As South Korea edges toward a full ban on the dog meat trade, once-thriving dog farms are now crumbling under the weight of new legislation, logistical chaos, and a lack of concrete plans for thousands of animals caught in limbo. Farmers who once relied on raising dogs for their livelihood say the government’s crackdown has left them not only financially devastated, but also emotionally abandoned.
One such farmer is 60-year-old Reverend Joo Yeong-bong, who splits his time between ministry and running a dog farm. “We’ve been trying to sell our dogs since last summer, but no traders are coming anymore,” he told the media. The 2024 ban on the sale of dog meat, passed in January of that year, gave farmers until February 2027 to shut down operations. But midway through the three-year grace period, many say they are already at a breaking point. “We’re drowning in debt,” said Joo, who also heads the Korean Association of Edible Dogs. “People are suffering.”
The economic consequences of the ban are dire for farmers like Chan-woo, a 33-year-old who must rehome or relinquish 600 dogs within 18 months or face legal penalties of up to two years in prison. “I’ve invested everything into this farm, and now no one wants the dogs—not the traders, not the activists, not even the government,” he said. His frustration underscores a larger systemic failure: while the law bans the dog meat trade, it lacks robust support structures for transitioning the industry or rehoming the estimated 500,000 dogs currently in captivity.
Animal welfare groups like Humane World for Animals Korea (Hwak) acknowledge the problem. Campaign manager Lee Sangkyung noted that the government and civic bodies are struggling to rescue or care for the displaced animals. Large breeds traditionally used in the meat industry are hard to rehome, especially in South Korea’s urbanised society where small apartment living is the norm. Adding to the challenge, many of the dogs are breeds like tosa-inu, which are classified as dangerous and require permits to keep.
The Ministry of Agriculture, Food and Rural Affairs (Mafra) insists local governments will care for surrendered dogs through shelters, and has allocated 6 billion won ($4.3 million) annually for shelter expansion. Farmers who exit the trade early can receive up to 600,000 won ($450) per dog. But activists argue this funding and planning are insufficient. “There is still no clear rescue mechanism in place,” said Hwak, which has rehomed nearly 2,800 dogs since 2015 but says it cannot manage the massive number now needing homes.
The emotional toll is significant. Former dog farmer Yang Jong-tae, 74, recounted how activists treated his animals with a gentleness he’d never seen before. “They treated the dogs like individuals with dignity,” he said. “It really touched my heart.”
Despite rescue efforts sending some dogs abroad to countries like Canada and the US, many more remain at risk of euthanasia. In September 2024, Cho Hee-kyung of the Korean Animal Welfare Association admitted that not all dogs could be saved. “It’s heartbreaking,” she said. “But if they become lost and abandoned, they will be euthanised.”
Though the government maintains euthanasia is not officially part of its plan, experts like veterinary professor Chun Myung-Sun argue that without a clear, humane policy, this grim outcome may be unavoidable. “If we’ve gone to the effort of saving dogs only to euthanise them, it’s understandable why the public is outraged,” she said.
What began as a landmark move for animal rights in South Korea is now revealing the complexities of transitioning away from a deeply rooted cultural and economic practice. As the deadline looms, the gap between intent and implementation continues to widen—with both animals and humans caught in the fallout.
