The South Korean market where you can still buy dog meat, but not for long

At its peak, the market supplied one-third of the country’s canine meat, according to local media. Its closure in 2018 and a ban on selling live dogs were the first steps by authorities to end the trade completely, bringing it into line with other parts of Asia, including Hong Kong, Taiwan, Thailand and Singapore.

Even Kim concedes the industry was already in decline with his customers, mostly older Koreans, but says the transition to goat meat has been difficult.

“When business was good, we sold a lot of dog meat. Maybe about 100 kilograms a day. Now we sell 10 kilograms a day, or even less,” Kim says.

“After 2027, if anyone slaughters or eats dogs, they’ll be fined. Some people may still do it secretly, but it will mostly disappear.”

Regular surveys show that eating dog meat is not popular, with one poll by Gallup Korea in 2022 finding just 8 per cent of Koreans had consumed it in the past year, down from 27 per cent in 2015, while 64 per cent opposed it.

The ban was decreed under a national law passed in 2024, which gave dog farmers, butchers and restaurant owners three years to shut down their operations or switch jobs. It was accompanied by a package of financial support measures. Farmers who quickly shut up shop by early 2025 were compensated up to 600,000 won per dog they surrendered, with payments reducing to 225,000 won per dog as the 2027 deadline approaches.

It also set government authorities on a mission to rehome up to half a million dogs in shelters or through adoption, but both farmers and animal rights activists agree there is little clarity about what happens to the dogs that can’t be rescued.

“From an animal protection perspective, this is difficult and frustrating to discuss. We believe euthanasia is preferable to slaughter because the slaughter process violates animal welfare laws,” says Chae Il-taek, a senior director at the Korean Animal Welfare Association.

The worst-case scenario, he says, is that dogs will be abandoned and left to reproduce in neglected conditions.

“The government must act quickly to establish guidelines and budgets to ensure humane treatment during closures,” he says.

On a Saturday morning in Seoul’s Olympic Park district, Cha Hee-jung, 48, is taking her dog Dodam for a walk.

It has been eight years since she rescued Dodam, then a puppy, from a dog farm where he was being held in a small cage. His hind paw is wrapped in a bandage – an old injury he sustained from a fight with an older dog at the farm – and he is still a little skittish and doesn’t like people walking behind him.

“It’s a very, very dark business,” Cha says of the dog meat industry. When she found Dodam, she had been working with a volunteer animal rights group that tried to find rescue homes for farmed dogs, often by paying farmers to take the animals from squalid conditions.

“But then, after this farmer got paid, he started having more dogs again and again,” she says of the farm where Dodam was found, adding they eventually abandoned rescue attempts there.

But with the deadline for the ban now just 18 months away, Cha wants to see South Korean authorities provide financial assistance for those who rescue the remaining farm dogs, such as subsidised pet training.

The South Korean government has said it will “strictly monitor the market” to ensure all dog farms close by 2027 or transition to new businesses. Any dogs left behind will be managed by local animal shelters or temporarily remain on the farms under government supervision.

“We want support from the country’s dog meat business owners so that Korea can become an advanced nation with regard to animal welfare,” Park Jung-hoon, chief of the ministry’s Animal Welfare and Environment Policy Bureau said earlier this year.

But the high costs of setting up new farming facilities for different livestock make transitioning impossible for most dog farmers, even with the compensation, says Ju Young-bong, president of the Korea Dog Meat Association.

“Every dog facility must be demolished, and a new facility must be built for new species. That requires massive investment,” says Ju.

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“Most dog farmers are over 60; I am over 60 as well. Even young farmers are finding it extremely difficult [to transition]. Almost no one can take on the challenge.”

Still, more than 70 per cent of dog farms have already shut down, leaving about 500 running, according to the Ministry of Agriculture, Food and Rural Affairs.

At Ju’s own farm, he now has just 300 dogs, down from 2000, but says many farmers are now facing their ageing years without an income stream, and compensation should be extended to cover this loss for at least two years.

“This will prevent people from ending up on the streets,” he says.

As for the Moran black goat meat market, it is noticeably quiet around lunchtime on a Saturday. Kim, the association president, says there are about 10 shops still selling dog meat, but most are now selling goat as their main trade.

With a shortage of dogs for sale, the price of meat has gone up and demand is further shrinking.

“Older people can’t afford it,” Kim says, adding that black goat meat “tastes almost the same”.

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