Back in May of this year, a limping and emaciated husky appeared in my North Austin neighborhood. She was terrified, obviously still a puppy, and running in and out of school-zone traffic at all hours. Over the next 11 days, I repeatedly called 311, and my partner called 911 once – and was hung up on by the dispatcher – to report this loose dog who was consistently putting her life at risk while also risking the safety of parents driving their kids to school. When Animal Protection finally responded to one of my several 311 reports, its guidance ranged from instructions to call 911 to excuses that the department lacks resources, time, and ability to trap loose animals. After spending days running after the dog ourselves in the heat of early summer, trying to catch her to save her life and prevent any harm to nearby drivers, my partner and I called Jack Jack’s Pack, a local nonprofit that works to rescue street dogs. We vowed to foster her despite having two large dogs already, and they managed to trap her and have her checked out at a vet. Just two days later, they dropped Freya off at our home.
Imagine my shock when, just two months later, I found myself wandering around with treats, food, and water; making phone calls; sending emails; and crying with grief while trying to help yet another loose dog in my neighborhood. Over the better part of a month, this white and black pit-Lab mix has become thinner and more fearful of people. Despite making four separate service requests to 311, Animal Protection responded to only one of those requests, and the officer did not stick around long enough to locate the dog. I have also since contacted City Council Member Chito Vela’s office, though I am not sure if the Animal Protection department will be more responsive to them. This dog is just the latest victim of animal cruelty in this neighborhood, but she certainly isn’t the first.
As the Austin Animal Center continues to face a space crisis, people who can no longer care for their canines have turned to committing crimes of animal cruelty: dumping dogs and hoping someone else will deal with them. Meanwhile it seems that the city is taking no concrete steps to address this problem at any level. The fact that an everyday citizen must call 311 to put in a service request, and essentially just hope that they get a response, in a city of this size and means is inexcusable. While City Council just passed a budget that includes a small staff increase for Animal Protection, it reduces the amount available for emergency veterinary care – a perplexing approach, given that the shelter is supposedly only available to emergent cases right now.
Many of these cases clearly go under- or un-investigated despite being crimes, and the concerned citizens that take time out of their lives to attempt to help are either largely ignored (like myself) or stuck with no professional guidance and entirely unsure what course of action to take.
Freya has settled into our home along with our older two dogs, Athena and Eve. But I know she’s a rare case of luck. While she spends her days chasing grasshoppers in our backyard, I worry that the dog roaming my neighborhood now likely will never be rescued. Our city is tragically failing its animals. The “key performance indicator” recently used in the budget analysis for Animal Services was staying on track with the 95% no-kill status of the shelter. The city met this indicator, but I offer the following thoughts: How many service requests result in failure to contact the persons who submitted them? How many service requests are closed without ever dispatching an officer? How many crimes of animal cruelty go without investigation? How many animals die on our streets, and shouldn’t they be counted toward that “95%” no-kill goal? Death by neglect or failure to act is still a death, whether it happened in the shelter or not.
Alex Ortiz is an Austin-based attorney, water and wildlife policy expert, and dog-dad of three. He currently serves on the Sierra Club Lone Star Chapter Executive Committee and the Board of Directors of the Texas Center for Policy Studies.
This article appears in September 12 • 2025.