(Editor’s note: This is such an uplifting story that I thought readers might like it. It first appeared in the Westside Current on July 8 and is reprinted with permission.)
Los Angeles native Benny celebrating a birthday at his new home in Pennsylvania.
By JAMIE PAIGE
As Los Angeles shelters struggle with overcrowding and neglect, Benito’s journey shows what’s possible when one dog gets a second chance.
The first time anyone saw Benito, really saw him, he was lying on the concrete floor of a kennel in the back of the South Los Angeles Animal Shelter.
It was cold and raining. Other dogs barked and jumped for attention, pawing at the steel door of the enclosures, begging for a treat or just attention.
But Benito didn’t move.
His kennel card, faded and spotted with mold, read: “Limping. No playgroup.” To shelter insiders, that meant something grim: a dog no longer being walked, exercised, or socialized. A dog left behind. A dog giving up.
Today, exactly one year since his adoption, Benito—now called Ben—runs leash-free across a sprawling 300-acre horse farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He has a family. He has routines, a toy chest, a soft bed, and children who call out his name on neighborhood walks. He has a second chance—the kind few dogs in overcrowded shelters ever get.
A System at Breaking Point:
Benito spent 700 days in the South L.A. shelter, one of six city-run facilities now facing a crisis that experts say is nearing a breaking point. Between January and September 2024, 1,224 dogs were euthanized in the city’s shelters—a 72 percent increase from the year prior, according to a Los Angeles Times analysis.
Overcrowding, chronic understaffing, and an overwhelming number of large-breed dogs have left many shelters over capacity. In some cases, three dogs are kept in a kennel meant for one. Walks are rare. Mental and physical deterioration are common.
“The shelter system is imploding,” said Shira Astrof, founder of The Animal Rescue Mission, who was with me that rainy day in South L.A. when we first saw Benito. “We were handing out treats, and all the other dogs were jumping up. But Benito just lay there. He didn’t even lift his head.”
“I’ll never forget the moment you turned to me and said, ‘I’m taking Benny home,’” Astrof said. “There was no hesitation. You just knew you had to save him.
“We watched this weathered, defeated dog walk out of the shelter, and within weeks, we saw him transform into a puppy discovering joy for the first time.”
The Road Out
I made the decision that day to take Benito home as his foster. That first night, he cried out in pain—he couldn’t climb stairs or lie down comfortably. The vet confirmed he had pressure sores from nearly two years on cold, hard shelter floors.
Benny, in his first night out of the shelter, tries to curl up in a bed meant for a much smaller dog.
Photo: JAMIE PAIGE
In our Los Angeles home, he was timid and unsure. He tried to curl himself into beds meant for smaller dogs, tucked into corners, and sought out silence. We gave him space to decompress—a quiet room designed to help dogs recover from the chaos of shelter life. Remarkably, within 48 hours, we began to see the first glimpses of the dog he was meant to be.
For nearly six months, we worked on rebuilding Benito’s trust in people and gave him the structure he needed.
He began to show signs of a dog not broken. Slowly, he started to play with our dogs—though they were much smaller, he was gentle and careful.
For the first few weeks, he couldn’t walk up or down stairs on his own, so we carried him. But with acupuncture, medication, and time, his limp began to fade. Eventually, he went on hikes with our family.
We took him to our neighbors’ homes to socialize and introduced him to car rides that didn’t end in fear or abandonment. His personality began to change. There was light behind his eyes again.
Benito and his foster brother Leo became best buds during their time together.
Photo: JAMIE PAIGE
Rescue groups shared his story, and interest came quickly. One stood out: Margaret Witmer, a horse rehabilitation worker in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She’d recently lost her dog and wasn’t sure she was ready. Then she saw Benito’s photo.
“There was just something about him,” Witmer said. “I wasn’t looking, but I realized I couldn’t not take him.”
Flying Benito didn’t feel right. So, I drove him 2,644 miles across the country. Through deserts, cornfields, rest stops, and rain. When we arrived, he greeted Margaret like he’d always known her.
A New Life:
Today, Benito lives what can only be called a dream. He wakes up in Pennsylvania farm country. He walks trails, greets neighbors, and keeps a watchful eye on the horses.
“He shows people his walking trail like he’s giving a tour,” Witmer laughed. “He’s just proud of his home.”
Benito has a toy collection he cycles through daily. He opens doors with his paws, naps on new furniture, and sneaks butter from the fridge. His favorite thing, his mom says, is clean sheets.
“He is grateful for everything,” Witmer said. “Every toy. Every moment. Every blanket.”
The scars remain—his clipped ear, the bald patch behind it, and rough elbows from concrete life—but the pain has faded.
“He survived because of who he is,” Witmer said. “He’s resilient and hilarious and sensitive. He just needed a chance.”
Actress and animal advocate Jacqueline Piñol, founder of The Canine Condition Foundation, was also there the day Benito was rescued. “I remember seeing Benito, visibly in pain, behind those kennel bars,” Piñol said. “And look at him now. Look what taking a chance on an innocent soul can turn into—both for the canine and the humans involved in the journey. It’s life-changing for the better.”
On walks, neighborhood children shout, “Hi, Benny!” He wears jammies in the winter and has a soft spot for Sherpa fleece. Today, on July 7, he is celebrating his “gotcha” day with dog-safe cupcakes and a getaway to the Poconos.
Shelter Stories and Systemic Change:
Benito’s outcome is rare. But it shouldn’t be.
Across America, shelters are under siege. In 2024, more than 5.8 million dogs and cats entered U.S. shelters. Over 600,000 were euthanized. Post-pandemic surrenders, housing instability, and rising veterinary costs have strained every level of care. Staff are burned out. Volunteers are overwhelmed. Dogs like Benito are falling through the cracks.
“Rescue dogs give you more than you could ever give them,” Witmer said. “I’ve never known a happier dog.”
“Anyone who chooses a breeder over rescue is missing something deep in their soul,” Astrof said. “Don’t miss out on your possible soul dog.”