Euthanasia, understaffing, and broken kennels are rampant at Montco’s ultra-wealthy SPCA

The puppy appeared in Bernadette Creedon's neighborhood in late June, befriending the dogs of Huntingdon Valley with his goofy pit bull charm. It took three days to catch the stray, so she named him Chase.

She figured he would be safe at the Montgomery County Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals until she could find a temporary foster home — and then, she promised him, a forever home.

"I would go almost every single day to check on him," she said, coming to know the Abington branch's staff on a first-name basis. "I wanted to do anything I could do to get him out."

Creedon, 65, returned one day to discover Chase was dead.

She was told the 6-month-old dog became aggressive, biting his leash and growling when a manager used a dogcatcher pole to corral him back into his kennel. Chase was deemed "unadoptable," and euthanized.

Creedon, furious, asked why no one bothered to call her, the dog's advocate. How could a puppy that was licking the faces of her pugs two weeks ago have been put down so quickly?

The contested euthanasia was not an isolated incident — but part of a pattern at the wealthiest animal shelter in the state, The Inquirer has found.

Nine current and former employees and seven volunteers at the nonprofit Montgomery County SPCA told The Inquirer that chronic understaffing, squalid kennel conditions, and casual euthanasia have become the norm, with little intervention from its executive director and the nonprofit's board. (Some staffers and volunteers asked that their names not be used to protect against being dismissed.)

The Montco rescue has the lowest save rate among 11 shelters in the Philadelphia region. It euthanized nearly one in five animals that passed through its main Conshohocken shelter, according to an Inquirer analysis of available shelter data. That rate was more than double the rate of Brandywine Valley SPCA in Chester County .

The Montco SPCA's high euthanasia rate cannot be blamed on lack of funds. The Montco shelter had more than $67 million in unrestricted investment accounts at the end of last year, according to its most recent nonprofit tax filing — more than double the assets of the second-wealthiest SPCA in the commonwealth. Yet the Montco shelter spends only about $3 million annually.

"[Management] is very trigger-happy to put any animal down for any reason, which chills me because part of the job is saving these animals," said Bobbie-Jean Brown, 27, a former kennel technician.

Unlike most modern shelters, Montco does not have a foster program, hold adoption events, or work with other rescues for temporary placement. And despite tens of millions in assets, the main shelter is dangerously rundown, The Inquirer found.

The federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration notified management in July that it received complaints about black mold in the cat isolation room, broken kennel runs, and improperly working kennel drains — conditions that staff and volunteers documented with photos and videos.

Dogs often escape through the unlockable kennel gates, some gashing their eyes and coats on frayed metal. Photos showed dogs that appeared to have burns on their paws, which staff attributed to the animals standing in their own urine. Conditions are made worse by understaffing and inconsistent cleaning, staff and volunteers said.

"It's worse than prison, the way these animals are kept," said Allie Biehl, 29, a volunteer at the main shelter in Conshohocken. "These dogs are eating, sleeping, and playing in their own s— and pee for days on end."

Carmen Ronio, 79, the shelter's executive director, declined an interview. Its board of directors, in a statement, said it takes such allegations "very seriously" but declined to answer detailed questions about animal treatment, finances, or shelter practices. Its sole full-time veterinarian, Corey McCann, did not respond to a request for comment and, according to three current staffers, resigned on Tuesday.

The Montco SPCA provides an essential public service as an "open-door" shelter, said operations manager Edward Davies, who said Ronio gave him permission to speak. It saves droves of elderly, disabled, and high-risk animals that selective "no-kill" shelters in the region might turn away.

Montco SPCA rejects the no-kill philosophy adopted by thousands of shelters nationwide — a misnomer that actually means those shelters strive to save 90% of all animals that come through their doors.

"There are animals that are alive today that, if it weren't for having an open-door shelter, they would have had nowhere to go," Davies said.

Shelter employees and volunteers contend that Ronio is part of the problem: He has worked at the shelter for 52 years, and he is stuck in the past.

Davies said the claims are exaggerated.

He said he hired a mold remediation company to address the OSHA complaint. The shelter's veterinarian ruled the paw burns on dogs came from a fungal infection, or walking on the hot blacktop parking lot. The shelter is too crowded to clear out for major building upgrades right now.

He acknowledged disagreements among staff over euthanasia but said he trusts himself and other managers to make the right call.

"We don't make snap decisions," Davies said. "We hold onto animals that are difficult to place. But how would you feel if I adopted out a pit bull next to you that hates cats, and you do have a cat that wanders around your property? I'm gonna have to weigh the safety of everybody."

Davies denied that the shelter, which has about 40 workers among its three locations, is short-staffed. He said the SPCA reintroduced its volunteer program last year, and touted a professional dog trainer who now donates her time to the shelter.

But that trainer, Dayna Villa, is among the whistle-blowers.

"There are staff who have worked there for decades who know nothing about animal behavior," said Villa, 43, who runs a certified dog training business . "When you euthanize a dog for growling at someone within 48 hours of arrival — that is not done at any credible shelter."

There has been little overall accountability as well. Each SPCA operates independently, without national or state oversight. Dog wardens from the state Department of Agriculture, which does oversee kennel licenses, passed the Montco shelter's three branches (Conshohocken, Abington, and Perkiomenville) on all inspections in the last two years.

A spokesperson for the department said the agency is investigating "multiple complaints" it had received from shelter volunteers in recent weeks.

Concerned staff and volunteers blame the board, where Ronio holds a seat, for the current situation.

Ronio and his team have not replaced the chronically broken kennels. Yet they recently spent $10,000 on new faux-leather chairs for the boardroom, several staffers said.

They lodged numerous complaints about kennel conditions, instances of alleged animal cruelty, and mismanagement — with no apparent follow-through from board leaders, according to e-mails provided to The Inquirer.

Board president April Lownes-Hostler, 57, a former real estate professional who has been on the board since 2004, said in a statement that the board recently hired a firm to investigate.

"We are prepared to take any and all necessary actions based on their findings," she said in a statement.

Meanwhile, problems continue in the kennels. On Aug. 30, two dogs at Conshohocken escaped through their broken kennel gates and got into a fight, causing widespread distress for staff and volunteers. They urged managers not to flag the two dogs for euthanasia.

Villa, the trainer, started volunteering at the Montco SPCA in September 2023, shortly after the shelter restarted its volunteer program. Within months, the certified dog specialist saw red flags.

Ice, a 3-year-old pit bull with a brown-and-white coat, was so docile that staff gave him a "green" tag, reserved for the safest dogs to handle. The abandoned pit had been at the shelter three months as staff tried to track down its owner.

One night, Villa took Ice out of the kennels for a walk. The next day, she said, she learned he was dead. She didn't get a straight answer when she asked who signed off on it. There were no behavioral notes in his medical file.

"It's not on anybody's radar" that Ice was a problem, Villa said.

Animal case files reviewed by The Inquirer show that, over the last two years, dozens of dogs and cats were euthanized at Montco SPCA without clear documentation explaining the behavioral or medical issues behind the orders. Sometimes, the written assessments were sparse and subjective: "Dog is mean," read one unsigned note in a euthanized dog's file.

Inconsistent record-keeping is a problem at shelters nationwide, animal welfare experts said, and few shelters have the resources to employ trained animal behaviorists to make assessments.

Carolyn Fitzgerald, a strategist with Best Friends Animal Society, a no-kill animal welfare nonprofit based in Utah that tracks shelter euthanasia rates nationwide, said poor note-taking and unilateral decisions can be a recipe for disaster.

"It's a hard industry, but you want to come from it objectively," she said.

Nine current and former staffers said veterinarian McCann, 41, the only full-time animal doctor for the county's three shelters, is behind many of the euthanasia recommendations, along with Abington and Conshohocken kennel manager Ronda Thomas, who is Davies' sister.

Two staff members said they saw McCann rattle kennels or pretend to lunge at dogs to gauge their reactions. According to two former employees, Thomas moved a nursing cat between shelters for a vaccination, separating her from her four newborn kittens, who then were euthanized before they were a day old, even though Montco has a foster program for infant cats.

In February, Villa alerted board members that Thomas had kicked at a kennel door with a dog right on the other side, yelling at the dog. In another instance, she yanked a cat off a ledge with a control pole, causing it to slam seven feet to the ground. "It was horrifying," said a staffer.

Thomas did not respond to a request for comment.

Villa has recommended hiring a full-time, licensed behavioral specialist. Davies said that would only "lead to more disputes" among staff about whether an animal can be rehabilitated.

Ronio began working at the Montgomery County shelter in the early 1970s, when one in four dogs in America lived on the streets, before spay and neuter programs became widespread.

Ronio climbed the ladder to assistant administrator, and around 2000, the board named him to lead the nonprofit, where he now makes over $250,000 a year.

Over the decades, he has been quoted as an authority in newspaper stories about animal cruelty cases, notorious cat hoarders , and fireworks-fearing dogs that go missing on July Fourth each year.

Ronio has promoted long-term shelter employees like Davies and his sister Thomas into top jobs. Davies started as a kennel tech in 1987 straight out of high school. Davies said the decadeslong employees are an asset.

"It's a select number of people who can work in [shelters] long term," Davies said.

But the challenges of recent years have exposed cracks in the system.

The family-business-style environment has caused strain, staff and volunteers said. When staff members have complaints about Thomas, they have to bring them to her brother. (Davies denied this, and said complaints about Thomas go to Ronio.)

Problems have compounded since the pandemic, Davies acknowledged, as the shelter has seen a steady increase in animals. Montco's workload rose from 4,103 animals in 2021 to nearly 4,900 animals among three shelters last year, according to intake data.

Davies said he and other managers have not considered bringing in consultants to improve operations. The SPCA does not need adoption and foster programs because the shelter is over a century old, he said, and local families have been adopting from there for generations.

Other regional shelter leaders said Ronio rebuffed offers to help Montco.

When animal welfare leader Rick Matelsky came to Providence Animal Center, then known as the Delaware County SPCA, in 2007, the shelter faced complaints similar to Montco's. He oversaw the shelter's turnaround, with modern adoption programs and a partnership with the University of Pennsylvania 's veterinary school.

Ronio often criticized the changes happening in Delco, Matelsky said.

"Carmen runs a shelter like it's back in the '60s, which is to bring animals in, hold them for three days, and then euthanize," Matelsky said. "He makes no effort with adoptions."

One Montco staffer, who requested anonymity to speak freely about Ronio and other managers, said the ignorance was willful.

"The more crowded it is, the more cracks in the system show up," the staffer said. "They just don't know to go on the internet and search 'how is a modern shelter supposed to run?'"

Jonathan Segal, 63, an attorney and former board member who now volunteers at the shelter, said more staff and building upgrades are sorely needed. Still, he defended the overworked veterinary staff, including McCann.

"I have seen the SPCA and their vets go through heroic efforts to save older, disabled, high-risk cats and dogs, sometimes performing multiple surgeries," Segal said. "I don't think another shelter would have saved them."

Why the wealthy nonprofit hasn't modernized the shelter and added staff has baffled both employees and outside observers. Some blame its entrenched board.

Five of its 11 members have served for a decade or more, according to federal tax filings, and three of those five hold the top three officer positions. Except for Ronio, they are unpaid.

Shelters nationwide rely on donors, and Montco has been blessed on this front: The shelter draws more than $1.7 million per year in donations, including estates left by animal lovers in Pennsylvania's richest county.

But much of the $67 million has come from investment growth. Nonprofit filings show the shelter has nearly doubled its assets over the last decade, amassing over $50 million into a trio of investment accounts.

As of 2022, nearly half of that amount was held by boutique wealth management firm Glenmede, where the board treasurer, Stanley Broadbent, worked for over two decades, according to his LinkedIn profile.

The board said in a statement that Broadbent had no involvement with the long-standing account. Broadbent did not reply to a request for comment.

Nonprofit filings show the shelter increased its annual spending from $2.6 million to $3.3 million last year, including $336,000 in investment management fees.

Matelsky, who has consulted for shelters nationwide, said Montco's financial position is "unheard of." Most nonprofits strive to keep three years' worth of operating revenue in savings; Montco's rainy day fund could carry the shelter for more than 20 years.

Segal, the former board member-turned-volunteer, said he hopes the board members will change path.

Staff and volunteers doubt change will come without a complete overhaul.

Jennifer Tucker, 54, a volunteer since last year, said it's "beyond shameful."

"There is no way you could walk into that shelter and not see the effects of mismanagement and dysfunction on the animals and the staff," she said. "The buck stops — and starts — with the board."