Who knows best for a shelter dog? (Hint: It’s not who you think.)
In which Jill almost breaks her own rule.
Last Wednesday, I finally met Astrid—a meeting my friends had been nudging me toward for over a year. “She’s your type,” one said. “If you don’t vibe with her, just make an excuse and leave,” advised another. Spoiler: Astrid isn’t a person—she’s a 167-pound Central Asian Shepherd who’s called the Burbank Animal Shelter home for 965 days, and counting.
Central Asian Shepherds are part of a remarkable group called Livestock Guardian Dogs (LGDs)—think Gamprs, Kangals, Great Pyrenees, and Anatolians. These are dogs bred for centuries to protect herds, not to lounge on sofas or play fetch in the park. They’re stoic, reserved, and, frankly, a poor match for most families. Yet, people buy them as fluffy puppies, only to surrender them a year later when reality of their size and demeanor outweighs their cuteness.
Time for a Gampr Scampr!
That’s where our “Gampr Scampr” program comes in. At Outta the Cage, we specialize in rescuing LGDs from L.A.-area shelters and transporting them north to Tom, a trainer who lives and breathes these breeds. Tom assesses, socializes, and matches them with working homes—ranches and farms where they can thrive as guardians, not ornaments. It’s a win-win: shelter kennels open up, and the dogs find a purpose. Plus, no breeders involved!
When I arrived at the shelter and mentioned Astrid, the staff looked at me like I’d just paid off their mortgages. But when they learned I ran a rescue, their enthusiasm faded. “We really want Astrid to go to a private adopter,” a supervisor explained. “She’s fine here.” They wanted to keep her local, where they could monitor her transition and offer support.
Astrid’s kennel—actually two kennels merged into one—was spotless, and she looked well cared for, if a bit bored. A volunteer described how he played with her every day. “She’ll be okay,” he said—a gentle code for “we won’t euthanize her.”
I was surprised. After 965 days, I thought giving Astrid a change of scenery would be a gift. But then it hit me: these staff and volunteers have invested nearly three years in Astrid. They know her quirks, her moods, her needs. They’ve walked her, bathed her, enriched her life, and advocated for her. They have a relationship with her that no outsider, however well-intentioned, can replicate.
My rule: those who know the dog best call the shots.
Too often, I see shelter staff making life-or-death decisions about dogs they barely know. Shelters are unnatural, stressful places. Dogs spin, bark, cower, and are marked as “high FAS” (Fear, Anxiety, Stress)—a label that’s increasingly a death sentence. Meanwhile, volunteers spend time with these dogs outside their kennels, coaxing out their true personalities in play yards and quiet moments. Their insights are invaluable, yet too often ignored.
If we want to do right by shelter dogs, we must put decision-making power in the hands of those who know them best: the people who walk them, play with them, and see them as individuals—not just kennel numbers. Euthanasia decisions should involve the volunteers who have relationships with the dogs.
I wanted to help Astrid, but ultimately, I defer to her friends in Burbank. They’ve earned the right to decide what’s best for her. I only wish every shelter dog had such dedicated advocates in their corner.
Bottom line:
Shelter dogs deserve futures shaped by the people who truly know them. That’s how we honor their individuality—and give them their very best chance.
Yes, great decision. I volunteered at wv from 2006-2011 and the atmosphere was so much different. It was a great volunteer experience because we, the volunteers, could talk to supervisors and managers and advocate for our special dog. I know we all saved dogs from death because we were the ones who knew them best. From what I hear now from friends, the shelter is not the same. I live in palm desert and have volunteered here, but it became too much of a battle. I’m lucky that I have great memories of my first volunteering job with LAAS, it showed me what it could be like. Everyone working together.
So often I see the notes on a dog marked “high FAS” by an employee that then has nearly opposite notes when in the playyard with a volunteer. It’s disheartening and makes me feel, as a volunteer, that my experience with said animal is not being taken into consideration. In my opinion, volunteer observations are not given the consideration and respect they deserve.