Wildlife care is a labor of love—a commitment to life, resilience, and hope. For carers, every animal they save is a story of survival, every release a triumph. Yet, the emotional toll and complex decisions they face are often invisible to those on the outside. The recent conviction of Tracy Dods, a dedicated wildlife carer, has shone a spotlight on the immense challenges that come with this vital work. It also raises urgent questions: where is the support for carers, and who decides when an act of care becomes cruelty?

Tracy spent years rescuing and rehabilitating hundreds of animals, providing a lifeline to creatures in desperate need. Her journey as a carer is a reflection of countless others who dedicate their lives to wildlife—often with little to no external support. Yet, in her moment of need, Tracy stood alone, her decisions scrutinized in a way that ignored the depth of her commitment, expertise, and the complexities of the situation.

Wildlife carers are not just volunteers; they are skilled specialists who go above and beyond in their dedication. Many, like Tracy, have acquired the expertise to deliver effective treatments and make realistic prognoses. They collaborate with veterinarians and other experts, such as those at Possumwood Wildlife, to ensure the best outcomes for the animals in their care. However, in Tracy’s case, Steve and Rosemary from Possumwood attended court as witnesses, ready to share their experience and insights. Despite waiting for hours, they were dismissed because the RSPCA claimed they were not qualified to testify, as they are not veterinarians. Their voices and invaluable knowledge, shaped by years of hands-on wildlife care, were left unheard. They tried, but the system failed them, as it failed Tracy.

Adding to the complexity of the case, two veterinarians were involved in Dolores’ care at different stages. The first vet examined Dolores after her rescue, conducted x-rays, and cleared her to go into Tracy's care. The second veterinarian treated Dolores later when Tracy sought help for a minor wound infection, which successfully cleared with antibiotics. Both veterinarians were subpoenaed to provide evidence in court, but neither complied, choosing instead to ignore the requests. This lack of testimony from professionals who had directly assessed Dolores further highlights the gaps and challenges in this case.

Further complicating matters, the RSPCA’s so-called expert veterinarian, whose testimony contributed to the case against Tracy, is an avian specialist. There is no mention of macropods or kangaroo-specific expertise in his CV. This calls into question the suitability of his expertise in assessing the care provided to Dolores, a macropod, and whether the case was truly grounded in the nuanced understanding of her species and rehabilitation process.

The RSPCA’s role in this case raises serious concerns. As an organisation devoted to preventing animal cruelty, their pursuit of this case seems misaligned with their stated mission. Critics within the wildlife care community argue that the significant resources spent on prosecuting Tracy might have been better directed toward supporting carers or funding initiatives to improve wildlife treatment standards. Many perceive their actions as overly punitive, even resembling a personal vendetta, which does little to foster trust or collaboration between carers and organisations that should champion their cause.

As someone who cares for wildlife, I understand, even as a lone individual, the burden of these decisions. I think of Jarew, a joey in my care, after he became tangled in a fence. Many times, I sat with him at the vet, facing the question so many carers must grapple with: "Do we keep going?" Looking into his eyes, the answer was clear—he wanted to stay. He wanted to heal, to return to the wild and live the life that was meant for him. Animals communicate, not with words, but through their will to live, their determination to overcome. Yes, they may feel pain, but pain can often be managed. Why then do we so quickly turn to ending a life, labeling it as mercy, when an animal shows the will to fight?

Tracy's story is not an isolated one—it is a reflection of the systemic challenges wildlife carers face. Without adequate support, resources, or clear guidelines, they navigate an impossibly difficult path. Decisions are made in the absence of specialized wildlife veterinary care, often without the funding for advanced treatments, and under the constant weight of emotional exhaustion.

Who deemed Tracy's actions cruel? Was it someone who truly understood the intricacies of wildlife rehabilitation, who could see the love and care that went into every moment she spent with the animals she saved? Or was it someone removed from the reality of this work, focused only on an ideal outcome, blind to the sacrifices carers make to even give these animals a chance?

We must stand in unison with Tracy, and with one another. If she chooses to appeal, or if she decides not to, we will support her wholeheartedly in whatever path she takes. This is a moment that asks for solidarity—not just for Tracy, but for all wildlife carers who face the same risks and responsibilities. By the grace of God, it is not me, but it could have been. It could have been any one of us standing alone, scrutinized for decisions made in love and care. Let this be our rallying cry to come together, to protect and uplift one another, because in unity, there is strength.

This case demands that we look beyond the headlines. It is not just about one person, but about every wildlife carer who risks criticism and heartbreak in their effort to save lives. We need systemic change—better funding, access to wildlife-specific veterinary care, mental health support, and recognition of the invaluable role carers play in our ecosystems. Most importantly, we need empathy. We need to understand that wildlife carers, like the animals they save, are fighting battles every day, often in isolation and against incredible odds.

Tracy’s story should not discourage others from stepping into this vital work, but it must serve as a wake-up call. Let her experience inspire us to advocate for those who care for our most vulnerable creatures, to demand that they are equipped with the resources and support they need. Because every life matters—the life of the animal, and the life of the carer who holds it in their hands.

Let us stand with Tracy and all wildlife carers. Let us ensure they are never again left to shoulder this burden alone. Because their work is worth protecting. Because they see what many of us do not: the hope, the fight, the spirit of every living being they rescue.

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