Honoring Winnie.

This is a post I never imagined I would have to write.

Many of you have followed Ava and her puppies’ journey for over a year now. You watched them survive circumstances that should have broken them. You celebrated the small victories with us. You helped carry the financial, emotional, and logistical weight of rescue alongside me.

And many of you fell in love with Winnie.

Winnie was the spark in the litter — bold, expressive, curious, and full of personality. She had a brightness about her that people immediately felt. She was playful, spirited, and deeply loved. She was impossible not to love.

She should still be here.

A few Monday nights ago, around 8 pm, Winnie and Cowboy got out of their foster home. Within about fifteen minutes, Winnie was struck by a car in a hit-and-run and died on impact.

Around 8:30 pm, my phone rang.

“Hello, may I speak with Kimberly Artley?”

“This is Kimberly.”

“This is (so-and-so) calling from the veterinary emergency clinic. I’m calling on behalf of a dog who just came in named Winnie who is microchipped in your name.”

There was a pause.

“Yes… is she okay?”

“I’m so sorry to tell you…”

And I collapsed.

I don’t remember much after that. Only that I was immediately on my way down. I had to see her.

It all felt so surreal. I couldn’t understand. How? What the hell happened?!?

A teenager who witnessed the accident stopped immediately, picked Winnie up, and rushed her to the emergency care clinic.

His parents are clearly doing something very right in raising a compassionate and caring young man. We need more of that in the world.

When I got the call, Maddie — Steve’s daughter — drove me directly to the veterinary clinic. She also stayed out with me late into the night searching for Cowboy, who'd disappeared into the darkness after the incident.

What followed were some of the longest and most terrifying hours of this entire journey.

The area where this happened is heavily populated with coyotes, and night had already fallen.

A few key, incredible people dropped everything to help search.

People came out into the pitch black to help post flyers, knock on doors, talk to neighbors, and scan the surrounding area. A few others joined the search effort late into the night.

The foster was out searching as well.

At sunrise the next morning, people were back out again continuing the search.

Eventually there was a sighting of Cowboy running for his life down a busy thoroughfare. Later, he was located and safely contained at a middle school field about three miles away from where the incident took place.

I am profoundly relieved to say that Cowboy is safe.

Winnie, however, is gone.

This was a tragic accident, but also a painful reminder of how quickly things can go wrong when safety measures fail or break down.

Grief is never simple, but this grief carries many layers — heartbreak, shock, anger, questions, and the heavy reality that this loss was preventable. I’m sitting with all of that right now.

I want to be very clear about something as I share this update: my intention in speaking about what happened is not to shame, blame, or point fingers.

Rescue is complicated. People are imperfect. Situations are rarely as simple as they appear from the outside.

But when something like this happens, we also cannot pretend there are no lessons.

Winnie’s life deserves more than silence.

Over the past year, this journey with Ava and her puppies has taught me many things — some beautiful, some incredibly hard.

This was my first experience raising neonates. I was there for all of the puppies’ firsts. I watched them discover sight. Then sound. Then their feet — and once they figured those out, they were off.

I also had the rare opportunity to watch the interplay between Nature and Nurture unfold in real time. I saw who each of these puppies were by nature, and I watched as their experiences began shaping them — their perceptions, their confidence, their nervous systems, and their relationship to the world around them.

No matter how painful, how long, how arduous, or how difficult this journey became, I hung in there.

For them.

One of the most important lessons this experience reinforced is the difference between placement driven by alignment and placement driven by urgency.

Rescue is filled with urgency. Shelters are overwhelmed, resources are limited, and the broader landscape for dogs right now is incredibly strained.

Dogs are being surrendered and rehomed at alarming rates.

Backyard breeding continues to rise — fueled in part by the ease and lack of regulation on many social media platforms where animals can be bought, sold, and advertised with little oversight.

Euthanasia rates in many areas have climbed very high again as shelters struggle with overcrowding. Some reports indicate that roughly a quarter of municipal shelters are operating at more than 150% capacity, driven by rising — not falling — intake numbers. Large dogs in particular are staying in shelters longer, which slows turnover, limits space for new arrivals, and contributes to higher euthanasia rates.

Much of this pressure is also being driven by broader economic realities — rising veterinary costs, financial strain on families, and housing restrictions that make keeping pets increasingly difficult.

And here in California, I have personally witnessed some of the most alarming things I have ever seen in the dog world.

In nearly two decades of working with dogs, I have never witnessed the level of crisis, chaos, irresponsibility, and suffering that I have seen since my time here in California.

It’s heartbreaking.

It’s disturbing.

It’s gut-wrenching.

Many dogs are being brought into the world without any real plan or responsibility for their lifelong care.

And far too many end up with people who don’t fully honor the commitments they make to them.

So the pressure to “save the dog in front of you” is very real.

But when urgency becomes the primary driver behind placement decisions, it can unintentionally contribute to the very problems rescue is trying to solve.

Too often, decisions are made from passion alone — from love for dogs and the emotional desire to help — without the behavioral fluency, structure, and logistical discernment required to set dogs up for long-term success.

And the hard truth is that this is far more common than many people realize across the rescue landscape.

Love matters. Passion matters.

But without knowledge, literacy, and thoughtful decision-making guiding the process, good intentions can still lead to heartbreaking outcomes.

Responsible rescue requires more than emotion.

It requires discernment, alignment, and a deep understanding of the dogs we are advocating for.

I’ve long understood how critical careful vetting is — not just of adopters, but of helpers, fosters, and rescue partners. This experience painfully punctuated and reinforced that truth. In rescue, good intentions are not enough; structure, discernment, and accountability are what ultimately protect the dogs we are trying to save.

There were moments during this journey where I was encouraged to “let go” and trust others to handle certain parts of the process. My instinct has always been to stay closely involved, but I tried — at times — to loosen my grip.

The painful truth is that when I did, things happened outside of my knowledge, influence, and awareness.

That’s something I’m still processing.

Winnie should still be here.

I am grieving deeply. And yes — I’m also angry. Very angry.

But anger can either destroy something, or it can become fuel for change.

I’m choosing the second path.

In Winnie's honor, I will be developing an educational program for rescues, fosters, and adopters focused on responsible rescue practices — including vetting protocols, behavioral literacy, recognizing red flags, and making placement decisions based on alignment rather than urgency.

Because responsible rescue isn’t just about pulling a dog out of a bad situation.

It’s about making sure their next chapter is truly safe.

To everyone who has followed this journey, supported these dogs, donated, shared posts, offered help, or simply cared — thank you. Your support has meant more than I can adequately express.

Winnie experienced joy. She experienced safety. She experienced love.

And she mattered.

Her life mattered.

I’ve also already begun writing my next book, and I’m still deciding between two titles: "Saving Ava" or "The Long Way Home."

This journey has been the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever taken on, and I’m still fighting hard to see it through.

The fact that it has taken this long — and that we’ve had to navigate so many unbelievable hurdles and misfortunes along the way — is something I will probably never fully understand. Why good, responsible, invested, committed, loving homes have been this hard to find.

And if anyone begins to think the standards are high, it’s because they are.

They are high for them — and they should be for every dog whose life we take responsibility for.

This isn’t just about finding a home.

It’s about finding a family.

A family who will honor the commitments they make. Because these dogs are relying on us to make life-changing decisions for them.

That responsibility is something no one should ever take lightly.

Ever.

I’m navigating a great deal of emotional complexity right now, so I may be quiet for a little while as I process and grieve.

Or I may continue writing my way through this grief, as I have done in the past, while also working on the new program in Winnie’s honor.

I write to process. To heal. To make sense of things. To educate. And to bring awareness to what so many dogs are facing.

But this much I know with certainty:

Winnie deserved a long life. Since she didn’t get that, I will spend the rest of mine doing everything I can to make sure her story helps protect other dogs. If her life teaches us anything, let it be that rescue must be guided by alignment, discernment, and responsibility — not urgency alone.

Her life will continue to matter through the work that comes from it.

It is my hope and prayer that Winnie was welcomed warmly by my sweet angels who crossed the rainbow bridge not too long ago — Raiyna, Chip, the Todd-father, and Levi.

What a journey it’s been.

And it’s not over yet.

Because as long as there are dogs depending on us to make the right decisions for them — behaviorally, nutritionally, and in the environments and lives we build around them — the work continues.

Run free, sweet girl.

You were deeply, deeply loved.

Always.

I’m gutted.

The world feels quieter now… more still… more lifeless without you here.

Sadder.

(link to view more photos of Winnie here: https://www.facebook.com/KimberlyArtley1/posts/pfbid0ueNKhbs9ndgFt3ytahx71zebGh7aZG5kMG2j7kZv6WbKUxeQkMrECwsviNyy7hiql)