Rescue isn’t just placement. It’s proper matchmaking.
Over the past year, I’ve had a front-row seat to some of the deeper challenges happening within the rescue world.
Most of them don’t come from a lack of care or compassion.
In fact, quite the opposite.
Many people involved in rescue are incredibly big-hearted, passionate, well-intentioned individuals who genuinely want to help dogs.
And that compassion matters deeply.
But one thing this experience has made very clear to me is this:
Good intentions alone are not enough.
Rescue work also requires structure.
It requires knowledge and behavioral understanding.
It requires thoughtful vetting and alignment between the dogs we’re trying to help and the people stepping forward to help them.
Without those things, even the most well-meaning efforts can lead to instability for the very dogs we’re trying to protect.
When placements happen without that structure, predictable patterns begin to emerge:
- Unvetted or improperly vetted foster placements
- Improper screening of potential adopters
- Improper placements — dogs being placed into homes or environments that simply aren’t compatible with their needs
Every dog brings their own unique combination of drives, temperament, energy, life experiences, and needs.
And every human household brings its own lifestyle, energy, expectations, awareness, willingness to learn, and capacity.
When those pieces aren’t carefully understood and aligned, even the most well-intentioned placements can quickly become unstable.
The ripple effects show up quickly:
- Dogs bouncing from home to home
- Fosters burning out
- Adoptions failing
- Dogs experiencing even more instability — some after already surviving trauma, neglect, or significant upheaval in their lives
There are also deeper structural challenges that aren’t talked about enough.
Fraud within parts of the rescue and pet transport world — far more common than many people realize.
A lack of transparency around many dogs’ histories and behavioral needs.
And the reality that foster homes and shelter environments often don’t give us the clearest picture of who a dog truly is.
Dogs who’ve been displaced, stressed, or traumatized are often living in survival mode.
What we see in those environments isn’t always an accurate reflection of their true temperament, personality, or long-term needs.
Successful rescue truly takes a village.
But even the village needs thoughtful vetting.
Not every situation ends up being the right fit.
Not every placement is the right placement.
And not every well-intentioned effort leads to the outcome we hope for.
Rescue requires collaboration.
But it also requires structure, discernment, education, and the right people in the right roles.
This entire experience over the last year — from day one until now — the many experiences, hurdles, challenges, and decisions along the way — has helped shape the foundation of what I’m now beginning to build.
Aside from writing the new book, I've been working on something else over the last few days.
What started out as a simple app idea has begun evolving into something much bigger and is quickly becoming a full platform with an app interface — one designed to speak to and address the challenges I’ve just described.
I’ve only just started working on it, so there’s still a lot taking shape.
The platform I’m beginning to build is designed to help bring far more intentional matchmaking into the rescue, foster, and adoption process.
Good rescue isn’t just placement.
It’s proper matchmaking.
And proper matchmaking cannot happen without a full understanding of both the dog and the human in front of you.
That’s exactly the gap this platform is being built to bridge.
There are a few key components I wish I could share more about right now — because they’re going to be VERY unique to this process (and honestly, really freaking cool) — but those details will come later.
For now, the goal is simple:
To bring more structure, education, transparency, and thoughtful alignment into the rescue, foster, and adoption process.
Because real rescue… responsible rescue… isn’t just about moving dogs quickly.
It’s about matching dogs wisely.
…but more on that soon.
For now, enjoy some throwback videos.
I've been going back through old videos and photos as part of the grieving process — and also as part of writing the new book about this unbelievable journey, the lessons, obstacles, challenges, and experiences along the way.
I still don’t know how or why what started out as such a beautiful effort — and such a large undertaking — became riddled with so much heartache and tragedy.
Why finding wonderful, responsible homes has been such a feat.
I keep praying about it.
Asking why.
Asking for understanding.
Asking for clarity.
I'd posted recently about “signs" and want to share something really incredible that happened last night.
I woke up in the middle of the night and looked at the clock.
It was 2:22 am.
An “angel number.”
Right after that, I felt what seemed like a dog jump up on the bed and curl up next to my leg.
The feeling was SO real that I reached down expecting to touch a dog… but no one was there.
I genuinely thought it was one of the dogs.
But our dogs are crated in our bedroom at night.
I believe it was Winnie.
I've been asking her for signs that she hears me and is still with me.
Asking for help and guidance in helping Cowboy and Ava find their people.
They so deserve this.
I also want to report that Willie (partially blind), Chicken (deaf), and Rocco are all doing very well in their homes.
Willie’s parents actually renamed him Cowboy because they loved the name so much.
Chicken has learned a whole bunch of sign language.
And Rocco’s (now Rocky) parents wrote me this:
“Rocky is such a great dog! I’m glad we found him. We truly love him and he’s our son. He is so good with other dogs… it’s like he knows who he can rough house with and who he needs to get on the floor and just lay next to. It’s pretty cool to see. He hasn’t met a dog yet that hasn’t loved him.”
Hearing updates like that brings me an unspeakable amount of joy.
And at the same time, it makes me wish the others could have been as lucky.
This journey has made one thing abundantly clear:
Responsible, committed, invested, loving homes are far rarer than most people realize.
Finding them has been unbelievably hard.
But I also believe in silver linings.
And there have been a number of those along the way.
I’ve met some truly salt-of-the-earth people and made what I know will be lifelong friends (Rona. Grazia. I’m looking at you).
I met people who showed up simply to help and support, without asking for anything in return.
No agenda.
Just heart.
There were many days when I was driving back and forth to boarding when Rona would quite literally hold me up when my knees buckled — when the exhaustion, stress, fear, and uncertainty became overwhelming.
And I also gained insights into the rescue world — the processes, the realities, and the challenges — things I might never have fully understood otherwise.
I even had the experience of raising neonates, which was a beautiful first for me.
Ava is a once-in-a-lifetime dog. She deserves a home that will see her that way and make her feel it every single day.
And Cowboy is a sweet, sensitive soul who is simply longing for a place where he truly belongs.
The pain from this experience is big. Immensely big. And very real.
What I’m feeling isn’t just stress or disappointment.
It’s grief — the kind that comes from loving deeply, carrying responsibility, and watching things unfold in ways you never wanted or expected.
When you step into rescue the way I did, you don’t just help dogs. You bond with them. You advocate for them. You carry them. You feel responsible for their outcomes.
So when things go wrong, or when tragedy touches that journey, the grief can feel overwhelming.
It’s not just about a single loss.
It’s the weight of the entire experience.
I’ve been sitting with everything. Reflecting on it. Trying to understand it.
And ultimately, trying to transform it into something meaningful.
That work isn’t easy.
But it’s honest work.
Winnie mattered.
The entire litter mattered — and still matters.
The effort, the love, the fight to help them — all of it mattered.
None of that is erased by the pain or the questions I’m still carrying.
And grief has a strange way of sitting right next to purpose.
Sometimes the reason something new begins to take shape — a book, a platform, a new path — is precisely because the experience touched us that deeply.
The pain is big, but I also know this:
The love that created it was big, too. Really big. And deep.
In true Kimmie “turn pain into purpose” fashion… perhaps it’s this platform. Perhaps it’s the new book on this unbelievable journey I'm now writing. Perhaps it’s both. I don’t know.
But it certainly feels like all of this is pointing somewhere.
It just has to be.
Because if this journey has taught me anything, it’s that even the hardest roads can still lead somewhere meaningful.
(to see throwback videos, click here)
