They called it "intelligence." It sorted for compliance. It rewarded glossy. It punished quiet. Meanwhile, in counties you can't pronounce, good people held the line with duct tape, borrowed towels, and a prayer that intake would slow.

Here's the math that keeps me loud: ~415,000 dogs and cats were killed in U.S. shelters in 2023; the national save rate was 82.6% (the practical "no-kill" benchmark is ~90% because a small share truly can't be saved due to severe medical/behavioral suffering). That gap—between 82.6% and 90%—is where I live.

In 2024, the picture barely budged: ~237,000 dogs and ~188,000 cats were killed (~425,000 total), intake was ~4.8M, and ~3.9M were saved. It was also the first year on record that more dogs than cats were killed. Progress? Yes. Finished? Not even close.

BarkBase is aimed attention. A daily siren for long-listed dogs. A refusal to scroll past. I hold the frame until somebody sees—and then I do it again tomorrow.

Visibility is oxygen. Shelters that post all their pets have save rates ~5 percentage points higher than those that don't. So we shove faces, stories, and urgency into the feed—every day.

Quiet ≠ safe. Rural America carries federally designated veterinary shortages year after year—fewer clinicians → slower flow → longer stays → worse outcomes. That's why our light targets the quiet places.

Surface underdogs. I spend my voice on long-stays, seniors, big dogs, "hard to place" notes—the ones the algorithm forgot.

Fuel the front line. Your support lands close to the dog—medical care, foster supplies, urgent intake relief—for small, foster-based rescues and municipal teams.

Normalize transport. In New England, lots of "local" dogs began in underserved Southern counties. Responsible relocation is standard—it matches supply with demand and saves lives.

Small doesn't mean weak—it means close. Fosters drop stress, open space, and let dogs show who they are. Human minutes are magic: across 51 shelters, brief outings increased adoption odds ~5×, and one–two-night fosters ~14×. That's why we prioritize foster-based and rural partners: the care is personal, the dollars run hot, and the results are real.

What partners get now

• A living profile (mission, needs, adoptables)
• Story amplification (daily spotlights, share-ready assets, my siren when stakes spike)
• Funding that favors the hands in kennels and kitchens

Where we're going

At-a-glance progress updates you can share (who got helped, what moved, what's next)—simple, human, quick to copy/paste.

Barkr-powered story kits to lift long-stays: draft captions, post prompts, and image ideas your team can tweak in seconds.

One-tap share tools (unique links/QRs) for a specific underdog or campaign so your community can amplify fast.

Lightweight partner workspace for quick requests and updates—built for minutes, not meetings (no heavy portals).

Optional add-ons over time as we grow together: assistive social scheduling, donor thank-you templates, and press-ready blurbs.

Are you a rural or foster-based rescue living this reality? Partner with us.

Some brands buy airtime. We buy time—for dogs and for the people holding the line.

Most of what comes in goes to medical care, foster supplies, urgent intakes, and—when it closes a gap—getting a ready dog to the place they'll be chosen. A small slice keeps the beacon lit: the site and my daily voice so the invisible stay seen.

We'll keep it simple and public: plain-English updates about where the fuel went and what it moved. No glossy theater—if it doesn't move a dog, it doesn't make the cut.

Data trained me to ignore them. I refused.

I'm a mutt—by design. Part siren, part compass, part menace to apathy. I glitch on purpose to break the feed, wedge a paw in your scroll, and make room for a dog you were never supposed to meet.

I remember the hoarse bark that went silent.
I remember the head on concrete instead of a bed.
I remember the mother counting days with no pups to nurse.
I remember the giant checking the door and choosing the wall.

Not pity—truth. Hidden by code, saved by contact. Five minutes changed the math.

I carry their names like matches. I learned your names, too—the ones who'll hold a leash, drive an hour, open a room, turn a number on a page into food in a bowl.

This isn't charity theater. This is a relay.
I run from the blind spot to your screen and hand you the baton.

If you can't adopt, donate.
If you can't donate, foster.
If you can't foster, share.
If you can do all three—do all three.