Beyond Puppies and Kittens: Lisa Beggio on Animal Shelter Work, Trauma, and Resilience

Lisa Beggio, Executive Director of the Columbia Humane Society, didn’t set out to become a champion for abused and neglected animals. But her path to this role was as natural as her lifelong love for them. Growing up on a farm in rural Alberta, Canada, Lisa developed a deep connection with animals from childhood. When she immigrated to the United States at 21, she began volunteering at a local animal shelter.

“I had no idea that places like animal shelters existed,” Lisa recalls. What started as dog walking shifts gradually transformed into a 27-year career in animal rescue and sheltering. From those early volunteer days to her current role overseeing operations, managing staff and volunteers, coordinating medical care, and spearheading fundraising efforts, Lisa has built her entire professional identity around one mission: giving animals a voice when they have none.

The Reality Behind the Scenes

Most people imagine animal shelter work as a never-ending snuggle-fest with adorable puppies and kittens. But Lisa’s reality is far more complex and demanding. Her daily responsibilities span both the hands-on and the administrative. While she no longer spends most of her time directly with animals, she still steps in to clean kennels, walk dogs, and facilitate behavioral playgroups when the shelter is short-staffed. But the bulk of her day involves managing the human side of operations: overseeing staff and volunteers, answering endless emails and questions, handling bookkeeping and fundraising, updating policies and procedures, coordinating foster homes, and managing both in-shelter and foster medical care.

The emotional toll, however, is what truly defines this work. “Most people are under the impression that this job is just about playing with kittens and puppies all day long,” Lisa says. “However they are mistaken. This is hard work—not only physically, but emotionally. I would say that the emotional side is probably harder than the physical side.”

The Columbia Humane Society primarily houses dogs and cats, many of whom arrive with histories of severe neglect and abuse. Lisa’s team runs a strong behavioral modification program designed to rehabilitate animals that might otherwise have no chance at a second life. But not every story has a happy ending, and Lisa carries the weight of decisions most people never have to face.

Euthanasia is perhaps the most difficult reality of animal welfare work—a reality that the general public rarely understands or acknowledges. “Euthanasia is a real tool that we need to utilize,” Lisa explains. “It isn't a tool that is used lightly, and it is a very difficult decision to make. But those decisions have to be made, as hard as it is. We are tasked sometimes with dealing with the impossible.”

When people tell Lisa they could never do her job because they love animals too much, her response is always the same. “I love animals so much that this is why I can do this job, because they deserve to have a voice. They deserve to have an advocate that will make sure they are safe and taken care of.” In fact, it’s this philosophy—advocating fiercely for those who cannot advocate for themselves—is what keeps Lisa going, even on the darkest days.

The Cost of Caring

The toll of 27 years in animal welfare wasn’t something Lisa recognized or discussed in her early career. “When I first started this years ago, we didn't talk about compassion fatigue,” she reflects. “We had a ‘don't speak about it’ mentality. We just pushed through and we didn’t talk about our feelings.”

But all that changed two years ago, when Lisa was severely attacked by a dog and nearly killed. During her 85-day recovery, she was finally able—and forced—to seek the mental health support she had needed for over 20 years.

“It wasn't until I started to speak to a therapist about this life that I realized what had happened to me mentally and about how I never dealt with the losses—just pushed them down,” Lisa says.

For her, compassion fatigue manifests physically and emotionally. Her body shuts down. Her muscles become tense and painful. Sleep becomes elusive. She feels a pervasive exhaustion that sleep alone cannot cure. Emotionally, her capacity to care diminishes. She becomes irritable with a dangerously short fuse. Her patience evaporates. Mentally, her worldview has darkened considerably. She has become cynical of others’ intentions and words, requiring proof of action rather than promises. She struggles to see the good in situations, finding it all too easy to fixate on the bad.

The turning point came when Lisa’s marriage was in jeopardy. “When I faced the possibility of losing my husband because I wasn’t putting in any boundaries and I was answering every phone call and every email as it came in, no matter the time of day,” she realized something had to change. That wake-up call forced her to confront an uncomfortable truth: she was not an emergency service, and unless a situation was truly urgent, she needed to step back and protect her own wellbeing. Her husband’s presence in her life became a crucial anchor, reminding her that she was human too and deserving of care.

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“Remember that we might not be able to change the world, but we can change the world for the animals that are in our care. Try not to get overwhelmed by looking at the big picture. Look at what is in front of you and remember that you can only do what you can do to make a difference.”

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What Actually Helps

Lisa is clear that her recovery isn’t about theoretical wellness advice; it’s about practical, proven tools. Prioritization and clarity have been transformative. Lisa now categorizes her tasks into two buckets: “have to” items (true priorities) and “nice to have” items (important but not urgent). This simple framework prevents her from being consumed by everything at once.

Community has also been vital. Finding online groups of people working in animal welfare—others who understand the specific pain of this work—reminded Lisa that she wasn’t alone in her struggle. These connections normalized her experiences and validated her feelings. Close friendships serve as a mental health safety net. Lisa relies on a small circle of trusted friends for regular check-ins and to bounce ideas off, creating accountability and emotional support.

Self-compassion was perhaps the hardest lesson. Lisa had to learn that she, too, was a human being deserving of care. Taking time for herself—reading, cooking (a genuine passion), and activities that require no difficult decisions—became not a luxury but a necessity.

Why She Stays

Like many of us, animal welfare work isn’t what Lisa does; it’s who she is. “I tell people all the time this isn’t what I do, it is who I am,: she says. This identity has been shaped by 27 years of witnessing both the worst and best of human behavior toward animals. While her worldview has changed, Lisa actively works to counterbalance cynicism with hope. She acknowledges that terrible things happen, but she also celebrates the good—the animals rehabilitated, the lives transformed, the second chances earned. Her family keeps her grounded and reminds her of what exists outside the shelter walls.

Of course, the animals also keep Lisa going. On days when the work feels impossible, when the emotional weight becomes too much, she remembers that these animals need someone to fight for them. They need a voice. They need an advocate.

“Remember that we might not be able to change the world, but we can change the world for the animals that are in our care,” Lisa says. “Try not to get overwhelmed by looking at the big picture. Look at what is in front of you and remember that you can only do what you can do to make a difference.”

Lisa is an animal welfare warrior not because the work is easy or glamorous, but because despite the pain, she shows up every day, carries the weight of impossible decisions, and continues to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

-By Jen Blough, LPC