⸻ Holtsville Ecology Site to Close Permanently Amid Accusations of Animal Neglect

HOLTSVILLE, N.Y. — The gates at the Holtsville Ecology Site creaked open one last time this fall, letting in the usual parade of families with strollers, retirees clutching cups of coffee, and schoolchildren pointing at peacocks. For more than four decades, this little sanctuary in the heart of Brookhaven Town offered Long Islanders a rare glimpse of wild creatures living just beyond the suburban sprawl.

But now, the sounds that once defined it — the bleating of goats, the chatter of parrots, the low, throaty call of a bear — are fading.

The Town of Brookhaven confirmed last week that the Holtsville Animal Preserve will close permanently in early 2026. Officials cited budget cuts and “operational priorities.” For many, those words feel sterile — like paperwork over a heartbeat.

A Legacy Built on Hope

The preserve began in the late 1970s as a rehabilitation center for injured wildlife, built atop a reclaimed landfill. Over time, it became a beloved community space — part zoo, part rescue, part classroom.

Generations of families visited to feed the goats, marvel at bald eagles, or hear keepers tell stories about animals that had found new life after tragedy.

“It wasn’t fancy, but it was real,” said longtime volunteer Patricia Leone, who started helping at the preserve when she was sixteen. “Every animal there had a story — a wing that wouldn’t heal, a paw that never grew back right. We didn’t see broken creatures. We saw survivors.”

Whispers of Trouble

But over the last two years, that hopeful image began to crack.

Former employees and animal advocates raised alarms about neglect, outdated facilities, and questionable veterinary practices. Photos leaked. Protests followed.

Town officials denied wrongdoing but ordered internal reviews. Then, after the death of an aging black bear named Honey — a favorite among visitors — the story changed.

“She was old and sick,” said one caretaker who asked not to be named. “But what broke people wasn’t just losing her — it was realizing we’d failed her in some way.”

The Official Word

Town Supervisor Dan Panico announced the decision at a tense meeting in late September. “The Town is not in the zoo business,” he said plainly. “We can’t sustain this financially or ethically.”

The budget for the Ecology Site had ballooned to nearly $2 million a year, according to officials, even as visitor numbers declined. The Town says every animal will be relocated to approved sanctuaries and wildlife facilities by March 2026.

Still, many are skeptical. “We’ve heard promises before,” said John Di Leonardo of Humane Long Island. “We’ll be watching every transfer closely. These animals deserve safe homes — not just a line in a budget.”

A Town Divided

For residents, the closure cuts deeper than finances.

On social media, hundreds of comments mourned the loss of a childhood landmark. “I had my first field trip there,” one woman wrote. “My daughter had hers too. It’s like losing a piece of Long Island.”

Others welcomed the move, arguing that animals should never have been confined there in the first place. “Let’s be honest — this was never a proper sanctuary,” one commenter posted. “If this is what it takes to stop the suffering, then it’s time.”

The Final Walk

Caretaker Kristin Layer, who has worked at the preserve for nearly two decades, walked the grounds after the announcement. “It’s quiet now,” she said softly. “Too quiet.”

She paused at the edge of the old bear enclosure, where Honey once splashed in her pond. “People think we didn’t care,” she continued, her eyes glistening. “But every single person here loved these animals. Maybe too much. Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.”

What Comes Next

As winter settles in, the last of the animals are being matched with new homes — goats to farm sanctuaries, birds to wildlife rescues, reptiles to licensed handlers. The site itself will remain town property, though its future use has not been decided.

There’s talk of turning it into a nature trail, a community garden, or simply letting the land return to silence.

An Empty Gate

By spring, the Holtsville Animal Preserve will be gone — its cages empty, its signs fading under the sun. But for those who grew up there, its spirit will linger: in the laughter of a child feeding a deer, in the rustle of wind through pine trees, in the stubborn belief that caring — even imperfectly — still matters.

“Maybe it wasn’t perfect,” said Leone, the longtime volunteer. “But for forty years, it made people care about something bigger than themselves. That’s not nothing.”




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