Jake never made it to rehab.
He was packed, ready and determined to get clean after years of struggling with meth. Just one thing held him back: his two German shepherds. No friends or family could take them. No shelters would guarantee they’d be returned. So Jake stayed home, hoping a solution would come.
It didn’t.
A few days later, his friend Ken Moses received a call from police. Jake had overdosed.
“I’m sorry, it’s still hard,” says Moses, whose eyes well with tears now, nearly five years later. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was to getting help — and how something so small, so fixable, stood in the way.”
Out of loss, a sense of purpose
Jake’s death wasn’t just a personal tragedy. For Moses, it exposed a devastating gap in the recovery system, one he hadn’t seen until it was too late.
In 2019, as Moses was navigating his own early sobriety, he struck up an online friendship with Jake, a man in Phoenix who was also trying to get clean. Their bond formed in the most vulnerable hours of the night — late-night check-ins, shared worries, and the kind of camaraderie that comes from fighting the same uphill battle.
“Sometimes we’d both be up at 3 a.m., just talking through the woes of early recovery,” Moses says. “I’d check in. ‘How are you doing? What’s going on?’”
Then Jake went silent. After about a week, he resurfaced and admitted he’d relapsed. Meth, again. But he wanted help.
“I asked him, ‘Do you want to stay out there, or do you want to get clean?’” Moses says. “And he said, ‘I want to get clean. But I don’t know what to do with my dogs. They’re my life. I can’t leave them.’”
Moses tried to find a solution, looking for places in Phoenix that could care for the animals while Jake got treatment. But every search came up short. No rescue, no shelter, no foster network offered temporary care without permanently rehoming the pets.
A few days later, Jake was gone.
The weight of that loss stuck with Moses. It still does.
“He was ready. He just needed someone to say, ‘I’ll take the dogs.’ That’s all.”
From sobriety to service
Moses first came to Palm Springs in 2002, drawn to the sun, the tranquility and the city’s legacy of a strong recovery community. At the time, he was a professor of music at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, a professional bassoonist who had spent decades performing in orchestras across the U.S. and Russia.
“I just fell in love with the desert,” he says. “And I realized I didn’t want to keep chasing work around the world. I wanted to live somewhere and figure out what was next.”
What came next was a leap of faith, though it took some time to find steady footing.
“I thought, well, Palm Springs is a perfect place to get sober,” he says. “But it took me a while, and I finally did it in 2019. We have a saying in the program: ‘We get there when we get there.’”
For Moses, recovery was about rebuilding a life with intention, in addition to reclaiming his health. And when he recognized the lack of pet care for people entering treatment, it sparked something in him.
“It finally came to me how I could make Jake’s life meaningful — I could remove one of the biggest, most overlooked barriers to getting treatment,” he says. “If someone is ready to get help, a lack of pet care shouldn’t be what stops them.”
Moses started by making announcements in AA meetings and connecting with others willing to help. Today, Pets in Recovery links people entering treatment with volunteers who foster their pets, sometimes on very short notice. The service is entirely free. The goal is dignity.
Since launching, Moses and his volunteers have placed dozens of dogs and cats in safe, loving homes while their humans focus on healing.
Healing for all
Though based in Palm Springs, Moses’ phone never stops ringing. Judges, caseworkers and people from recovery centers in San Diego, Los Angeles and the Inland Empire frequently reach out, hoping someone in the network can step up.
“We’re getting requests every week from all over Southern California,” Moses says. “The demand is huge, and it’s only growing.”
Each case is different, but the need is always urgent. Some clients are headed into 30-day inpatient programs. Others need a bit more time. In some instances, the pets themselves have experienced trauma alongside their owners, making it even more crucial that they are placed in patient, understanding homes.
When someone enters treatment, the work is hard enough without the added fear of what’s happening back home. But when the person knows their dog or cat is safe — fed, walked, loved — it clears space for healing.
Sometimes, Moses says, the simple act of a stranger stepping in to care for a beloved animal is more than a gesture. It becomes the first sign that the world still holds grace for them. That people can be trusted. That the story isn’t over.
And the healing doesn’t stop with the person in treatment. When pets are reunited with their owners, they’re returning to calmer, more stable homes. The owner is more present. It’s a reset for the whole household.
“It’s amazing to witness that moment of reunion,” Moses says. “The pet knows their person came back, and this time, things feel different.”
Support without judgment
Moses is now working to formalize Pets in Recovery, with nonprofit status underway, and is expanding partnerships with veterinary clinics, treatment centers, and local governments. He’s especially focused on growing the volunteer network in Los Angeles and San Diego, where treatment options are abundant but pet care support remains scarce.
“What we need most,” he says, “are people willing to open their hearts and their homes to these animals.”
In the meantime, Moses depends on a core network of volunteers, many of whom are in recovery themselves. For them, fostering becomes a meaningful form of service.
“This is about compassion,” Moses explains. “We’re not just holding on to pets. We’re sending a message to their owners: You matter. We’ve got your back.”
Some say the experience is restorative in return.
“I’ve had volunteers tell me it gave them a reason to get out of bed,” Moses says. “It reminded them why they got sober in the first place.”
Moses points to the wagging tails and gentle purrs as proof that healing is possible — one person, one pet, one day at a time.
“I feel honored to do this work,” he says. “It’s saved me too.”
TO LEARN MORE
Pets in Recovery secures foster placements for pets while their humans receive treatment. The volunteer network accepts donations of money, pet food and pet supplies, but foster families are most critical. Reach out via email opusken1215@gmail.com or text 760‑992‑4413.