Last month, a dog was dumped near the Greenbrier River Trail in the sweltering heat. Over the course of a week, concerned citizens left food, set humane traps, and tried desperately to catch him. But he was terrified—understandably—and ran deeper into the field every time someone got near.
After a week in that field waiting for his family to return, surviving in 90-degree heat with a heat index near 100 degrees, that dog was hit and killed on Route 60. A kind-hearted stranger picked up his lifeless body and made sure he was given a proper burial.
This wasn’t an isolated act of cruelty. It reflected a broader system failure. Our shelters are full. Our funding is inadequate. And our animal control infrastructure—by law—should intervene when dogs are running at-large, yet too often it doesn’t.
The very same day that the dog at the River Trail was struck and killed, the Kanawha County Humane Society rescued a mother dog, and 14 puppies left to bake in a cardboard box. Three puppies died of heatstroke, and the others suffered such severe sunburns that their skin began to slough off, leaving open wounds. What saved the rest wasn’t luck—it was the mother dog. When a man drove past, she sprinted after his car, barking for help. When he stopped and rolled down the window, he heard the cries of the puppies in the box. Without her, she and they all might have died, but there is nothing quite like the love of a mother or the ends to which she will go to save her babies. Every mom knows this.
Just a few months earlier, in March, I encountered another tragic case in Renick: four Dalmatians had been abandoned there—left behind by someone who moved away in the dead of winter. Dalmatians are not built for cold weather, and by the time I found out about them, they were skin and bones. I got volunteers to feed them. Neighbors repeatedly called for help, and their calls were unanswered.
I purchased Coyote box traps in hopes of catching them—like the dog near the River Trail, the Dalmatians were terrified of people—and why wouldn’t they be? The only human they trusted left them to fend for themselves in the woods, and miraculously, they did. But again, it sadly wasn’t a happy ending for any of them.
One was shot by a neighbor for killing his chickens, or “trying to survive” as the Dalmatian saw it. The remaining three disappeared by the time the traps I ordered arrived, never to be seen again.
Greenbrier County’s Leash Ordinance of 2008 clearly states that the Animal Control Officer or any law enforcement officer has the DUTY to seize stray dogs. But when calls go unanswered, when dogs die in fields or roam in the woods for months, we have to ask ourselves: Are we still pretending this system is working?
These stories aren’t outliers anymore—they’re warnings. And behind them is a quiet truth: we’re failing not because we don’t care, but because the system isn’t built to succeed.
The Greenbrier Humane Society receives approximately $200,000 from the county to operate a shelter that costs more than $500,000 to run. They are stretched past the breaking point. Our county budget allocates millions to tourism, corrections, and administration. Yet we can’t find enough to give animals a fighting chance of survival? Do we put that in the brochures when we ask people to come visit our beautiful County? I’m betting we don’t.
We cannot continue to say that dogs are “man’s best friend” and let them fall through the cracks. If this is how we treat our best friends, what does that say for the runners-up?
That’s why I’m asking for two things: immediate emergency funding to stabilize our shelter system, and a 2026 bond initiative to finally give Greenbrier County the shelter infrastructure it needs. We can no longer afford the cost of delay—not in lives lost, not in taxpayer inefficiencies, and not in the damage it does to our compassion.
Let’s fix this. Not for just one dog. But for all the ones who haven’t been dumped yet.
We say we’re a Christian nation and even pride ourselves on the fact that we live in “Almost Heaven,” West Virginia, yet as a whole turn a blind eye to suffering. If faith is meant to guide our values, let us remember: “That which you do to the least of these, you also do to me.” — Matthew 25:40
Maybe—just maybe—if we all put the “Christ” back in Christian, it won’t just be “Almost” Heaven, West Virginia anymore. Shouldn’t we at least try?
“Terry L. Holliday is a lifelong resident of Greenbrier County and an advocate for humane policy reform.”
