What will happen to over 500,000 dogs after South Korea's meat ban?

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As South Korea phases out its dog meat industry by 2027, over half a million dogs and thousands of livelihoods hang in the balance. The new law reflects shifting public attitudes, but its implementation has triggered fears of animal abandonment. Farmers demand clearer support as shelters struggle to accommodate the fallout read more
Dogs look on from their cages at a dog meat farm in Hwaseong, South Korea, November 21, 2023. File Image/Reuters
Last year the South Korea's National Assembly ended a centuries-old practice by unanimously enacting legislation to abolish the dog meat industry.
The sweeping law, which targets every stage of the trade — from breeding and slaughtering to sale and consumption — grants a three-year grace period, with full enforcement set for February 2027.
The move was aimed to align with changing societal views that increasingly recognise dogs as household companions rather than livestock.
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This transformation in perspective is especially visible among younger generations. According to Gallup Korea, the percentage of citizens who reported eating dog meat dropped from 27 per cent in 2015 to just 8 per cent in 2023.
A separate government survey conducted in 2024 found that only 3.3 per cent of respondents planned to continue consuming dog meat once the law comes into effect.
For animal rights advocates, the shift reflects growing national and global support for compassionate treatment of animals, particularly canines.
Activists such as Chun highlight this evolution. 'With time, people's views on dogs have evolved. They are no longer seen as food, but as family,' she told the BBC.
Nonetheless, the transition has triggered a crisis involving both animals and the humans who once depended on this trade, the report by BBC has reported.
What happens to over half a million dogs?
As of 2022, South Korea's Ministry for Food, Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries estimated that more than 520,000 dogs were being raised on over 1,100 farms across the country.
These dogs — many of them large breeds such as the Tosa-Inu — were intended for human consumption. Today, their fate is uncertain.
While the government has pledged that local municipalities will accommodate surrendered animals in shelters, the reality is proving far more difficult.
Rehoming large-breed dogs has become a serious logistical challenge, especially because such breeds are often categorised as 'dangerous' under South Korean law.
Urban households typically prefer small pets, and concerns persist about health issues and behavioural trauma among dogs raised in meat farms.
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'Although the dog meat ban has passed, both the government and civic groups are still grappling with how to rescue the remaining dogs,' Lee Sangkyung of Humane World for Animals Korea (Hwak) told BBC.
'One area that still feels lacking is the discussion around the dogs that have been left behind.'
Rescue efforts are underway, but the scale of the problem is overwhelming. A limited number of dogs are being transported overseas for adoption, yet these efforts barely make a dent in the overall population.
Humane Society International Korea's JungAh Chae described the legislation as 'history in the making,' but highlighted the need for urgent implementation strategies to ensure that dogs don't end up neglected or worse.
According to Cho Hee-kyung, head of the Korean Animal Welfare Association, the consequences of inaction could be tragic. 'If remaining dogs become 'lost and abandoned animals' then it's heartbreaking but they will be euthanised,' she warned in 2024.
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Government authorities have denied euthanasia is part of their policy, and have instead introduced financial incentives — offering up to 600,000 Korean won (around $450) per dog to farmers willing to exit the trade early.
Still, critics like Hwak say the measures remain vague and insufficient. Public shelters are already under strain, and many private facilities lack the funding or space to accommodate the expected influx of animals.
What does mean for farmers who depended on the dog meat trade?
For those whose livelihoods were rooted in the dog meat industry, the legislation has been deeply destabilising. Farmers, vendors, and restaurant owners now face the prospect of economic ruin without a clear roadmap for transition.
Reverend Joo Yeong-bong, 60, who raised dogs for commercial purposes, is among those now trapped in a livelihood that has abruptly become unsustainable. 'Since last summer we've been trying to sell our dogs, but the traders just keep hesitating,' he told the BBC. 'Not a single one has shown up.'
With mounting debts and few employment alternatives, farmers like Joo are in a precarious situation. 'People are suffering,' he continued. 'We're drowning in debt, can't pay it off, and some can't even… find new work. It's a hopeless situation.'
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Another farmer, Chan-woo, aged 33, is responsible for around 600 dogs and faces a tight timeline. 'Realistically, even just on my farm, I can't process the number of dogs I have in that time,' he told BBC.
The stakes are high: failing to comply with the new law by 2027 could result in up to two years of imprisonment.
Despite investing all of his personal assets into the farm, Chan-woo says there's little assistance or coordination from either authorities or advocacy groups. 'They [the authorities] passed the law without any real plan, and now they're saying they can't even take the dogs,' he lamented.
Joo echoed this sentiment, stating that many are barely holding on in the hope of policy adjustments.
'Right now, people are still holding on, hoping something might change… But by 2027, I truly believe something terrible will happen,' he said. 'There are so many people whose lives have completely unravelled.'
What next for the South Korea dog meat ban?
While the majority of the public now supports the ban, the decision has not been universally welcomed.
Some sellers and farmers have voiced strong opposition, accusing the government of yielding to external cultural influences and infringing upon personal freedoms.
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Former dog farmer Yang Jong-tae, who shut down his operations in 2023, described being emotionally moved by the kindness shown by rescue teams. 'When I saw how they handled the animals, like they were handling people, so gently and lovingly, it really moved me. We don't treat them like that. For us, raising dogs was just a way to make a living.'
Nonetheless, Yang remains unconvinced about the ethical consistency behind the law. 'If dog meat is banned because dogs are animals, then why is it okay to eat other animals like cows, pigs or chicken?'
In response to the growing unrest, the government has allocated around 6 billion Korean won annually to expand and support public and private shelters.
The financial compensation for farmers who voluntarily exit the trade early is intended to ease the transition, but many say the funds and resources are not nearly enough to address the full extent of the upheaval.
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Farmers like Chan-woo are now calling for an extension to the grace period to allow for a more gradual transition.
The looming deadline of February 2027 continues to cast a shadow over those whose futures are now uncertain.
With inputs from agencies