsibly and sustainably carry.

It’s not because I don’t want to — it’s because I no longer can. My circumstances are no longer the same. I now have a blended life: a fiancé, his children, a family, a new pack — and legal ordinances that limit how many dogs can be housed in one household. These are real constraints, not a lack of commitment. Accepting them has been painful, and the process has left me deeply disappointed — in the dog world, in the dog training industry, and, more broadly, in humanity itself.

Ava, Winnie, and Cowboy need fosters or permanent homes with people who are patient, grounded, and willing to meet them where they are. I will provide guidance, support, and transparency.

I also want to be clear about this: transport is available anywhere in the country for the right fit. I know these dogs intimately — their natures, personalities, drives, nervous systems, stress thresholds, and triggers. Placement will be thoughtful and intentional. I am not looking for any home — I am looking for the right home.

What I can’t provide — and no longer live — is a life where I am the sole long-term nervous system for them.

I also want to be transparent about something difficult to say: this situation has made it impossible for me to work and earn in the ways I normally do. Caring for these dogs, navigating the fallout of what happened, and stabilizing them has required everything I have. I cannot cover their food, care, and ongoing needs alone.

I will be starting a new fundraiser shortly to support Ava, Winnie, and Cowboy. I know there may be confusion or disappointment around how things unfolded — what was perceived as a lack of follow-through was, in reality, follow-through that was infiltrated by fraud disguised as “rescue.” I was not in my strongest moment, and everyone paid the price — including these dogs and the donors who trusted that the right thing was being done. I’m sharing this now with honesty, humility, and clarity — because asking for help is part of doing right by them.

If you believe you may be a good fit as a foster or adopter, or know someone who might be, please reach out directly. Thoughtful shares also matter.

For now, my priority remains safety, regulation, and doing right by the dogs. I’m asking for patience as I find my footing again — and as I determine what sustainable care looks like in a world that often asks individuals to carry what should never rest on one person alone.

Thank you for allowing me the space to move through this responsibly. And thank you to those who have held space quietly, without demands, opinions, or expectations — that kind of presence matters more than you know.

For those who cannot do that, I want to be clear: unsolicited opinions, speculation, or commentary will be deleted. There are details to this situation that I cannot share quite yet. This is not a lack of transparency — it is protection.

More will be shared when it’s appropriate.