08/17/2026
Yesterday during my volunteer shift at the Humane Society of the Treasure Coast, I had the opportunity to see a few of the 36 Border Collies rescued from the Martin County hoarding case with my own eyes.
And smell them with my own nose.
Nothing I had read or seen in the news could have prepared me for the reality of standing in front of them. It was beyond heartbreaking.
And it 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝘂𝗽.
I've seen a lot over the years working with shelter animals. I've seen animals come through the doors frightened, neglected, injured and confused. I've heard stories that stayed with me long after I've gone home.
But yesterday was different.
I found myself thinking about those dogs long after I left. Because when you actually stand there and look into their faces — and smell the conditions that are still literally clinging to their bodies — the words animal hoarding and neglect stop being words in a news story. They become very, very real.
Some were friendly and seemed almost relieved as they were being bathed — as though they could recognize that, for perhaps the first time in a very long time, human hands were making them feel better.
Others were absolutely terrified.
They backed away. They froze. They didn't understand that the people reaching for them were there to help. For some of these dogs, even kindness is frightening right now.
And despite the tremendous effort being made to clean and care for them, the effects of how they lived don't disappear with one bath.
These dogs are not housebroken. They don't understand that there's a difference between where they sleep and where they eliminate. Their kennels can be cleaned, their bedding changed and their bodies bathed, only for them to walk through or lie in their own waste again. It gets on them all over again - in their feet, tails, legs and coats.
And this is where I need to say something about the people caring for them.
The shelter employees and staff doing this work are heroes.
Not the kind of heroes who get a dramatic moment and then go home.
These are the people coming back the next morning and doing it all over again.
They're cleaning kennels that may be soiled again minutes later. They're changing bedding. They're bathing dogs who may immediately become dirty again. They're patiently handling animals who are terrified of them. They're dealing with the smell, the mess, the emotional toll and the enormous amount of physical work involved in caring for this many traumatized animals — while still caring for all of the other animals who were already depending on them.
They are showing these dogs, over and over and over again, that humans can be kind.
The dogs being rescued was an event. Recovery is going to be a process.
They're going to have to learn things most dogs learn as puppies — that there is a proper place to go potty, that a leash can mean going outside, that a clean bed is theirs to sleep on, that human hands can be gentle, and that they don't have to be afraid of everything that is new.
There will be setbacks.
A freshly bathed dog may be dirty again an hour later. A dog who approaches someone today may hide from that same person tomorrow. A terrified dog may take weeks or months before we see the personality that's been buried underneath fear and neglect.
Please remember that when you see these dogs.
What we're seeing right now isn't necessarily who these dogs are. We're seeing what prolonged neglect did to them.
Thirty-six can easily become a number in a headline. But when you're standing there, it's no longer "36 Border Collies."
It's THIS dog.
And then this one.
And another one.
Thirty-six individual lives. Thirty-six different responses to what they've endured. Thirty-six dogs who now have to learn an entirely different way of living.
They're safe now. But "safe" is only the beginning. And safe doesn't instantly undo the way they've lived for so long.
Someday, I hope the frightened dog I saw trying to disappear into the corner is sleeping sprawled across someone's couch. I hope the dog covered in waste smells like shampoo. I hope one who doesn't understand a leash someday loses its mind with excitement when its person asks, "Want to go for a walk?"
Yesterday, I saw what was done to them.
It shook me. It still does.
But I also saw the people who are helping put them back together.
And someday, when these dogs are clean, confident, loved and living in homes of their own, I hope people remember that there was an exhausted shelter worker behind that transformation — cleaning one more kennel, giving one more bath, speaking softly to one more terrified dog and showing up again the next day to do it all over again.
Those are the heroes in this story.
And I hope someday we get to see who these dogs were always supposed to be. ❤️🐾
If you've been following this story and wondering, "what can I do to help?" — please consider making a monetary donation to the Humane Society of the Treasure Coast.
Even a small donation, multiplied by hundreds of people who care, can become something enormous - https://hstc1.org/Emergency-Medical-Fund
Disclaimer: I am sharing this solely from my own experience and perspective. All thoughts and opinions expressed here are my own and should not be interpreted as representing the Humane Society of the Treasure Coast, its staff, leadership, volunteers, or any other organization or agency involved in this case.
