I have always disliked the way we treat animals.
- We call them "Pets".
- We call them "Property".
- We treat them like something below us.
I don’t believe that.
Dogs feel love the way we feel love.
They care about their families.
They form bonds.
They experience fear, confusion, loyalty, and loss.
When we fall in love with our dogs, we see them as family. But what many people don’t fully grasp is this:
Dogs are pack animals. When they live with us, they adopt us into their pack. We become their family.
So when a dog is abandoned, it’s not just inconvenient for them.
It’s not just confusing.
It is the loss of their pack.
They don’t understand why their family disappeared. They don’t understand why they’re alone in a concrete room surrounded by noise, fear, and strangers.
That’s what I believe Mojo felt.
MOJO
Mojo was a 125-pound Great Pyrenees/Pointer mix.
Big. Powerful. Protective. He could be aggressive — but only because he loved hard and protected his pack, me.
In 2022, I became severely ill with COVID. I didn’t know how bad it was. I was driving with Mojo when I suddenly became dizzy and disoriented. I barely managed to pull into a church parking lot before passing out in the car.
When I woke up, EMTs were standing over me.
The church staff had seen me unconscious in the parking lot and called for help. Police arrived. I was rushed to the hospital.
The police took Mojo.
My last memory of him was watching him jump into the back of a police vehicle. I remember being shocked that he went willingly. I said something to the officer about it.
He replied, "Dogs know good people when they see them."
That was the last time I saw Mojo alive.
Sixteen Days
I was hospitalized for sixteen days.
Some of that time was in intensive care. I was heavily monitored, disoriented, and focused only on surviving.
The officers had told me they brought Mojo to the Wake County Animal Shelter. They gave him a number and told me:
"When you get out, call and give them this number. Don’t wait too long — after two weeks, they might adopt him out."
I thought he was safe.
The police had dropped him off. They knew I was hospitalized. I assumed everything would work itself out. I believed worst case, he might be adopted — which, at the time, felt survivable.
I didn’t think beyond that.
On the sixteenth day, I was discharged.
They handed me my phone.
The first call I made was to the shelter.
I gave them Mojo’s number.
The woman put me on hold.
When she came back, she said, "He was here, but he’s not here anymore."
I asked what that meant.
She said, "We euthanized him."
- They kept him for fourteen days — their legal obligation.
- They euthanized him on day fifteen.
- I was released on day sixteen.
I screamed. Nurses ran into the room. I kept repeating, "They killed my dog. They killed Mojo."
Mojo wasn’t a bad dog.
He was scared. He was big. He didn’t know where his dad was. He was in a loud, foreign place without his pack. He reacted the way many frightened dogs do.
They determined he was unlikely to be adopted.
So they euthanized him.
Anger, Then Clarity
The day everything changed
For months, I was consumed by anger. I wanted vengeance. I wanted someone to pay for what happened.
Then one thought changed everything.
I remember crying out, “Why doesn’t someone do something?”
And then I realized — that someone was me.
That moment changed the direction of my life.
This wasn’t just about Mojo.
This was a problem within the system.
Every day, dogs are surrendered, abandoned, or separated from their families. Sometimes it’s irresponsibility. Sometimes it’s life circumstances.
Either way, the result is the same.
- They lose their pack.
- They end up in shelters.
- Shelters overflow.
- Mandates require space to be made.
- And dogs die.
Not because they are bad.
Not because they are beyond redemption.
But because there isn’t enough room.
Why Mojo’s Safe Haven Exists
Mojo’s Safe Haven exists because I refuse to accept that outcome as inevitable.
The vision is simple:
A place where, if adoption doesn’t happen, they still have a home.
A forever-care sanctuary.
The goal is to work directly with shelters, starting locally with the shelter that euthanized Mojo, so that when a dog is nearing euthanasia due to space or behavior concerns, we can step in.
- We will pay the fees.
- We will take the dog.
- We will give them space, structure, safety, and time.
Not every dog will be adopted out.
But no dog at Mojo’s Safe Haven will be killed to make room.
A Bigger Belief
This mission is also rooted in something deeper.
I do not believe animals are secondary life forms.
- They are not objects.
- They are not disposable.
- They are not beneath us.
They feel. They bond. They grieve. They protect. They love.
They don’t run computers or study physics. That’s the difference.
But in every meaningful emotional sense, they are beings deserving of dignity and life.
We share this planet. We coexist here.
My hope is not just to build a sanctuary, but to help shift perspective, even slightly, toward seeing animals as fellow living entities rather than disposable property or secondary life forms.
That shift won’t happen overnight.
But it starts somewhere.
It starts here.
This Is Mojo’s Legacy
Mojo didn’t get a second chance.
This sanctuary is his legacy.
And it’s my promise that no dog like him will ever be forgotten again.
~Greg Robertson / Founder Mojo's Safe Haven