Latin American Deportations Leave Pets Stranded as U.S. Shelters Plead for Help

As deportations accelerate across the United States, a quieter crisis grows in kennels and cages. From Miami to Los Angeles, animal shelters are filling with dogs, cats, and even roosters left behind when families are detained or removed. Directors describe heartbreak, rising costs, and pleas they cannot keep up with—proof that immigration policy now has four-legged collateral damage.

A shelter at the breaking point

On the western edge of Miami, the Adopt and Save a Life Rescue Mission measures time by the sound of a ringing phone. Each call brings the same story told in a different voice: a dog waiting by a locked door, a cat mewling in an empty apartment, a rooster tied to a fence after a rushed goodbye.

“We already had many problems with people abandoning their pets because of evictions or moves,” director Daymi Blain told EFE. “But for about six months now we have received many more calls—completely different—people saying, ‘My parents left, they were deported, they are detained.'”

In recent months, her shelter has absorbed at least 19 pets directly linked to deported owners—dogs, cats, and birds—on top of the steady stream of everyday surrenders. The facility is at capacity: more than 50 dogs, more than 30 cats, and “dozens more on the way,” Blain told EFE.

To cope, staff have converted a stable and three trailers into makeshift kennels, pushing the electricity bill to $1,200 a month. Blain admits she sometimes lets calls go unanswered. “The reports come every day, every day—thousands of calls, so many calls,” she said. “I don’t even answer sometimes because I can’t help. So I post them on social media to see if other rescues can help,” she added to EFE, her voice fraying between exhaustion and resolve.

When deportation knocks, pets are left behind

Miami’s surge is not unique. Shelters in Broward County and Tampa report the same strain, as do organizations in Texas, New York, New Jersey, Tennessee, and California, according to EFE’s reporting. The pattern is cruelly simple: when a deportation comes without warning, pets are stranded.

In Los Angeles, immigration agents recently detained 18-year-old Chilean national Benjamín Marcelo Guerrero Cruz while he was walking his dog. Family members later found the animal abandoned, EFE reported. In Dallas, Saving Hope Rescue posted about a man facing deportation whose biggest concern was what would happen to his dogs.

California nonprofits are trying to get ahead of the problem. C.A.R.E.4Paws is raising funds to open a shelter specifically for the pets of migrants facing removal, as well as animals affected by domestic violence and other crises. “When people go through these tough moments, the last thing they should worry about is what will happen to their beloved pets,” cofounder Isabel Gullö said in a statement cited by EFE.

The surge behind the surge

The strain on shelters reflects the scale of enforcement. In the first 200 days of the Trump administration, U.S. authorities arrested more than 352,000 undocumented immigrants. They deported 324,000—an average of 1,620 removals per day—according to Department of Homeland Security figures reported by EFE.

For shelters, these numbers appear as unpredictable spikes: a family vanishes over a weekend; a landlord calls animal control when a puppy whines in an empty unit; a litter of kittens is surrendered by relatives who lack the means or the lease to keep them.

The suddenness is what breaks the system. Adoptions take weeks. Foster networks must be built home by home. Veterinary appointments, spay-neuter slots, transport runs—none of the logistics that keep rescue humane can be conjured overnight. Even the basics—fans, shade, crates—are in short supply.

“We need a lot of help from volunteers, from people willing to care for dogs in their homes because we have no space,” Blain told EFE. “We need food, litter, fans, and roofing for the animals because we don’t have it—they are in cages with a fan. We went past the capacity we can receive.” The words land flat but heavy: there is no room left.

EFE

What a humane response could look like

Some solutions don’t require rewriting immigration law. Communities can create emergency foster networks, using churches, schools, and workplaces to house animals temporarily. Shelters can coordinate sign-ups; donors can cover food and vet bills.

Local governments can implement “pause-the-clock” protocols, giving detainees a chance to designate caretakers before deportation proceeds. Philanthropy and businesses can underwrite the unglamorous but essential bills—utilities, kennels, roofing—that keep animals safe.

Information also matters. Legal clinics and immigrant-rights groups can distribute multilingual guides showing families how to prepare: designating backup caretakers, storing medical records, packing grab-and-go kits for pets if households are disrupted.

None of this resolves the politics of deportation. But it accepts a fundamental truth: a pet is family, and family should not be abandoned at the border of policy.

For Blain’s team, the call for help is specific. “We need volunteers,” she told EFE. “We need people who will care for dogs in their homes because we don’t have space. We need fans. We need roofs. We need food.”

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For every abandoned dog sitting by a door, for every cat crying in an empty room, each act of care is a promise kept. In a season of uncertainty, it is also a reminder that compassion does not stop at kennels. It begins with refusing to treat animals as disposable when people are forced to leave.