I thought I understood what animal testing meant until I brought home a former lab dog

This First Person column is written by Nives Ilic, an animal justice activist who lives in Ottawa. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

The first night Mack slept in my arms, I barely moved.

He was small enough to curl into the space between my chest and my arm, his body pressed close as if he were afraid that if he loosened his grip, something might take him away. I stayed awake, afraid that if I shifted, I would wake him — or worse, frighten him.

Mack spent the first six years of his life in a laboratory.

I thought I knew what that meant. I had been involved in animal advocacy for years, fostered and adopted homeless animals and even visited slaughterhouses to provide water and comfort to animals about to be killed. I believed I was prepared for what it would mean to bring a former research dog into my home. I wasn’t.

Last year, I became deeply involved in a campaign with Animal Justice after two whistleblowers exposed experiments on dogs at St. Joseph’s Hospital in London, Ont., — experiments in which dogs were forced to endure hours-long heart attacks before being killed. I joined other advocates at a vigil, called on the hospital to end its experiments and helped shine a light on what had been happening behind closed doors. The public outcry was so strong that the hospital closed its dog lab in August 2025.

Learning about the suffering these animals had endured, and the way communities rallied to protect them, made me feel a mix of sorrow and hope — and a new urgency to help animals experiencing similar fates.

Around the same time, I was approved as a foster mom with The Beagle Alliance, a rescue dedicated to rehabilitating dogs from laboratories. 

In October, a few months later, I headed back toward London from Ottawa to pick up Mack, one of 10 former research dogs released from another laboratory. All I knew was I had been chosen to adopt one of the dogs. I didn't even know Mack's name before I saw him in his crate. 

Because of the non-disclosure agreements that rescue groups are required to sign, I will never know which laboratory Mack was from or what testing he was subjected to. Before taking him home, I signed a contract that explained that dogs like Mack can exhibit symptoms of PTSD, anxiety and fear-based behaviours. I envisioned what laboratory animals often endure — restraint, force-feeding of substances, injections or disturbing medical experiments like those uncovered at St. Joseph’s Hospital — and I felt completely heartbroken. 

During the car ride home, I could hear Mack trembling in his crate. Shortly after, we discovered he was terrified of our building’s elevator — he shook uncontrollably and urinated as soon as we stepped inside. I assume the laboratory he was in also had one. 

Reality hit me and I began imagining the following weeks of my life — living with an angry, aggressive dog that feared everything. But I was wrong. Despite the harm Mack had experienced at the hands of humans, all he wanted was what most of us do: to be loved.

Mack followed me everywhere, constantly wanting to be held. He was sweet and curious with our other dog and cat, friends, neighbours and even complete strangers on the street. Despite being deprived of so much, Mack still approached the world with tenderness.

It also became clear that Mack was not like other animals I had fostered or adopted. Shelter or street dogs at least had a chance to live as a dog and to explore the world beyond a cage. Dogs rescued from laboratories, however, are used as test subjects.