I have been killing dogs for almost 20 years. It's a dirty business.
In the shadow of one of China's most contested annual events, a slaughterhouse that had taken roughly fifteen thousand lives over nearly two decades fell silent — not through force or legislation, but through an offer of a different future. Days before the Yulin dog meat festival, animal welfare organizations achieved a first for the city: a permanent, voluntary closure, secured by helping the owner imagine a livelihood that did not require brutality. It is a small rupture in a vast system, but it carries within it the logic of a larger transformation — that change comes most durably when those caught inside harmful trades are given a dignified way out.
- A slaughterhouse that killed dogs by the thousands each year — peaking in June as festival season drove seventy percent of its annual income — has permanently closed, just days before Yulin's notorious dog meat festival began.
- Nine dogs found alive inside the facility, three still wearing collars marking them as stolen pets, now face a different fate: veterinary care, quarantine, and adoption into safe homes.
- The owner, Mr. Huang, signed a legally binding closure agreement after nearly twenty years in a trade he described as dirty and unsatisfying, with declining demand making it increasingly hard to support his family.
- A livelihood conversion program — the first of its kind in Yulin — is offering him a path into breakfast catering, mirroring successful transitions already achieved with dog meat traders in South Korea, Vietnam, India, and Indonesia.
- Against a backdrop of an estimated ten million dogs slaughtered annually in China alone, this single closure is modest, but it offers a replicable model: end the trade not only through bans, but by making exit possible.
Days before Yulin's dog meat festival, animal welfare organizations Vshine Animal Protection Association and Humane World for Animals permanently closed a slaughterhouse that had operated about thirty kilometers south of the city since 2007 — killing roughly fifteen thousand dogs over that span. Inside, they found nine dogs still alive, three of them wearing collars, clearly stolen pets. Named by their rescuers, the animals were taken to Vshine's shelter for veterinary care and eventual adoption.
The closure was made possible through what organizers call a livelihood conversion program — the first of its kind in Yulin. The owner, Mr. Huang, signed a legally binding agreement to leave the trade in exchange for support starting a breakfast catering business. He spoke of nearly two decades of dissatisfaction with work he called dirty, and of relief at finally being able to leave it behind. Declining demand for dog meat, particularly among younger and urban Chinese, had already made the business financially precarious.
The broader context is sobering: China remains the world's largest dog and cat meat market, with an estimated ten million dogs slaughtered annually. The Yulin festival itself was invented in 2010 by traders specifically to stimulate sales, and persists despite low public support. Shenzhen and Zhuhai have banned the trade outright, and Vshine has submitted a legislative proposal to China's National People's Congress calling for nationwide protections.
Humane World for Animals has run similar transition programs across Asia for over a decade — helping South Korean dog meat farmers shift to chilli and mushroom cultivation, and launching comparable efforts in Vietnam, India, and Indonesia. The closure of one facility cannot undo the scale of the trade, but it demonstrates something important: that the path forward may lie not in prohibition alone, but in offering those who profit from harm a viable and dignified way out.
In the days before Yulin's notorious dog meat festival, animal activists achieved something that had never happened in this Chinese city before: they permanently shut down a dog slaughterhouse and convinced its owner to walk away from the trade entirely.
The facility, located about thirty kilometers south of Yulin's city center, had operated since 2007. In that time, it killed roughly fifteen thousand dogs. The work was brutal and methodical—animals were bludgeoned and their throats cut before butchering. The slaughterhouse supplied carcasses to festival restaurants and markets, and June was its busiest month, accounting for seventy percent of its annual income as the festival approached. On average, about fifteen dogs were killed there each week.
When Vshine Animal Protection Association and its partner organization Humane World for Animals entered the facility for the closure, they found nine dogs still alive. Three of them were wearing collars—stolen pets, clearly. A Labrador the rescuers named An An, a beagle they called Moli, and a poodle they named Lian. All nine would be transported to Vshine's shelter for veterinary care, quarantine, vaccination, and sterilization before being offered for local adoption.
The breakthrough came through what organizers call a livelihood conversion program—the first of its kind in Yulin. The slaughterhouse owner, identified only as Mr. Huang, agreed to a legally binding closure in exchange for support transitioning to a different business. He plans to open a breakfast catering operation serving rice porridge, fried dough, and steamed buns. In a statement, he explained that he had spent nearly two decades killing dogs and found no satisfaction in it. "It's a dirty business," he said. "As fewer people are eating dog meat these days it's hard for me to provide for my family. I am relieved to be leaving it behind me and having a more stable living. Without the support from this program, I would not have been able to make this life change."
His words hint at a larger shift. Dog meat consumption in China is declining, particularly among younger generations and in urban centers. The major cities of Shenzhen and Zhuhai have already banned the trade. Most Chinese people do not eat dog or cat meat. Yet the Yulin festival itself—launched in 2010 by dog meat traders specifically to boost sales—persists as a symbol of the industry's resistance.
Julie Sanders, director of the End Dog and Cat Meat campaign for Humane World for Animals, framed the closure as evidence that change is possible even in Yulin, "arguably China's most infamous dog and cat meat hotspot." She noted that traders face mounting pressure from family concerns and financial strain. "Support for the dog meat trade is low," she said, "and traders are keen to get out of the business." The organization has run similar programs across Asia for more than a decade, helping dog meat farmers in South Korea transition to chilli and mushroom farming. More recently, it has launched comparable initiatives in Vietnam, India, and Indonesia.
The scale of the trade remains staggering. China slaughters an estimated ten million dogs and four million cats annually—the world's largest such market. Across all of Asia, the number reaches twenty million dogs and six million cats each year. Most are stolen pets, guard dogs, or strays caught with poison bait and darts. The trade violates China's own Food Safety Law, which prohibits processing food from non-food animals, yet enforcement has been inconsistent. Yulin authorities have attempted roadblocks to stop transport trucks, but have not implemented a robust ban.
Earlier this year, Vshine submitted a legislative proposal to China's National People's Congress calling for nationwide companion animal protection and a ban on dog and cat meat trade. The closure of this single slaughterhouse may seem modest against the scale of the problem, but it represents a model that could spread—a way to end the trade not through prohibition alone, but by offering those who profit from it a viable path out.
Notable Quotes
I have been killing dogs for almost 20 years. It's a dirty business and I don't feel good about it. Without the support from this program, I would not have been able to make this life change.— Mr. Huang, slaughterhouse owner
Support for the dog meat trade is low and traders are keen to get out of the business due to family and financial pressure. By supporting policies that enable traders to transition to alternative livelihoods, the Yulin authorities could help close this cruel trade for good.— Julie Sanders, Humane World for Animals
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does this slaughterhouse closure matter if ten million dogs are still killed annually across China?
Because it proves the trade isn't inevitable. The owner spent twenty years doing this work and hated it. He only stayed because he saw no alternative. Once one person leaves, others see it's possible.
But the Yulin festival itself still happens. Restaurants will just find another supplier.
That's the harder problem. But notice what's happening underneath—demand is collapsing. Younger people don't want dog meat. The owner said it was already hard to make a living. If you remove the supply side and support the people doing the killing, you're not just closing one facility. You're showing authorities a path that doesn't require force.
Three of the nine dogs were stolen pets. How does that happen?
They're taken from streets, caught with poison bait, stolen from homes. There's no regulation, no oversight. The trade exists in legal gray space. That's why the owner could operate for nineteen years without serious consequences.
What happens to the other six dogs that weren't stolen?
Strays, probably. Guard dogs. Animals with no one to claim them. They'll get the same care—veterinary treatment, vaccination, a chance at adoption. But the stolen ones carry a different weight. Someone was looking for An An, Moli, and Lian.
Is this model actually spreading, or is it just one success story?
It's spreading slowly. South Korea has been doing this for over a decade. Vietnam, India, Indonesia have programs now. But Yulin is different—it's the symbolic center of the trade. If this works here, if authorities see they can end the festival without economic collapse, that changes the conversation nationally.
What does Mr. Huang's choice tell us?
That people don't want to do this work. They do it because they're trapped. Give them a way out and they take it. That's the insight that changes everything.