A Public Letter to Ohio: The 4-Day Cliff

Why we can’t shelter our way out—and what we need from you.

This is a public letter written on behalf of the countless dogs—and the people trying to help them—in Ohio’s open-intake shelters.
It is not a policy paper. It is not a slogan. It is the truth as we live it.

It’s written to our elected officials, our neighbors, our volunteers, our critics, and anyone who has ever said, “I love dogs.”

We invite you to read it, share it, sit with it—and then ask yourself:
What kind of community do you want to be?

Every day, dogs are entering Ohio shelters — and many don’t make it out.
This isn’t because shelters don’t care. It’s because the system is overloaded, underfunded, and misunderstood.

This is what it actually looks like to stand on the front lines of that broken system.

The 4-Day Cliff in Ohio

In Ohio, stray, lost, or abandoned dogs are only legally protected for three days—or 10 to 14 days if found with identification tags, depending on the county. Day four is where reality hits. That’s the edge we stand on—what many of us in open intake shelters refer to as the 4-Day Cliff.

No catchy slogans. No illusions. We do not have the luxury of infinite space, staff, or resources. We are the ones who choose not to look away. We face the consequences of community neglect and irresponsibility, often alone. We are not chasing a percentage. We are honoring a moral obligation—to care for every dog the best we can and to save as many as we can.

But caring doesn’t always mean saving.

The Choices No One Sees

Being responsible sometimes means making impossibly hard decisions. We cannot place dogs impulsively or irresponsibly. That’s what our communities deserve. That’s what these dogs deserve.

So let’s get something straight:
The only valid argument against the 4-day cliff is “Come get the dog.”
That’s it. End of discussion.

We Still Have More

There are fewer homes available to adopt than there are dogs coming in.
We know many of you have adopted—and we’re grateful. But please, if you find yourself thinking, “I already adopted, I’ve done my part,” understand this: we still have more.
More dogs. More need. More heartbreak walking through the doors every single day.

Foster Limbo Is Real

And our fosters?
Many are ending up in long-term foster limbo—or adopting the dogs themselves because no one is coming forward.
Bringing those dogs back to the shelter is heart-wrenching.
It feels like failure when it’s really a lack of community support.
We need to be realistic with the fosters stepping forward: it’s not just short-term care anymore. It’s a partnership in navigating impossible choices.

Why the System Keeps Failing

Every single dog that ends up in a shelter is the result of someone’s decision:
To let a dog roam.
To not fix their pet.
To breed carelessly.
To give up.
And when shelters fill up? The system breaks even more.
Dogs get less time. Staff burn out. Good fosters walk away. And the ones left inside carry the weight of it all.

We’re Not Anti-Life—We’re Pro-Humane Care

Spay and neuter your dogs. Most people should not be breeding animals, and certainly not without accountability. Again—it really is that simple.

We see the success stories. We see the high-resource shelters. We applaud them. But understand this: The no-kill model, as it stands today, is not universally realistic or sustainable. The math doesn’t work. It’s not that people don’t want better—it’s that we’re not being funded for better.

Don’t give us ideology wrapped in conditions.
Don’t offer crumbs in the form of grants and expect miracle percentages.
Don’t shame communities for not achieving what was never made possible for them.
And stop giving our communities a false narrative.
They deserve the truth—even when it’s hard to hear.
We need to help our communities understand the reality—especially against the onslaught of ideology and propaganda that promises simple answers to complex problems.

A Story You Should Know

No one wants to euthanize dogs. No one signs up for this work to make that call. But if the dogs keep coming, and the resources don’t, what exactly do you expect us to do?

I remember one dog in particular. His name was Barney.
He was behaviorally challenging—there were signs of potential aggression—but I could handle him safely. I told him we’d figure it out.
But we ran out of runway. The shelter was full. Dogs were still coming in.

So I took Barney on his last walk. I stayed with him and escorted him into loving hands.

Then I came back. I cleaned his kennel.
And I placed the next dog, letting them know the same thing:
“I will do everything I can.”

And I meant it.

The shelter cannot fix your broken dog. Please stop believing that.
Go get a trainer. Invest in help before crisis hits. The best shelters in the world still aren’t built for long-term behavioral rehab.

We Do Not Support Warehousing

We are not helpless. There are proactive strategies that work—programs that reduce intake, support owners, and protect dogs before they ever hit the shelter doors. But these solutions are not cheap. They require investment up front.

This means providing incentives for compliance—encouraging people to license their pets and spay or neuter them. It also means supporting increased license fees, because those funds go directly toward caring for the animals that need us most.

We promise you this: it is far cheaper, smarter, and more humane to fund prevention than to keep reacting in crisis.

Please understand that we do not support housing dogs in inadequate enclosures, or providing them with a sub-level of care for an extended period of time and calling it “saving them.”
That is not saving. That is warehousing.
Watching them deteriorate while we fail to meet their basic needs is not humane—it is neglect in slow motion.

We Still Have Hope

And as bad as this place may sound, hear this clearly: these are good dogs. These are good people.
This fight is worth it.
We are doing the best we can with what we have—and we could do more with you.
We are deeply thankful for the community’s generosity, for your prayers, and for every hand that has reached out.
But we still need more.
We can use your talents. Your heart. Your time.
Come build community with us.

So What Do You Want to Do?

We’ve laid out the reality. It’s hard, it’s heavy, and it’s happening every day.

Now we ask:
What kind of community do you want to be?
Do you want to fund the solution—or keep fueling the crisis?
Do you want to help us prevent suffering—or just watch us try to manage it?

This is your shelter. These are your dogs. These are your decisions to make, too.

So tell us—what do you want to do?

With respect and resolve,
Project Shelterlight