Things We Didn't Know About Animal Rescue Before Becoming Core Volunteers

by people who still cry, still show up, and still believe it’s worth it

Before we became core volunteers in animal rescue, we thought we had a pretty good idea of what it meant: save animals, find them homes, go to sleep happy. We thought compassion alone would carry us through. We didn’t realise it’s the grind that defines you.

Here’s what we didn’t know:

We didn’t know how blurry the boundaries would become. We told ourselves we’d set limits—stick to our lanes. But then came the sick puppy that needed urgent surgery, the senior cat dumped at 12 years old, the terrified mongrel pacing a rooftop in the rain. Suddenly, it’s our own money, our own weekends, our own energy we didn’t think we had left. And still, we say yes. Again and again.

We didn’t know how hard it would be to find volunteers with the time and grit it takes to keep a small charity like TAILS ticking over. People care—but caring and committing are two different things. And the work behind the scenes? It’s relentless. Vet runs, transport, admin, fundraising, hard conversations, and heart-wrenching decisions.

We didn’t know adopters—good people, kind people—would come back asking for help with vet bills months or even years after adoption. Of course, we understand why. Life happens. Times are tough. But no one prepared us for the emotional complexity of it all—because in rescue, the animals might move on, but the responsibility never leaves us.

We didn’t know that the longer we’re in this, the easier it is to harden up. That we'd learn to scroll past "soft cases" because the hard ones are screaming louder. We tell ourselves we have to protect our hearts. But we also feel the guilt of it. The guilt of not feeling as much as we used to.

We didn’t know how much we’d struggle. Not just emotionally, but logistically. Financially. Existentially. Most people don’t realise how close we are—how close any small rescue is—to falling apart.

But here’s what else we know now:

If we don’t do it, who will?

No one’s coming to save these animals but us. The system isn’t built for them. But we are. As exhausted and broken and battle-worn as we may be, we still show up. Because someone has to.

And every tail wag, every adoption photo, every shy dog who finally wags at the sound of our voice—it makes it worth it.

So we keep going. For them. Always for them.

Want to help keep us going?

Donations, fostering, transport runs—even sharing our posts—can make a difference.

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