Imagine a raccoon, its tiny paws bandaged from an injury – or a squirrel, frail after a rough winter, nursed back to health by dedicated wildlife rehabilitators. These animals, often victims of car accidents, attack by another animal, loss of a parent while young, or other human actions, get a second shot at life thanks to compassionate care. But here’s the rub: if, after all that effort, they can’t fend for themselves in the wild, Fish and Game (F&G) biologists argue they should be euthanized.
My bill (HB251) challenges that cold logic, proposing instead that these creatures be adopted into loving homes as pets when they can’t survive on their own. It’s a practical, humane alternative that respects life, saves taxpayer money, and cuts government waste.
The F&G stance—that killing these animals is the best option—rests on a shaky foundation. It claims it’s about maintaining ecological balance and avoiding “unnatural” outcomes. But let’s be real: a raccoon or squirrel that’s been bottle-fed by humans for weeks isn’t exactly a wild warrior anymore. Releasing it into the wild to starve or stumble into danger isn’t noble—it’s a death sentence with extra steps. Calling euthanasia the humane choice here is like saying it’s kinder to shoot a wounded soldier than to send them home to recover. It’s a grim, outdated mindset that ignores the bond humans and animals can form.
And then there’s the inefficiency. Wildlife rehabilitation programs, often funded by taxpayer dollars, pour resources into saving these critters—food, medicine, staff time—only for F&G to shrug and say, “Well, if they can’t hack it, put ’em down.” That’s not stewardship; it’s throwing good money after bad.
My bill flips the script. Let families adopt these animals as pets when rehabilitation succeeds but rewilding fails. No extra cost to the state, no bloated bureaucracy deciding who lives or dies—just a simple handoff to people eager to care for them. It’s a win for the animals and for the public footing the bill.
Opponents might argue that raccoons and squirrels aren’t “meant” to be pets. But what’s natural about a raccoon rummaging through a dumpster or a squirrel dodging traffic? Human activity has already altered their world; offering them a safe home isn’t some radical leap—it’s an acknowledgment of reality. These aren’t apex predators we’re talking about; they’re adaptable, social creatures that can thrive with people. Plenty of folks already keep rescued raccoons or squirrels unofficially, with no ecological apocalypse in sight. My bill just makes it legal and structured, ensuring proper vetting and care standards.
The cruelty of the current policy hits hardest when you picture the alternative. A rehabilitated raccoon—let’s call her Rosie—could be scampering around a cozy living room, chasing a toy, or curling up with a family that adores her. Instead, she’s slated for a needle because she didn’t pass a survival test she was never equipped to ace. That’s not science-driven policy; it’s a failure of imagination. And it’s a waste of the love and effort poured into her recovery.
Taxpayers deserve better than a system that spends their money to save animals only to kill them when a cheaper, kinder option exists. Government resources should solve problems, not create them. My bill cuts through the red tape and offers a common-sense fix: if a rehabilitated raccoon or squirrel can’t make it in the wild, let it live with people who want it. It’s not about turning nature into a pet store—it’s about giving a few deserving survivors a chance at a good life. Let’s stop the needless deaths and start trusting families to step up where the wild falls short.
