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In college, I volunteered at a small animal shelter in Ohio. I never thought much about the shelter's policies. Only later did I realize how much suffering its limited-admission policy caused. All "no kill" animal shelters—big or small—are limited-admission facilities.  

The dogs no one wanted sat for years (yes, years) in solitary concrete and metal cages. The only bright spot in their day was when a volunteer would walk them for 15 minutes and give them a bit of time to wander in a dirt pen outdoors. Otherwise, they spent their days and nights confined to cages. On weekends, when everyone else was in the park or at the movies … on holidays, when everyone else was with their families and opening presents … 365 days a year, they sat in a cage. Occasionally, a puppy would be brought in and quickly adopted, but many of the older, bigger dogs sat hopelessly month after month.  

I befriended a dog named Tigger, who probably weighed 80 pounds, was very cute, and had a wonderful personality. He was one of the sweetest dogs. (I suspect that he wasn't adopted because of his size, because he was a mutt, and because he didn't look like a dog you'd see in a magazine. I would have adopted him without hesitation, but animals weren't allowed in my dorm.) It broke my heart to leave him after our walks because I could see how lonely he was and how our walks were all that he looked forward to each day.

Looking back, I think of all the Tiggers languishing in limited-admission shelters and all the animals who are turned away from those shelters only to suffer on the streets or in abusive households. I wonder why people think those fates are preferable to giving animals a chance to be adopted at an open-admission shelter and, if no home can be found, a peaceful, dignified, painless exit in a loving person's arms. I sympathize with the folks who run limited-admission shelters—as I saw, many of them really do care about animals. But they often have such a fanatical fear of euthanasia that they will let an animal's spirit die for lack of joy or love or a home, just to keep them breathing for breathing's sake. The limited-admission model has proved over and over again that it isn't the answer—it's just sweeping the problem under the rug.  

I have so much gratitude for people who work in open-admission shelters and have the thankless task of having to euthanize the animals they have fed, walked, cared for, and loved while constantly dealing with the question "Why aren't you 'no kill'?" We all need to speak out in support of shelters that accept every animal in need and support aggressive spay-and-neuter and "adopt—don't buy" campaigns. And next time you are chatting with staffers or volunteers at an open-admission shelter, thank them for their courage and compassion.

Written by Chris Holbein, associate director of special projects

Before coming to PETA, I worked at a small animal shelter in rural South Carolina, where I saw firsthand why it's crucial for shelters to accept every animal in need instead of turning animals away, as most so-called "no-kill" shelters do.

One day, a man showed up with a carrier containing a mother cat and five kittens. They were bony, greasy, and crawling with fleas. "This is the best cat in the world," the man said. "This is her 18^th litter of kittens!" I had to practically bite off my tongue to avoid bluntly informing him of how badly he'd contributed to the animal overpopulation and homelessness crisis. Instead, I politely accepted the cats and told him we'd sterilize his animals for free if he got any more.

Another time, a woman walked up carrying an old flour bag and a fruit bag, both of which were knotted shut. The bags contained terrified, unsocialized cats. "These cats are taking over—you gotta take 'em," she said. On another occasion, we were called out to pick up nine newborn puppies who were still nursing off their dead mother's body under the house where their owners lived.

And I will never forget the day that a large, rough-looking man raced up in an old truck with an elderly dog in the back. I met him outside with a give-up form, waiting to hear his excuse. Instead, I got a rare glimpse of kindness: The dog wasn't his. He'd found her looking ill by some train tracks, carried her to his truck, and sped to the shelter for help.

An examination revealed that she was suffering badly, possibly from congestive heart failure, and I explained that the best I could give her was a peaceful passing. The man agreed and insisted on staying while I wrapped the dog in a towel, carried her gently to an exam table, kissed her head, and gave her a lethal injection to end her suffering. If not for him, this poor angel would have surely died slowly and in agony.

Whenever I hear "no-kill" propaganda, I think of all the animals we helped at that open-admission shelter. Turning them away would have meant their suffering and certain, painful deaths, and caging them indefinitely is never a humane option. Some are too broken, too old, or just plain unwanted and will not be adopted. Euthanasia was and remains a mercy for many animals, although it breaks the hearts of those who choose to provide this kindness. What gives me hope is that spaying and neutering can drastically reduce the number of animals who end up homeless. Please, if you haven't already, have your animals sterilized as soon as possible—and urge everyone you know to do so as well.

Written by Teresa Chagrin, PETA's animal care & control specialist

My dog, Pete, attracts lots of attention on our walks—he jumps for joy like his legs are made of pogo sticks, seeming to defy gravity as he launches his sizable frame skyward. Along with "Did you teach him to do that?!" (answer: no), people are always asking me, "Where did you get him?" I guess they just assume that I bought Pete from a breeder, because his flowing mane resembles a golden retriever's. It's fun to see their surprise when I tell them that Pete is a mutt and that I adopted him from an animal shelter.

October is "Adopt a Shelter Dog" Month, and if you're ready to commit to caring for a canine companion, there is no better place to find your new best friend than a shelter or rescue group. Shelters are overflowing with dogs of all ages, personalities, and sizes—mutts and purebreds. Just make sure that your lifestyle, activity level, and experience will make you a good fit for the animal you're considering. For a nominal adoption fee—hundreds less than what breeders typically charge—your new family member will likely go home neutered, vaccinated, dewormed, and microchipped.

Pete has become such an important part of my life that it's difficult to think about what might have happened if I hadn't adopted him. Every year, shelters must euthanize 3 to 4 million dogs and cats because breeders, pet stores, and people who don't have their animals sterilized bring more animals into a world that is already tragically short on good homes. Let's help change that this October by having our animal companions spayed and neutered and opening our hearts and homes to a lovable, one-of-a-kind dog from a shelter.

Written by Lindsay Pollard-Post

Labor Day meant a long weekend for many nine-to-fivers, but some laborers can't close up shop and forget about their jobs, even for a day. For animal shelter workers, the stream of battered and bruised animals in need of refuge never ends. Few people have a more emotionally challenging job than those who punch in every day knowing that they will likely have to euthanize the animals they've devoted themselves to helping.

We can all help ease shelter workers' burdens by doing our part to slow the stream of homeless animals. That means always having our cats and dogs spayed or neutered and adopting animals instead of buying them from breeders or pet stores.

As one who has spent years volunteering at my local animal shelter, I know that shelter staffers are some of the hardest-working people around. They scrub poop-strewn kennels, comb animals who are matted and crawling with fleas, and give belly rubs to dogs who have been chained up like old bicycles their entire lives. They heft dogs onto examination tables, unload vans of 50-pound bags of food, get bitten by petrified dogs who have known nothing but cruelty, and get scratched by cats who are frantic after having left the home they've always known to live in a cage surrounded by other crying felines. They cuddle cats, throw balls for dogs, slip treats through cage bars, speak kind words, and give many scratches behind the ears. They do their best to make the animals' stay at the shelter as full of love as possible.

But shelters don't have a magic wand that they can wave to create loving homes for all the animals who need them. Those who work in open-admission shelters must also perform the thankless, gut-wrenching task of holding the animals they've played with and loved in their arms while the euthanasia needle slides into a vein and the light in their eyes softly flickers out. These people are heroes for doing the right thing for animals even though it takes such a toll on them personally.

Breeders, pet stores, and people who haven't had their animals spayed or neutered put shelter workers in this tragic position. Every new puppy or kitten who is brought into the world takes the chance for a home away from one of the thousands of animals waiting in shelters. And every new puppy or kitten means another broken heart for a brave shelter worker.

Shelter workers' jobs will never be cushy, but if more people spay and neuter their animals before that first litter and if more people adopt the eager-to-please dogs and cats waiting in shelters instead of buying animals, we could dramatically reduce the number of animals euthanized for lack of a good home. We could save thousands of lives—and make shelter workers' lives a little bit easier too.

Written by Lindsay Pollard-Post