The Weight of a Promise: Why We Can’t Stop Now
- Mar 23
- 4 min read
I will never forget the woman who walked into the Santa Rosa County Animal Shelter, clutching a small white Maltese to her chest, tears streaming down her face.
She wasn’t just surrendering a dog. She was surrendering the last tangible piece of her parents, who had passed away. The little dog was all she had left of them, but her apartment didn’t allow pets. She had no choice.
I asked if we could help her keep him. I offered to pay a deposit for a pet-friendly place. She shook her head, sobbing—her job, her income, her life wouldn’t allow for a move.
And so, she handed him over.
I knew, logically, that the dog would be adopted quickly. But that wasn’t the point. That dog lost its family. That woman lost her last connection to the people who raised her.
And I stood there, helpless.
That moment still haunts me.
It’s why I wake up every day and fight through every roadblock, every delay, every moment of exhaustion to get this clinic open.
The Long Road to Change
When we started this journey, we had a donor who was ready to fully fund the clinic. But then COVID hit, and her financial situation changed. She still gave what she could, and we are forever grateful, but it left us scrambling. Costs skyrocketed. County requirements slowed us down. Construction hurdles popped up at every turn.
I’m used to learning new things, figuring out challenges, and finding solutions. But this? This has tested me in ways I never imagined. Every single piece of this clinic—every permit, every pond or levee requirement, every order that gets delayed—has felt like an impossible maze.
And yet, through it all, I have had one person who has kept me sane: Paige.
Paige has been beside me, behind me, ahead of me—wherever I’ve needed her to be.
If you’ve ever seen me on the frontlines of this organization, just know—I wouldn’t be there without her. She is my balance, my logic when my emotions take over, my guide when I can’t see the way forward. Paige has been beside me, behind me, ahead of me—wherever I’ve needed her to be.
Every leader needs someone like her. Someone who sees the strengths in your weaknesses, who pushes you when you feel like you can’t go on, who reminds you of the mission when all you want to do is break down and cry.
I cannot do this without her. And we cannot do this without you.
The Mission We Can’t Abandon
I know this fight is overwhelming. I see it in our volunteers, in our supporters, in every person who has given their time, energy, and heart to this cause. We have run like a fully staffed, revenue-generating business for seven years, but we have done it with volunteers—people who believed in this mission so much that they gave their free time to make it happen.
And we have to tell them, “Not yet.”
But volunteers get tired. Volunteers burn out.
We were transporting 50-60 animals every other week for spay/neuter—until we just didn’t have the manpower anymore. We were running microchip clinics, adoption events, pet food pantries—all with people who showed up because they cared. But over time, as the need grew heavier, many had to step back.
And I understand.
It is exhausting to see the need and know that we can’t help everyone right now. Every time we post an update about our clinic, we get flooded with comments and messages from people asking to sign up their pet for surgery immediately. And we have to tell them, “Not yet.”
Not yet.
Do you know how much that hurts?
To know the need is there, to know we are so close, and to know that we still have to say, not yet?
That’s why we are pushing harder than ever. That’s why we cannot stop now.
We Owe This to Every Animal and Every Person Who Has Ever Had to Say Goodbye
Because the sooner we open, the sooner we can stop saying not yet.
I think about that woman in the shelter, holding her parents’ dog for the last time.
I think about the 4,038 animals euthanized in 2017 because there simply wasn’t enough space, enough resources, enough help.
I think about the people who want to do the right thing—who want to keep their pets but feel like they have no options.
And I think about you—the people who have stood by us, who have believed in this mission, who have donated, shared our story, volunteered, and made this dream possible.
We are so close. The clinic is coming. We are hiring staff, ordering equipment, training with the ASPCA’s Humane Alliance program—all the pieces are falling into place. But we still need help.
We still need funding to get this across the finish line.
Because the sooner we open, the sooner we can stop saying not yet.
The sooner we can stop watching families get torn apart because of circumstances beyond their control.
The sooner we can save lives—not just animals, but the people who love them, too.
If you have ever believed in what we do, if you have ever wanted to make a difference, now is the time.
Donate. Share. Help us finish this.
Because I will not stop fighting.
And I know you won’t either.
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