Eighty-five years – When you say it out loud, it sounds like a lifetime. And in many ways, it is. As Forsyth Humane Society celebrates our 85th anniversary this year. I’ve been spending a lot of time looking back at the road that brought us here. It’s a road paved with good intentions, hard lessons, and a radical evolution in how we define “compassion”. The Dog Who Caught the Bus: To understand where we are going, you have to understand where we started. And I love where we started. Our story didn’t begin with a corporate strategy; it began with a dog. In 1941, D.D. and Lydia Schouler founded this organization to honor their dog—a clever, loyal pup who turned into a local legend for catching the bus with a coin in his mouth to deliver Mr. Schouler’s lunch. It was a simple, pure act of service and love. But while the spark was pure, the world around it was harsh. In the 1940s and 50s, animal welfare was a dark area of society. We didn’t have “resource centers”; we had the pound. The philosophy was containment, not care. The “dog catcher” stood as a figure of fear in neighborhoods, and the shelter was often a sad, final destination. We were cleaning up a problem, not serving a community. The Hard Truth About Our History: We grew, of course. We moved to Miller Street in the 80s, and then to Country Club Road in 2017. But for decades, even as our buildings got nicer, our industry struggled with a silent flaw in our philosophy. For a long time, animal welfare professionals operated under an implicit rule: We love animals, but we don’t trust people. We became the gatekeepers of pet ownership. We created 5-page adoption applications. We inspected fences with tape measures. We judged families based on their income, their address, or their past mistakes. We told ourselves we were “protecting” the animals, but in reality, we were pushing away the very people who wanted to love them. We made it hard to do the right thing. That is the change I am most proud of as I write this in 2026. We realized that you cannot save animals if you do not respect the people who love them. We had to break down our own walls. We shifted from being “animal police” to being customer service professionals. We stopped asking, “Why should we let you have this dog?” and started asking, “How can we help you make this match work?” A Hub of Compassion: 2026 and Beyond – This shift from judgment to support is exactly why I am so excited about what comes next. As we look forward into 2026, we are on the cusp of opening our new low-cost spay/neuter and wellness clinic at 725 Waughtown Street. This building will be more than simply a medical facility; it will be a hub of compassion. We know that families in our community love their pets desperately, but the rising cost of veterinary care is a wall many can’t climb. We don’t want a family to have to surrender a loved dog just because they can’t afford a basic surgery. We don’t want a cat to have litter after litter because her owner can’t access spay services. This clinic is our promise to remove those barriers. It is our way of saying, “We see you, we value you, and we want to help you keep your family together.” Grace amid Imperfection: The last 85 years have taught us that we don’t have to be perfect to be good. We just have to be willing to do better. We have moved from the era of the “pound” to the era of the “partner.” We are finding grace amid imperfection—both in the animals we save and the people we serve. We are still here, 85 years later, not because of a building or a budget, but because of you. You—the foster parent taking in a medical case, the donor funding our new clinic, the adopter giving a shy dog a second chance. You are the legacy the Schoulers hoped for. Thank you for walking this long road with us. Here is to the next 85 years of open hearts, open minds, and saving lives. By Mark Neff, President & CEO
Finding Grace in Imperfection
By Mark Neff, CEO, Forsyth Humane Society In March, our lives flipped upside down when my partner was diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic melanoma. The news was gut-wrenching, and our normal routine vanished overnight. It became a relentless whirlwind of five surgeries, biweekly oncologist visits, monthly infusions, and the constant management of fatigue and uncertainty. Life wasn’t about to-do lists anymore; it was about survival. As the CEO of Forsyth Humane Society, I’ve always been a Type A person who thrives on being the go-to person. I often tell people our work is like running an emergency room—it’s fast-paced, and community needs are always shifting. But this experience has forced me to let go of the relentless pursuit of perfection. I’ve had to accept that not every email will be answered by the end of the day and that it’s okay for to-do lists to roll over. Most importantly, I’ve learned that asking for help isn’t a weakness; it’s a sign of true strength. I’m incredibly lucky to have an amazing team. They don’t wait for me to “fix” everything. Instead, they rise to the occasion, solving problems and carrying our mission forward with professionalism and kindness. Watching them shine has been a powerful lesson: true leadership isn’t about doing it all yourself. It’s about empowering others and trusting them to get the job done. This lesson extends to my home life, where I’ve had to embrace a new kind of imperfection. It’s okay if the house isn’t pristine every day or if the dogs miss a walk one evening. For years, I’ve urged my team to take vacations and find balance. Yet, I was the first to put in 50–60-hour weeks without a break in over two years. This journey has forced me to practice what I preach. Balance isn’t a luxury; it’s essential for a sustainable life. It’s so easy to talk about balance and cherishing what truly matters. We hear it everywhere, from social media to self-help gurus. But living it? That’s a whole different ball game. I now encourage all of us to not just acknowledge these truths but to act on them. You can be a solid leader and run a successful business while also being a present partner, parent, or friend. The key is to take care of yourself and the people who mean the most to you. I’ve always believed in the principle of “no judgment.” In animal welfare, it’s easy to make snap assumptions about people, but we never know the hidden struggles they might be facing. I’ve told my team this time and again, and now I’m living it from the other side. My struggles aren’t always visible, and I’ve realized that what others think of me matters far less than simply doing my best and understanding my own motivations. This journey is ongoing and certainly not easy. But I’m learning that true strength isn’t about doing more; it’s about finding balance, leaning on others, and giving ourselves the same grace we give to those around us. It’s a lesson I’ll carry with me as a leader and, more importantly, as a human being.
