Jennifer Scott

They didn’t ask for this.

Not to be tossed out like trash, not to be chained in a backyard and forgotten, not to be forced into a fighting ring for the entertainment of monsters. Not to be left wandering the streets, dodging traffic and hoping someone — anyone — will show them kindness.

And yet, for far too many dogs and cats in East Texas, this is their reality. If they’re lucky, they make it to a shelter. If they’re really lucky, someone adopts them. But too often, time runs out.

I’ve been an animal lover for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I adored the Disney animals as much as the princesses — Lady and the Tramp, Tod and Copper, even Lucifer the cat (as mischievous as he was). I’ve always had pets by my side, and even now, I can’t resist stopping to greet a wagging tail on the street, wishing I could take them all home.

It’s no secret, either. In the newsroom, if some kind of communication comes through about an animal shelter in need, or — God forbid — a case of abuse, someone inevitably says, “Get Jenn on it.” And… they’re right. Because I will get on it. I’ll cover the story. I’ll push for answers. And I’ll probably cry in my car after.

That’s exactly what I did this past September after covering the Jones dogfighting case. I spent hours on that story — tracking down details, speaking with authorities, making sure the public knew exactly what had been uncovered. It was hard. Really hard. Seeing those broken, terrified dogs, knowing the suffering they endured, knowing that for some, even rescue wouldn’t be enough to undo the damage, it wrecked me.

When I left the scene that day — walking away from the mobile home where the suspected fighting ring was and the distant, haunting sight of the shed where those broken dogs (puppies included) had suffered — I sat in my car and cried.

A few days later, I visited the critically injured dogs at Dr. (Gary) Spence’s office. I was careful as I approached them, but they were so sweet. They just wanted love — love like they had never known before. I cradled their battered bodies, gently stroked their disfigured faces. Their tails wagged — happily, lovingly — despite everything.

When I left that office, I sat in my car and cried.

But then I drove to the Tyler Morning Telegraph office, wiped my face, and uploaded the photos and compiled the updates into an article.

Because that was a story that needed to be told.

So many of them need to be told.

As journalists, we’re trained to be objective — to report the facts, not to feel them. But stories like this can make it difficult sometimes. It’s human nature to feel outrage when witnessing signs of such abuse.

After the dogfighting ring was revealed, the public was furious — outraged. Social media was flooded with people demanding justice and more answers. But then, as time passed, the anger faded. The news cycle moved on. And it felt like the only ones still fighting for these animals were the same ones who always had been — the ones who never get to look away.

That’s why it hurt so much to learn that the 10 remaining dogs, originally saved from deplorable conditions, were euthanized Monday at the Smith County Animal Control shelter. “… it was the last option we had,” Animal Control Supervisor Amber Greene told me.

I’ve walked through shelters overflowing with faces desperate for a chance. Those faces that hung low in defeat. Those faces that tried a little harder, wagged a little faster, hoping to be noticed, hoping today would be their day. I’ve seen what happens when no one steps up, when no one cares.

And the shelters? The rescues? They can’t do this alone.

They need fosters. They need adopters. And for the love of all things holy, they need people to spay and neuter their pets.

And before someone (inevitably) says, “What about helping people?” — let me be clear: caring about animals and caring about people are not mutually exclusive. Compassion isn’t a limited resource. In fact, it’s often the people helping animals who are also helping their neighbors, their communities. Kindness multiplies.

I know East Texas does care. I see it all the time — through the people who fight for these animals, who take in the abandoned and the abused, who push for change. As a reporter, I receive press releases daily about businesses making donations, organizations stepping up to help those in need, and human interest stories that showcase the good in humanity. I know there is kindness here. I know there are people willing to make a difference.

But there has to be more of us.

Because until there are, dogs and cats will keep dying. They need us. They need us to care — actually, truly care.