Are Dogs Property?

In our modern age, where sentiment often gallops ahead of reason, a question has begun padding softly but insistently into our courts and legislatures: Should dogs remain property under the law?

For many, the instinctive answer is no. How could a living creature, a loyal companion, be “property” like a chair or a truck? The term feels cold, almost barbaric to ears attuned to affection. But before we discard it, we must pause, track the trail of history, and consider what we might be stalking without realizing it.

From the first covenant in Genesis, humanity’s role has never been one of mindless domination but of wise care. The God of the Hebrew Scriptures gives Adam and Eve dominion over the animals — not to exploit them, but to tend and keep them, much as a shepherd watches over his flock. The Talmud teaches tza’ar ba’alei chayim — the duty to prevent animal suffering. The New Testament echoes this in Christ’s words about the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to seek the one lost sheep.

The Western legal tradition, shaped by these Judeo-Christian roots, encoded this stewardship model into property law. Ownership is not a license for cruelty; it is a binding moral and legal responsibility. To call a dog “property” in this sense is not to strip it of worth — it is to assign a keeper clear accountability for its welfare.

It is easy to imagine that removing “property” status elevates animals to a higher plane of protection. In reality, history and recent experiments show the opposite can happen.

In New York, 2021’s “best interests of the companion animal” law was meant to protect pets in divorce. Instead, it unleashed a snarl of litigation. Judges were given a vague, subjective standard with no clear rules. Some custody fights now stretch for years and drain tens of thousands of dollars — resources that could have gone to the dog’s actual care.

California’s pet “custody” statute followed a similar trail. Lawyers quickly saw that more factors to litigate meant longer cases, expert witnesses, and mounting fees. The dog may be loved by both sides, but the courtroom becomes the kennel, and affection turns into ammunition.

Oregon went further still. By recognizing animals as individual “victims,” prosecutors can now stack charges for each animal — turning a single case into dozens of criminal counts. Police were even granted broader warrantless search powers in suspected neglect cases. While some see this as progress, it also concentrates power in the state and can punish overwhelmed owners with disproportionate severity, even when a monitored rehabilitation might serve both human and animal better.

In Canada, British Columbia’s 2024 amendments added “pet-specific” custody factors, spawning jurisdiction disputes over whether a dog belongs in family court or small claims. Mediation fees of $2,500 or more are common before a paw even crosses the courthouse threshold.

And in cities like Boulder and San Francisco, replacing “owner” with “guardian” in ordinances may sound noble, but veterinarians report confusion over who can consent to treatment or euthanasia, higher malpractice risks, and slowed decision-making in emergencies. The AVMA’s own long-term review found negligible welfare improvement — but persistent legal headaches.

The danger is twofold. On one slope lies neglect and abandonment — the dark shadow of ownership without conscience. Here, the dog is reduced to a throwaway item, discarded when inconvenient. This clearly violates the biblical call to stewardship and is rightly punished by cruelty laws.

But the other slope is softer and slipperier: overindulgence masked as love. When affection warps into indulgence, the dog’s strength and dignity are sapped. He is no longer treated as an animal with needs rooted in his nature, but as a child-substitute or perpetual infant. Reclassifying dogs in law can feed this distortion, inviting courts to treat them like human wards without understanding what truly serves their well-being. Both extremes — neglect and overindulgence — break faith with the stewardship covenant.

Keeping dogs as property under the law is not a denial of their worth — it is the very framework that makes protection possible. Property law provides:

• Clear accountability: We know who is responsible for care, costs, and decisions.
  
• Enforceable welfare standards: Cruelty statutes and licensing rely on this ownership structure.
  
• Predictable outcomes: Disputes resolve faster and cheaper, leaving more resources for the dog’s actual care.
  

When animals drift out of the property category, they enter a fog of vague standards, subjective judgments, and ballooning costs. Courts are ill-equipped to apply child-custody models to beings who are neither human children nor inert objects. The result? More conflict, less certainty, and often worse outcomes for the very animals we hoped to help.

In the Ice Age, a wolf who attached himself to a human hunting band gained shelter, food, and protection from predators. In return, he offered strength, skill, and loyalty in the hunt. That partnership, refined over millennia, still thrives when bound by responsibility and mutual respect.

Our Western, Judeo-Christian tradition offers a tested trail to follow: keep dogs under the legal mantle of property, but temper that right with binding duties of care. This is not a relic of the past — it is the reason the bond has endured from the first hearth to today’s home.

Strip away the word “property,” and we may think we are freeing the dog from the chain. In truth, we may be cutting the tether of responsibility that keeps the pack together. A dog without a clear keeper in law is like a lone wolf wandering without a territory — vulnerable, unclaimed, and at risk.

In the end, the question is not whether dogs are “just property.” The question is whether we will guard the ancient covenant of stewardship that property law, at its best, secures. To abandon that would be to stray from the trail our ancestors cut — a trail that leads not to ownership for its own sake, but to a shared life where man and dog thrive together, each within the bounds that make the bond strong.

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Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder and CEO of the Dire Wolf Project™, founder of the DireWolf Guardians™ American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs™ of Vallecito and the DireWolf Express™. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus™ dogs with her husband, Jay.