There’s a persistent stereotype that swamps are nothing but rotting, darkness, and treacherous bogs that will immediately swallow you whole. I only agree with the last part: swamps do pull you in—you can’t help but want to explore their unique features more and more. This exploration is both desirable and necessary for preservation.

First, let me clarify: in this text, for simplicity, I refer to wetlands as “swamps.” Wetlands are divided into five categories: marine, estuarine, lacustrine (lake), riverine, and palustrine (marsh). All of these types are carefully protected and studied globally because they are incredibly valuable.

In fact, as far back as 1971, world leaders established the Ramsar Convention on Wetlands of International Importance. The countries that ratified this convention committed to creating nature reserves to protect swamps. To date, 172 countries have ratified this convention—Ukraine joined in 1996. Unfortunately, not all significant wetlands have yet been designated as Ramsar sites.

So why is it so important to care about swamps? Because they are natural reservoirs of fresh water. Contrary to popular belief, the water there is not stagnant or rotten. Thanks to special soils—peats—water in swamps is naturally filtered, and the vegetation on their surface slows down evaporation under the sun.

Swamps also absorb seasonal water surpluses, protecting people from floods. They act as local temperature regulators during particularly hot periods, which is why they are so crucial in our era of climate change.

Moreover, swamps are hubs of life and species interaction. About 40% of Earth’s living organisms reside, reproduce, and feed in wetlands. Each finds a safe and comfortable niche within the waters. For example, birds like the Eurasian penduline tit, the aquatic warbler, the marsh warbler, and the great reed warbler build their nests in the heart of swamps, where it’s moist and out of reach for predators.

The Ramsar Convention particularly focuses on protecting waterfowl. And it was through birds that I became involved in wetland research. Completely by accident.

It all started with a childhood dream of buying a house by a lake. In 2019, I made that dream come true, and by the spring of 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic, I had settled near Lake Supii. The village I moved to has only one street, with gardens that lead straight to the water. This is how I became a constant spectator of nature’s theater and one morning, I witnessed something extraordinary: about 100 mute swans filled the sky and then descended onto the lake. Until then, I had only seen such sights on National Geographic. This sight moved me so deeply that I started to explore our swampy surroundings more actively. Eventually, I registered a civil society organization to study and protect the local environment.

Since then, I’ve learned that our region has a long history of swamp destruction for agricultural achievements. During the Soviet era, drainage systems were built on the Supii and most small rivers in this part of Ukraine, and the rivers themselves were straightened and channeled. Their natural winding courses were redirected through canals, and the areas where the rivers used to flow were planted with sunflowers. In this way, wetlands were industrially converted into arable land, disrupting natural processes.

I’ve met with the Ukrainian scientists who planned and implemented these drainage projects. They told me their intentions were positive: to increase crop yields and boost the country’s economy. Now, they acknowledge that even if we restore all the rivers “broken” back then, only about 20% of the ecosystem would recover. The rest is lost. Forever.

Still, agricultural machinery continues to plow closer and closer to the edges of the swamps near Lake Supii each year. To understand how this affects nature, our organization constantly monitors local biodiversity. Almost daily, we record the flora and fauna in the same areas using the iNaturalist app by National Geographic. We also track bird populations with the Merlin Bird ID app by Cornell University.

For instance, this summer, we noticed that due to plowing near the swamps, the population of the aquatic warbler has decreased. This is a vulnerable species listed in the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s Red List.

To preserve our vulnerable bird species and their habitat—the swamp—we need to create Ramsar sites on Lake Supii and other wetland areas. The Ramsar Convention must not just remain a signed piece of paper—it must be actively implemented. As an activist, I believe that what helps the most is raising awareness and fostering a sense of responsibility for nature in each of us. That’s why I never tire of explaining: swamps are valuable ecosystems, meticulously designed by nature, and our task is simply to study them without interfering.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.

One of the most pervasive myths about the Middle Ages is the claim that cats were treated horribly during that era. Of course, the image of black cats suffering in the flames alongside their witch owners provides a compelling representation of the so-called “Dark Ages.” However, like many other myths, the idea that medieval people universally hated cats does not hold up under the scrutiny of historical sources. These sources, in fact, reveal evidence of tenderness, care, and genuine curiosity with which Europeans treated cats of all breeds and colors. Through these sources, I aim to demonstrate that the notion of widespread demonization of cats in the Middle Ages doesn’t hold any more water than the contemporary belief in a flat Earth.

But first, let’s take a closer look into the demonization itself: it was during the medieval period that black cats began to be associated with evil forces. The most well-known example of such superstition is Pope Gregory IX’s Papal Bull Vox in Rama, issued in June 1233, which was aimed against the heresy of Luciferianism. The bull described an initiation ritual that involved kissing a giant black cat under its tail—a variation on the theme of worshipping Lucifer, with whom the cat was identified.

Due to this association of black cats with demonic influence, historian Donald W. Engels concluded that the spread of the plague in Europe was caused by the mass killing of cats. Supposedly, many cats were put to death, leaving no one to catch the rats that were considered the main carriers of the plague.

Indeed, from the late 15th century, after the publication of Malleus Maleficarum (The Hammer of Witches), large-scale witch hunts began, with cats (particularly black ones) being considered their essential companions. This belief was likely fueled by cats’ nocturnal lifestyle. Nighttime activity, as with owls and frogs, was seen by medieval theologians as evidence of connections to evil forces, which were believed to manifest primarily at night.

However, there was no widespread mass killing of cats in the Middle Ages. The closest historical event to the myth of a “great cat massacre” actually occurred in the early modern period, not the medieval one, as described by historian Robert Darnton. In Paris, on the Rue Saint-Séverin in the late 1730s, printing apprentices, furious at the appalling conditions of their lives, captured, beat, and eventually hanged their masters’ cats. The cats suffered because their owners had provided them with a much better standard of living than the poor apprentices had. This “great massacre” was confined to a single street and, as far as I know, was the largest such event recorded by historians.

The “cruel” Middle Ages are often contrasted with cat-loving ancient Egypt, where the goddess Bastet, with her feline head, and cat mummies, now showcased in the great halls of museums, are commonly cited.

But recently, I came across a record from 899, widely shared online, from the diary of the 17-year-old Japanese Emperor Uda, who wrote about his black cat. “My cat,” Uda wrote, “moves silently, without making a sound, like a black dragon above the clouds.” On one occasion, the emperor addressed his beloved pet with these words, “You possess the forces of yin and yang and have a body that is the way it should be. I suspect that in your heart, you may even know all about me!” To this, Uda noted, “The cat heaved a sigh, raised his head, and stared fixedly at my face, seeming so choked with emotion, his heart so full of feeling, that he could not say a thing in reply.”

These words are filled with love and gentle irony. They show that in the Middle Ages, the emotional bond between cats and their owners was not so different from today, even though this example comes from an Asian source. Moreover, evidence of affection for cats can also be found in European texts from that period.

Let’s start with encyclopedias, whose authors attempted to organize and explain the world around them. In his multi-volume Etymologies, Isidore of Seville sought to explain the nature of things through their names. He links different names for cats to certain traits, “Common people call it the cat (cattus) from ‘catching’ (captura). Others say it so named because cattat, that is, ‘it sees’ — for it can see so keenly (acute) that with the gleam of its eyes it overcomes the darkness of the night. Hence ‘cat’ comes from Greek, that is. ‘clever’“

Thomas of Cantimpré, in his encyclopedia De Natura Rerum, describes cats as follows: “It is very easy for people to provoke them to play; they delight in flattery. They love warm places, where they sometimes burn their fur out of sheer laziness. They have long fur on the sides, and its removal leads to a loss of courage. They are happy when touched by a human hand, and they express their joy by singing… The cat is spoiled by such an amount of love for it.”

Bestiaries—medieval collections of stories and legends about animals, birds, plants, and even stones—visualize the descriptions from encyclopedias. They depict cats with mice in their paws, grooming themselves and even wearing crowns. All these depictions are not much different from modern Instagram photos.

As we can see, much of what was written about cats was based on observations of their natural behavior. Unlike lions, cheetahs, dragons, or unicorns, cats were an integral part of everyday medieval life. The same monks who wrote encyclopedias and adorned manuscripts also kept cats, even allowing them near their most precious possessions—books. There is ample evidence of this, the most striking being the paw prints left in manuscripts.

In an English copy of the aforementioned Etymologies by Isidore of Seville, one can see the prints of dirty cat paws. Judging by their placement, the cat walked onto the page (the first print is very clear) and then made itself comfortable there—this is evident from the subsequent smudged prints on the page. Interestingly, the material of the manuscript allowed for these marks to be erased, but the monk chose not to—perhaps leaving them as a fond memory of his beloved pet.

In contrast, a 15th-century treatise from the Dubrovnik State Archive bears traces of how a cat first stepped into ink and then walked confidently across the pages of the manuscript. This confirmation of cats’ love for interrupting our work was discovered by historian Emir O. Filipović. He didn’t expect his finding to cause such a stir, but mentions of the cat’s paw prints in the treatise quickly spread across the internet—from Twitter to personal blogs. The story was even picked up by well-known online publications, including The Guardian, The Atlantic, and Smithsonian Magazine. For some, this discovery was a revelation: the cats lying on keyboards in today’s photos have direct predecessors in the Middle Ages!

Cats were not only physically present in manuscripts but also appeared in miniatures (illustrations) and marginalia (drawings on the edges of pages). The most popular motif of cat “iconography” in marginalia was a scene where a monkey feeds a cat. Artists often depicted these scenes as a parody of nativity images: a kitten swaddled in a manger while one or a pair of monkeys hover above it.

Cats also made their way into the workspaces of saints. In a 16th-century Book of Hours from Bruges, while Saint Matthew is writing the Gospel, a cat sits behind him with a silent reproach in its eyes, evidently waiting patiently for the work to end so that its owner might finally feed it.

The love for cats among monks and nuns was sometimes so intense that it provoked criticism. The Dominican friar John Bromyard, in his 14th-century sermon, addressed the monastic elite, reproaching them for their excessive fondness for cats. He wrote, “Cats, as the learned doctor says, can indeed rid our homes of parasites, but as life has shown, they cannot be trusted. I once heard of a fool who found that mice were eating his cheese in a wooden chest; so he placed a cat in the chest to protect the cheese. But what did the cat do? It ate not only the mice but also the cheese.”

So, was love stronger than prejudice? Despite the superstitions and myths about cats that formed on the pages of medieval encyclopedias, treatises, papal encyclicals, and eventually in popular oral culture, there is more evidence of love for cats. One only needs to look at the miniatures in medieval Books of Hours, where cats and their owners are depicted in affectionate embraces. This love for “dragons above the clouds” in the Middle Ages united East and West, clergy and peasants alike, just as it unites us today. The notion of unrelenting cruelty towards cats in the Middle Ages is more of a myth than a historical reality.

When most people think about the work of archaeologists, they imagine the search for ancient settlements or burial mounds, the discovery of golden Scythian ornaments, Trypillian ceramics, or Sarmatian weapons. Rarely do they consider the study of animal skeletons. Yet, this is precisely the focus of zooarchaeology, a very young but rapidly progressing field of study.

Zooarchaeologists focus on the remains of animals found during excavations. Interestingly, they are not primarily interested in dinosaurs or the search for semi-mythical creatures but rather in species that lived in historical periods and coexisted with humans.

Imagine removing even a single species from the history of our planet, say, the horse, and consider how differently history might have unfolded. In ancient times, the absence of horses would have made interregional contact more difficult and slowed the exchange of information, thereby hindering the development of civilization. If a ruler had left the capital for more than three months, the likelihood of a coup would have been very high. Consequently, states would have been smaller, and small empires tend to be more brutal. Without a mobile army to suppress rebellions at the borders, rulers would resort to terror to ensure that uprisings did not occur again soon. These are just a few examples. It is nearly impossible to imagine life in a world without horses.

This is exactly the type of complex question that zooarchaeology addresses. This field of study explores how the animal world and humanity have coexisted and influenced each other over millennia.

The first professionals in this field explored animals in agriculture, examining which species humans domesticated in different eras. Today, zooarchaeology also helps to study the impact of humans on ecosystems, the connection between animals and climate, and, most importantly, what we can do to protect the environment from irreversible changes.

Humans have always been clever and resourceful predators, inevitably impacting their environment. Homo erectus and the earliest representatives of Homo sapiens were on par with other predators: even if they harmed the environment, it was no more than, say, a tiger. Much also depended on the conditions in which they had to survive. The more favorable the environment, the more impact the predator could have. Imagine a cat landing on an island and encountering weaker competitors and easy prey — the local fauna would not fare well. Ancient humans were often like such cats, frequently dominating certain areas.

However, what began to happen from the late Paleolithic period is of particular interest to zooarchaeologists. It was then that humans began using more sophisticated weapons, mastered the most effective hunting methods, and started to change the landscapes of entire continents.

It is important to note that many people still hold the stereotype of the bon sauvage or noble savage: the belief that ancient people lived in harmony and unity with nature. This view is often expressed about Australian Aborigines or indigenous peoples of the Americas. Unfortunately, I must disappoint you. Firstly, they were not as wild and primitive as often portrayed: Australians mastered seafaring even earlier than Europeans and were generally intelligent and inventive. Secondly, due to this inventiveness, they significantly (and sometimes drastically) altered the ecosystems in which they lived. Australian Aborigines had no competitors in their area in terms of intellect and hunting skills, leading them to exterminate many animals. One of their hunting methods was to set vegetation on fire. Have you guessed why the contemporary Australian bush — the shrubby environment of the continent — is so prone to fires? About 60,000 years ago, the ancestors of Australian Aborigines practiced widespread burning of local forests. This shaped ecosystems that adapted to such fires.

The same occurred in North America: the Clovis culture, during its 300-year existence 12,000 years ago, completely destroyed many species, fundamentally altering human history. However, it is not fair to blame ancient peoples for being insufficiently environmentally aware. Such a stage in human development was predictable and inevitable. Remember, humans are skillful predators, and for a predator, dominating competitors and taking everything from the environment is natural.

However, there is a unique trait that sets us apart from other hunters. Unlike, say, a lion, humans are capable of reflecting on their actions and questioning whether they are doing the right thing. Imagine if, at some point, lions had eaten all humans and wiped our population off the planet. It’s unlikely they would lament, “What a pity, humans were so nice!” In contrast, humans, especially modern ones, have come to understand that despite their negative impact on the environment, they need to reduce this impact and protect vulnerable species.

This is where zooarchaeology comes into play with its studies of the past of these species. First and foremost, it helps determine how populations of various animals fluctuated, where they were widespread, and how humanity influenced all of this. For example, right now, with Dr. Oleksandr Kovalchuk and Tyt Volynskyi, we are researching the fauna of modern Ukraine — the species that our ancestors hunted the most. This is part of the project “Valuable Animal Species of Ukraine’s Fauna According to Archaeological Materials: Taxonomic Composition, Population Dynamics, and Spatial Distribution.” Of course, the phrase “valuable species” in the title is somewhat outdated and underscores a consumerist attitude towards nature. However, it is appropriate when talking about the past. After all, for ancient people, a bison, for example, was more valuable and necessary for survival than a water vole. Valuable species had a hard time because humans often reduced or even wiped out their populations.

Research shows that the most valuable species for people in the lands of Ukraine were hoofed animals and predators, diurnal and nocturnal birds, and sturgeon fish. Specifically, until the Bronze Age, there was active hunting of the eagle owl in Ukraine, which most likely had significant ritual importance. During the Iron Age, they had an easier time, but diurnal predators, especially eagles, buzzards, and kites, began to be persecuted. During the times of Kyivan Rus, there was a lot of hunting for the Eurasian goshawk. Also, the white-tailed eagle was always considered particularly valuable for some reason, yet it managed to adapt and remained quite numerous until the 20th century when these birds began to be systematically hunted in Soviet times.

Observing an ecosystem without comparing it to the past does not provide us with enough information about its normal state. For example, there is currently a debate about the great cormorant — a bird that lives in colonies and settles near the sea and also along the Dnipro and Buh rivers, consuming quite a lot of fish. Fishermen working on these rivers are very unhappy about this and insist that cormorants should be culled. Their argument is that the mere presence of this bird on the rivers is an anomaly; they claim that the birds have moved far from the sea due to man-made reservoirs. However, zooarchaeologists know that the great cormorant has always moved up the Dnipro and Buh during warming periods, even when there were no reservoirs. Therefore, this is not an anomaly that should be eradicated and forgotten but a reality of the local environment, no matter how unprofitable and unpleasant it may be for some.

There are also contrasting stories where we perceive certain species as native, although they do not belong to our ecosystem at all. For instance, the pheasant may seem quite “ours” to many. There is a belief that the ancestors of pheasants lived on Ukrainian territory 2.5 million years ago, and therefore this species is native to our fauna and should be protected. However, after collecting research materials, I realized that the pheasant is a species introduced by humans, probably in the 18th century. Its homeland is the Caucasus, but it could have been brought to Ukraine as semi-domesticated birds from the Mediterranean or Central Europe. Although there is data suggesting that pheasants were found in antiquity, among these remains, one bone does not lend itself to analysis, one turned out to be a duck bone, another a falcon bone, and yet another belonged to a small chicken. Thus, all those identified as “pheasants” were various other birds. If so, it turns out that the pheasant is just as non-native to our territory as, for example, the chestnut. One way or another, they displace “our” (scientifically, autochthonous) species. Therefore, before worrying about preserving pheasant populations, it is worth investigating the degree of their impact on the ecosystem.

There are species that have relatively recently arrived in our territories and pose a threat to local wildlife. We call them invasive species. Some of these species enter new environments on their own, while others are introduced by humans, often due to gross negligence. For instance, jellyfish appeared in the Dnipro likely because aquarium enthusiasts released them into the river. Some insects or snails travel long distances with grain, reproduce in new areas, and then can harm crops. The rose-ringed parakeet is also gradually spreading — this clever and strong bird competes successfully with many other species. Interestingly, it provides an example of the delayed effect of introduced species: nowadays, this parrot seems quite common in the Mediterranean region, but its presence in Chernivtsi raises concerns. In fact, the rose-ringed parakeet is not native to Europe at all — it was brought from India by the troops of Alexander the Great 2,300 years ago. Currently, we do not know what to do with such species — we are merely studying and determining which animals are “ours” and truly need protection and which are alien to the ecosystem.

So, what can science do to preserve “our” species?

First, it can help restore their populations. By studying remains, we know where these species lived and whether their distribution was natural. If, for instance, we want to restore the saiga or the steppe eagle, archaeological finds will tell us where they used to live and where they should be reintroduced. It is also important to know the natural population size, as not all species need to be numerous — some are rare by nature, such as the demoiselle crane. Although it is listed in the Red Data Book, its finds have always been few, especially compared to a similar species, the common crane.

Second, we can predict certain changes in populations to find ways to protect them. Here, for example, we can combine climatology with zooarchaeology. Climatology studies climate as a system that includes plants and animals, and changes in this system involve not only temperature fluctuations but also the appearance or disappearance of species. For example, the great bustard is listed in the Red Data Book of Ukraine — its numbers are relatively high during cold periods and decrease during warm periods. However, as the planet becomes increasingly hot, this temperature change adds extra pressure on the population of these birds. Therefore, we should be more attentive to the great bustard — it is not adapted to new, hotter climate conditions.

I hope that now when you hear the word “archaeology,” you will associate it a bit more with animals and their conservation. Studying the past of animals and understanding humanity’s role in the extinction of some species can be the first step toward restoring vulnerable populations. And zooarchaeologists are taking these steps, paving the way for animal protectors.

There is nothing beautiful about watching a fish fight for its life and slowly die in plain sight.

You have probably seen this before. A trendy boutique, beauty salon, notary’s office, or coffee shop. On the table sits a small, round glass bowl filled with clear water. At the bottom, a few decorative stones, a plastic flower, or even nothing at all. Inside, a goldfish swims endlessly in circles, occasionally gulping air from the surface. What is wrong with this picture? Just about everything.

The very idea of using a living creature purely as decoration is deeply questionable from both ethical and aesthetic standpoints. Few would consider pinning a live cat to a wall or adorning a Christmas tree with hamsters. But fish, as we have come to see, are not regarded in the same way as other animals: they are dispensable. As a result, they can be placed in conditions where they cannot live, just survive for a limited time. Moreover, the only way a fish can communicate that it finds these conditions unbearable is to flip belly-up and die. 

The “serenity” of a fish endlessly circling its bowl is an illusion. Fish are cold-blooded, meaning they conserve energy and do not waste it on unnecessary movement. Under normal conditions, fish swim to migrate, reproduce, interact with other fish in a group, escape danger, or find food. In a bowl, it swims instinctively in search of an exit from its invisible prison. Swimming, it breathes intensely; levels of oxygen dissolved in the water drop, and the fish gulps the upper layer to avoid suffocating. It feels quite like a fish out of water.

A bowl of water is not an aquarium; it is just a bowl of water. Professional aquariums usually include five essential components absent in the container described above:

• Substrate (stones or sand)
• Live aquatic plants
• Lighting, often combined with heating
• An aerator (the device that creates bubbles)
• A filter for water purification

These are the necessary components that bring the aquarium closer to the natural environment in which fish are used to living. Even with these features, the aquarium is still a very limited space (in nature, fish usually live in much larger reservoirs), and its conditions are far from adequate.

Aquarists consider a lot of aspects: fish native to the Amazon and South Asia require different water acidity, different soils, light, temperature, water volume per fish, and so on. They also need different food: not everyone likes stinky crustacean powder. Of course, aquarium fish have changed their habits over decades of captivity and breeding, but there are no conditions that are completely suitable for each and every one of them.

For example, everyone knows guppies — small livebearer fish native to South America. In the wild, they live in overgrown, warm bodies of water with little to no current and are popularly considered “universal.”  The logic goes: they are low-maintenance, you can gift them to a five-year-old for their birthday, toss them into a 20-liter aquarium, and let them figure it out — they’ll adapt, maybe even breed. Next, someone will add tiger barbs — fish that, in nature, live in streams, love clean, oxygen-rich water, and need space to dart around. Then they will throw in an ancistrus so it can cling amusingly to the glass (though it will not live long without specialized plant-based food). And to top it off, a pair of angelfish — because they are so beautiful. Never mind that an aquarium of that size would be cramped for even one angelfish. But the fish swim, eat, live.

How do they feel? Probably like passengers crammed into a train compartment: spending a single night there might be bearable, but imagine a month or a year…

It is no surprise that fish often jump out of such “aquariums” and die. It is not suicide — it is their instinctive attempt to escape an adverse environment.

By their psychological makeup, most fish are hardcore survivalists. In their natural environment, they face floods, droughts, food shortages, diseases, predator infestations, and they have to be able to adapt to all of them. Wild cousins of the goldfish — crucian carp — hibernate under ice, burrow into the silt in summer, survive long periods out of the water, and are quite promiscuous eaters. But for no species of fish is it natural to spend most or all of their time in a small volume of stagnant water, without substrate or plants. So, while people might relax and relieve stress watching fish dart around in a jar, the fish themselves are stressed (yes, fish stress is scientifically proven) and suffering.

To avoid torturing your fish, start by reading a book on aquaristics. I emphasize: a book, not a Google search, since searching for anything related to aquarium fish online will bring up hundreds of ads from pet stores and manufacturers. There, you will read that anything is suitable for any kind of fish — just make sure to buy that “anything” from that specific brand or store.

A good book on aquaristics might sour your mood: you will need to step out of your comfort zone to follow its recommendations. Properly setting up and maintaining a humanely (towards fish) equipped aquarium is a long and tedious job.

Imagine needing a special kit to test the chemical composition of water! The fish species you are eager to combine will turn out to be incompatible, and simple solutions like plastic plants will be unacceptable. Even if you buy a spacious enough aquarium, it will likely become too small in a year as the fish grow. Tossing a bunch of colorful fish into a tiny volume of water and making them sparkle to liven up your home will not work. You would be better off with a plasma screen and a screensaver.

Companies and professionals who design aquariums for aesthetic purposes often care more about looks than the well-being of the fish. In contrast, in the broader context, being a professional aquarist is not as much about arranging pebbles according to feng shui but about ethics and responsibility.

“Remember that at the core of this hobby, we are ultimately responsible for the well-being of living creatures, and we should always act in their best interest… Even if other [aquarists] do not…,” reflects Canadian aquarist Derek Tustin. Whether aquariums are ethical in principle is a serious discussion, with animal rights advocates and fish breeders as obvious opponents; however, by accepting criticism and understanding societal trends in how animals are treated, professional aquarist associations are declaring as their priority the welfare of fish and ensuring they live in dignified conditions. For example, our own All-Ukrainian Association of Aquarists, although primarily focused on competitions, lists as one of its goals “promoting the humane treatment of animals and providing consultative assistance in creating optimal living conditions, as close to natural as possible.”

(Just in case, a reminder: “liberating” aquarium fish and other aquatic creatures by releasing them into ponds or rivers is very dangerous. It can harm not only the fish, turtles, and snails themselves but also entire ecosystems. Not only exotic but also native animals and plants should not be released after being kept in an aquarium. But that is a topic for another discussion.)

If someone takes on the responsibility of caring for a piece of aquatic habitat with its specific inhabitants, they should fully commit. This commitment is expensive and exhausting, ultimately limiting the community of aquarists to true enthusiasts and professionals who know what they’re doing. And the owner of a jar with a goldfish should be firmly told that they’re slowly killing their pet in plain sight—and there’s nothing beautiful about it.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.

I am often asked about the lives of medieval people: what they ate and drank, how they treated illnesses, what made them happy, how they loved, and what they sought for happiness. However, no one has ever asked about the lives of medieval dogs. Did they buy them soft cushions and toys? Did they search for unknown delicacies to feed them? In short, was the life of medieval dogs significantly harder than that of modern dogs?

In my opinion, the answer to this question can reveal as much about medieval society as the study of exclusively “human” history. A society’s attitude towards animals reflects its core values. Therefore, I propose delving into the complex history of medieval dogs.

This history is complicated not by a lack of sources—there are many, and they are very diverse. The complexity arises when we try to separate the symbolic from the real. Dogs in medieval records appear not only as real flesh-and-blood animals but also as symbols of friendship, loyalty, civilization, and even savagery and envy.

Dogs were an integral part of medieval households. Ancient Romans also kept dogs for protection and companionship. Numerous mosaics bearing the inscription “Cave Canem” (Latin for “beware of the dog”) at the entrances of homes indicate this constant presence of dogs in the ancient world.

In the Middle Ages, however, guarding was only a secondary task compared to hunting. All feudal nobility had to participate in regular hunts, during which dogs were essential helpers. Detailed accounts of hunts and hunting dogs can be found in Gaston III de Foix’s treatise The Book of the Hunt. The count began writing this treatise on May 1, 1387, a few days before the Feast of the True Cross, which marked the beginning of the hunting season. Gaston III de Foix spent two years writing this unique treatise. The book contains 85 chapters and magnificent miniature illustrations. In one miniature, the artist depicts scenes of everyday care for hunting dogs: washing paws and bodies, trimming nails, checking teeth, and so on. The author discusses the animals hunted and those used in hunting, not limiting himself to formal descriptions but also addressing their psychology.

Hunting dogs were much more than just hunting aides; they were friends in life and death. This is confirmed by medieval tombstones—gisants. Rarely were they without dogs curled up at the feet of their owners. For example, on the tombstone of the Archbishop of Canterbury (1381–1396), a dog with a precious collar sits faithfully at the feet of the master. Its eyes are open, and its head raised as if still guarding the peace of the archbishop.

Collars in the Middle Ages were not just items of material culture or decoration. They had symbolic meaning. In the miniature “The Restrained and the Unrestrained” from the Dutch manuscript “Deeds and Sayings of the Ancient Romans,” peasants and aristocracy feast at two tables. Although the miniature adorned an ancient treatise, it illustrates the realities of the late Middle Ages. Peasants drink, eat, and embrace unrestrainedly, while the nobility dines decorously and nobly. Observing this instructive scene is a dog standing between the two different tables as if comparing the two life strategies. The fact that the dog wears a collar symbolizes the tamed human nature rising above instincts.

In comparison, just look at the dogs fighting over a bone in numerous late medieval and Renaissance “Last Suppers.” In the “Last Supper” of 1527 by Dutch master Pieter Coecke van Aelst, two dogs fight over a bone at Judas’ feet. One has white and red fur, reminiscent of Judas’ red hair in the painting (red-haired people were often considered traitors in the Middle Ages). These dogs symbolize the “low” and “animal” nature, including that of Judas, and thus wear no collars.

In the Middle Ages, a hunting dog could even become a saint, albeit inadvertently. This was the fate of a greyhound who, after a tragic death, was transformed into Saint Guinefort. The Dominican monk Stephen of Bourbon recounts this story with evident disapproval in his treatise On Superstitions. Once, parents and a nurse left an infant unattended. During this time, a giant snake slithered towards the cradle, intending to kill the child. The faithful dog guarding the heir attacked and killed the snake. When the nurse returned, she saw blood on the floor, the dog’s muzzle, the cradle, and the child. So she made a hasty conclusion and began yelling that the dog had killed the child. The enraged master rushed in and immediately killed the dog. Only afterward did they realize that the baby was peacefully sleeping in the cradle, and the remains of the snake were on the floor.

“Realizing then the true circumstances and deeply regretting the unjust killing of such a useful dog, they threw him into a well in front of the estate, piled a large heap of stones on top, and planted trees to commemorate the event. Now, by God’s will,” wrote Stephen of Bourbon with righteous satisfaction, “the estate is destroyed, its inhabitants have left, and the area has become desolate. But the peasants, having heard about the dog’s behavior and how he was killed for a praiseworthy deed, visited this place, honored the dog as a martyr, prayed to him when they were ill or in need, and many fell victim to the temptations and illusions of the devil, who thus misled people. But above all, women with sick or weak children would come to this place.” Despite the Catholic Church’s efforts to eradicate this superstition, it was unsuccessful. The custom of coming and praying to “Saint Guinefort” for health and recovery for oneself or one’s child persisted until the late 20th century.

While men preferred hunting breeds like greyhounds, alaunts, mastiffs, and spaniels, women often kept Maltese lapdogs. Unlike hunting dogs that lived outside under the care of designated servants, lapdogs (and, from the 16th century, pugs and Pekingese) lived in the private spaces of their mistresses. Sometimes they were so close that the ladies suffered from fleas as much as the dogs themselves.

Such pets appear in contemporary art as symbols of marital fidelity. Perhaps the most famous is Jan van Eyck’s The Arnolfini Portrait, where a Maltese lapdog stands between the husband and wife in the foreground, symbolizing fidelity as the foremost marital virtue. Its fur is almost the same color as Giovanni Arnolfini’s woolen cloak, but the dog stands closer to the woman, linking them together.

Ladies cared for their pets. Geoffrey Chaucer humorously criticizes an abbess in The Canterbury Tales who fed her dogs roast meat and white bread—products that were inaccessible to most medieval people.

Thus, not much has changed since medieval times in the attitude towards dogs. They accompanied their owners everywhere; they were given beautiful collars and fed the tastiest food. Gaston III de Foix boasted, like other dog owners throughout the centuries, “I speak to my dogs as I would to a person […], and they understand and fulfill my will better than any man in my household.” Today, we no longer expect our will to be carried out by servants, but we still believe that no one will understand us better than our canine friends.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.

Before Pixel, our pit bull, entered our lives, I had first a poodle and then a Dogue de Bordeaux. I never experienced the kind of intolerance from people toward either of these dogs that I have faced with the pit bull. Does this breed really deserve the aggression directed at it by society? Sometimes I feel like I need a T-shirt that says, “Don’t bully my bully!”

It was 2019. I saw a photo of a not-yet-Pixel in a Facebook post: a friend wrote that someone had abandoned a pit bull on the highway, and for three days, they hadn’t been able to retrieve him—he wouldn’t let anyone get close. My friend was searching for someone to foster the dog after they managed to catch him. I convinced my husband that we could take the dog in for a few days. Why not? What could possibly go wrong?

Before Pixel, neither my husband nor I had any experience coexisting with pit bulls. We had heard the same things everyone else had: their jaws have several tons of pressure, they’re aggressive, and they’re “fighting dogs.” I don’t know how we managed to push aside these stereotypes in our own heads and decide to take in a stray pit bull, but we did it.

Some people managed to catch the dog on the highway and bring him to the vet. So, my husband spent five hours a day sitting next to Pixel, “holding his paw” while he received IV treatments. It was then that their extraordinary bond started to form.

I remember when we first brought Pixel home, my mother was lying on the bed, flat on her back, her hands covering her eyes, and wailing, “No! No! If you keep this dog, you’ll never see me here again! It’s either him or me!” She was terrified that this “fighting dog” would tear us all apart, especially the children. She desperately questioned why we would bring a huge dog off the street rather than adopt a cute little puppy. When I brushed it off, saying I didn’t want to deal with puppy messes, my son backed her up, “Better puddles of pee around the house than puddles of blood!” Yes, it was difficult for all of them to get past their prejudices about pit bulls. But Pixel was the one who took the initiative and won their hearts.

The decision to keep him permanently wasn’t easy. He was a dog with no known history (or, rather, with too much unknown history), displaying animal aggression and numerous traumas. He was scared to pass through doorways, feared any raised hand, wouldn’t let us take his measurements (for winter clothes), didn’t know how to play with toys, and wouldn’t let anyone touch his neck. He needed an enormous amount of understanding, an approach to his wounded soul, and intensive training with dog handlers. And we took on that challenge.

We adapted our lives to suit him—he deserved this. We chose a house in Irpin specifically with Pixel in mind: it had a large, enclosed yard where he could run freely (because of his animal aggression, walks around town were nearly impossible; managing 34 kilograms of muscle was rather difficult, especially for me). We changed our lifestyle and work schedules to ensure that we could run with him daily deep in the forest, where no one else was around.

Despite his animal aggression, Pixel was not dangerous to people. He was the gentlest dog I had ever known—intelligent and empathetic. And his animal aggression was directed only at larger ones; he left smaller ones alone. He even protected a gaggle of goslings he had been given to care for. He was so gentle with Latochka, the Chihuahua who joined our family in 2020… And he was absolutely fascinated by the world of toys, treasuring each gift he received! Pixel never destroyed a single toy in his life; instead, he would lick them and “care” for them. Yes, he was very peculiar, but also truly incredible (I write “was” because, in 2021, Pixel did not survive a surgical procedure and passed away on the operating table)!

What truly struck me, however, was the attitude of others toward Pixel. Almost every walk we took was accompanied by hostile comments about the dog and aggressive remarks aimed at me as his owner. Every discussion about pit bulls on social media where I tried to defend the breed led to a barrage of hate in the comments. I could guess where it was coming from.

I would come across posts that portrayed pit bulls solely as killer dogs. For example, one media outlet used a photo collage showing a pit bull apparently snarling at a child. The boy, terrified, covered his face with his hands, and the pit bull’s teeth were almost touching his face… In reality, the designers had used a picture of pit bulls at play, cut out the image of one, and placed it beside the child. A completely manipulative collage!

Whenever Ukrainian publications mentioned a dog attacking a person, regardless of the breed, the accompanying image was often of a pit bull. Things like this infuriated me! I highlighted these manipulations on my social media in an attempt to dispel the stereotype about the breed. I understood that this was why people on the street reacted so aggressively to Pixel and me, why they called the police on us.

But my readers didn’t want to hear about these manipulations. They said: “But pit bulls are ALWAYS attacking children. Just look at what the American press writes!”

Even the leisure options that were marketed as dog-friendly were out of reach for us. People were afraid of pit bulls. We never let Pixel off his leash unless we were deep in an empty forest, and we always kept a muzzle on him. But even that didn’t help. I felt constantly harassed, no matter where we went.

Only elderly grandmothers, who were disconnected from the continuous media barrage about “killer dogs,” treated Pixel kindly. I remember one time when we were walking downtown, and an old lady, seeing Pixel from a distance, exclaimed, “Ohhh, what a sweet doggy! Such a good boy!”—and came straight over to him. And Pixel went to her, and they hugged and kissed each other: a “toothy crocodile” and an adorable old lady.

When the war began, I temporarily moved to the United States, where I received a job offer at a university. With me was Latka—the Chihuahua we had brought from Ukraine. But his longing for the pit bull was showing: the more of a dog there is, the better.

Despite all of Pixel’s quirks (quirks due to his complicated past that remained largely a mystery to us), I realized that pit bulls were the best breed for me personally. They are intelligent and active, loyal and a bit goofy, straightforward without any deceit.

After a month of searching, Burya (Storm), a gray “half bull” (so-called because she’s half the size of Pixel), entered our lives.

The first thing I did then was take a service dog instructor course. In the U.S., there are three categories of assistance dogs: emotional support dogs (which don’t require any formal training and can be of any breed), service dogs (like guide dogs), and psychiatric service dogs. The latter two must possess specific qualities and go through a three-part training program. This includes general obedience, then something akin to a city behavior course, and, finally, specialized tasks based on the needs of the person they are helping. By the age of five months, Burya had learned the entire necessary program and later successfully passed the exam.

Why did I decide to do this? Remembering my experience with Pixel in Ukraine, I wanted to prevent any issues with the dog on account of her breed. After all, when a dog wears a red harness and a service dog badge, people look at that first rather than the breed.

However, we never ended up needing the harness or badge—there was simply no need. The difference in attitude toward pit bulls between the U.S. and Ukraine is striking. Here, there have been ongoing projects for years aimed at overcoming stereotypes, and they work! Yes, not all states allow pit bulls. But in those where they are permitted, they’re treated just like any other dog. I lived in Colorado, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, so I can discuss them specifically.

First of all, dogs here don’t wear muzzles, regardless of the breed. You can’t buy a muzzle at a chain pet supermarket because it’s not in demand. They are probably available in specialty shops, but I’ve never seen one personally—neither for sale nor on the street.

Secondly, keeping dogs on a leash is a universal requirement for all breeds. There’s no distinction that says, “These breeds must be leashed or muzzled because they’re ‘killers,’ but these breeds are fine.” The rules apply to everyone. You can’t even let your dog off-leash in the forest. The only exception is specially designated dog parks, which are available everywhere and easily accessible.

Dog parks are divided into zones for “gentle” and “rough” dogs. Bulky pit bulls can freely play in an environment with other similarly built dogs without the risk of trampling anyone… The parks are well-equipped, with toys, benches for owners, water, and some dog exercise equipment. So yes, even though the rule is that dogs must always be leashed, there’s an alternative in the form of such environments.

Thirdly, the fact that you have a pit bull does not change how people treat you. No one grabs their children in fear, avoids you during a walk, or pulls their own dogs away—instead, everyone is eager to hug and pet Burya. The attitude toward her is wonderful! Everywhere pets are allowed, she is welcomed. There’s no bias against her because of the shape of her head or her overall phenotype.

Shelters in the U.S. are overflowing with pit bulls. I became curious about why this is. Shelter workers explained that the breed is very popular among people with limited financial means. So, these dogs often end up in shelters when their owners, for instance, cannot afford to keep them (it’s extremely expensive in America). Only after seeing how popular the breed is here did I understand why there are so many reports in the American press—often cited by pit bull critics in Ukraine—about attacks by pit bulls. It’s simple: if Labradors were just as popular, shelters would be full of them, and they’d be the ones making headlines for most attacks on humans.

Regarding the term “fighting breed,” there’s actually no such classification in dog breed taxonomy. Any dog involved in fights can be considered a “fighting dog.” Historically, pit bulls have indeed been used for this purpose more often. Initially, the ancestors of modern pit bulls were used for baiting large animals—bulls, bears, and others—a cruel form of entertainment. They were ideal for this task because they are strong and resilient. When this “entertainment” was banned in the 1830s, dog owners shifted to dog fighting. Over time, pit bulls were selectively bred to excel in these new roles: they were made even stronger, with a high pain tolerance, exceptional endurance, and loyalty to their owners—humans needed to be able to pull the dog away from the heat of a fight without getting bitten.

A dog is not inherently a “fighting” dog. It is people who make them fighters. Any dog can be turned aggressive. Similarly, those same people can make a dog into a helper, a caregiver, a nanny, or a guardian. Pour love into any breed or mix, and you’ll have a “kissing dog.” Abuse any breed or mix, break its psyche, drag it into fights, and you’ll end up with a “fighting dog.”

Pit bulls are simply dogs that have been dealt a bad hand. They’ve persistently been made into “fighters.” But that’s not in their true nature. So why don’t we turn them into kissing dogs instead? All it takes is patience, love, and freedom from stereotypical thinking.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.

20% of Ukraine’s protected areas have suffered due to the war. Some territories—valuable ecosystems, wetlands ravaged by tanks, and burned forests in the Donetsk and Luhansk regions that have been devastated by the russians since 2014—are lost forever. However, in most cases, nature has the ability to heal itself without the need for any extra conditions. The key is not to interfere.

Our common task is to assess the environmental damage caused by the fighting and hold the invader accountable with a fair bill.

In the early months of the war, we asked ourselves, “What’s next?” We cannot always stop a missile that burns forests, destroys land, and pollutes soil and water. Clearly, such incidents will continue. What can be done about it?

We studied the history of wars and reparations. The most recent case we looked into was the Iraq-Kuwait war. In that instance, 10% of the reparations were designated as environmental. However, these mostly concerned losses of natural resources—how much natural gas was burned, how many mineral deposits were destroyed, and so on. We became curious as to why there was no accounting for biodiversity loss—plants, animals, and other living organisms. History has shown that there was no proper recording of environmental crimes nor a method for calculating them. This is why we are starting from scratch.

There are several critical steps necessary to document the damage and hold russia accountable.

First, we need to monitor and catalog Ukraine’s biodiversity meticulously. Currently, we largely rely on outdated methods, but with the help of our Finnish colleagues, we are modernizing our approach. This is one of the key reforms required for Ukraine’s accession to the European Union.

Specifically, we aim to implement satellite monitoring that will allow us to track each animal rather than estimating numbers based on sightings and plugging those figures into a formula.

Second, it is crucial to document the environmental crimes that have already occurred thoroughly. Since the first days of the full-scale invasion, the State Environmental Inspectorate has been recording each crime with on-site inspections, when possible, along with photographs and all necessary evidence. The collected data is being uploaded to the EcoZagroza — official resource of the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources of Ukraine. You can find more information here: https://ecozagroza.gov.ua/enEkoZahroza app, which any Ukrainian can contribute to.

The approaches used by the State Environmental Inspectorate are much broader than those employed by law enforcement when investigating criminal liability. There is a stark difference between proving a crime and evaluating the damage done. For instance, how can we calculate the value of a tree that has been growing for 80 years?

However, it is important to note that a full accounting of the damages will only be possible after demining efforts are completed—currently, more than 25% of Ukrainian territory is mined and in need of inspection.

In February, Ukrainian prosecutors officially notified russian military personnel of their suspected involvement in committing ecocide in Ukraine for the first time. Holding russia accountable as a whole, however, is a matter of international law. On April 2, the Register of Damage for Ukraine, which includes an environmental component, came into effect, with over 40 countries supporting the creation of this “international tribunal.”

As we continue to gather evidence of russia’s crimes against the environment, we must also address institutional changes within Ukraine. One of the most critical steps is to draft and pass a law on state climate policy, something Ukraine has lacked thus far. This policy would enable the launch of an emissions trading system similar to that in EU countries. Additionally, we have supported the European Commission’s initiative to increase the share of renewable energy to 2030. Ukraine has unique territories, such as the Chornobyl Exclusion Zone, where green energy projects can be developed on unused land, gradually turning Ukraine into an energy hub.

We are already shaping the future of Ukraine’s economy and the country’s ability to recover after the war. These issues cannot be postponed. Therefore, we must implement European standards for the use of natural resources while meticulously documenting everything for which russia will have to pay soon.

The texts in the Columns section reflect only the author’s opinion and do not necessarily align with the position of UAnimals media’s editorial team.

It all started with the smallest thing: it all started with ants. It also started with the fact that literally every day, almost from the day Darusia was born, I have paid and still pay a lot of attention to all living things. It was methodical: I wanted to give my child the opportunity to observe the world, not just consume it in a hurry. So before she could even walk well, Darusia was already tracking ants, leaning on the trunk of our old apple tree for safety.

At first, we watched together as the hard-working ant was eagerly carrying something to its home or simply fleeing from danger into the deep cracks of the thirsty ground, and then Darusia would hover over those cracks day after day without me to see at least one more.

We would admire when we were lucky enough to see ants in the mating season in late spring, with wings! That’s how I explained the miracle: they were brides. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know those facts about ant life until I had to explain it. I had to learn!

Darusia at the age of one (or even two) actually had no idea who brides were or that even ants could be brides, but never mind. As since then, and even at the age of five, she has been fascinated by the fuss of any ant swarm. Even without wings. And when we come across the winged ones once in a while, Darusia says that they are brides, mum. That’s how she explains it! And she still follows the ants — she moves her finger in front of them as if drawing a path.

She used to love it just as much when an ant climbed up her arm or down her leg. In those moments, however, I had to make sure that no one nearby lamented and shouted ‘Oh, my God’ to the child, actually instilling perhaps the greatest fear. I could not allow someone to so categorically destroy the trust in the world with which a child comes to know it and thanks to which she can feel its fullness now and always afterwards. This trust is so easy to frighten away! And parents have the ultimate power to control it — to support it or vice versa.

I must admit that it was a great effort for me not to rush to the child and immediately sweep that ant off her hand! No, no. You just have to be careful, daughter, just don’t make any sudden movements.

And then, receiving her mother’s approval, Dara literally froze, staring at the ant, falling in love with each of them. She looked at me to see if I was also fascinated, and then looked at the ants again; at me — at the ants; at me — and then quickly back at them, so as not to lose sight of them. She silently showed me with her index finger to keep silent and watched them climb again.

And later there were worms, snails, crickets, May beetles, frogs, fish, every bird, chicken or squirrel — it didn’t matter: absolutely every animal that Darusia had ever seen. Meanwhile, I just had to feed her curiosity. It’s not very difficult! But it is work. And as a result, there were even bees that tickled with their golden wings. Then I was already protesting! But Darusia finally told me to calm down and just not to wave my hands too much. Then it worked. Yes, to be fair, it doesn’t always work, but Darusia and I know that nothing bites, pecks or scratches just like that, so we don’t get angry with the animals. Оh! It happened, the child used to regularly come to Mrs mouse’s hole to ask how it was doing, even though I am terrified of rodents myself!

I can hardly even pick up a slug. Let alone a frog in my palm! But every time Darusia is willing to do this, I turn off my prejudices (if it’s safe) and then turn on her trust. Or should I say mine? I had it once, too.

For reasons of common sense, I explain that it is better not to take an unknown beetle for the sake of your safety and the safety of the unknown beetle, but also not to do it any harm. We have no right, just as we have no right to kill. And today Darusia is already asking why if you kill a person, you go to prison, but if you kill an animal, you don’t.

We have to pet the cat gently and peacefully so that it doesn’t hurt sometimes. You can feel pain, can’t you? Animals can, too, daughter. And you cannot grab the tail even out of great love, because even out of great love you can hurt them. Who better than parents to know this?

Until recently, Darusia dreamed of going to the circus — it was so interesting! She had been to the theatre twenty times, but never to the circus. And there is light music, acrobats, and bears walking on ropes, wow! I had to explain that animals are trained during rehearsals, which is cruel, unpleasant and painful; they, being hungry, are forced to do things that are completely unnatural for them for food for the entertainment of people who then sit in the stands and enjoy this violence. Do we want to be among those who sit in the stands? No? So we must refuse. We cannot and will not support this either with our presence or money.

If you don’t know the background, this universal Darusia’s love for animals may seem like some kind of unique innate gift on the Instagram reels. And it would be convenient to think so, but the truth is that one is not born with this knowledge. No value comes out of nowhere, not a single one. Any value has to be formed — and I am here to do it as a mother. And also to guide them gently through life, without projecting my fears or imposing categorical views. 

For instance, I am less sceptical that Darusia, with her already-formed empathy, could potentially refuse to eat meat, poultry and fish. We are a traditional Galician family with a certain cult of food. None of us are vegan or vegetarian yet, but at the age of five, the child explains out of love that she will not eat a rabbit because the rabbit wants to live. And the fish? And the fish must swim, of course, mum! And, anticipating your question: I’m not going to force her to do that.

And yesterday, when we were leaving kindergarten, the mother rushed to catch a butterfly for her children in the grass, but instead of being happy, Darusia started crying a lot, until I convincingly assured her that I would never do that again, honestly!

I was so ashamed.

I don’t think anyone in my life has taught me more than my children.

Yulia’s photo was taken by Halyna Kuchmanych

This problem is not immediately obvious, but its consequences can affect everyone. And we can all do something for fish.

Simply saying that there is a decrease in fish in Ukraine might sound like typical lamenting about the past when trees were taller and the grass was greener. It does not impress.

We could turn to statistics that show a decrease in the “stock” of fish as a natural resource. In the first two decades of independence, these “stocks” decreased by six times. Since then, according to the estimates of fish protection authorities, the situation has only worsened, with some formerly common fish species in our waters becoming rare or nearing extinction.

But I believe more in what I have seen with my own eyes. I’ve spent all my conscious life near Ukrainian water bodies, observing fish. An emptied river or lake, where life used to rage and splash, is unmistakable — like an uninhabited house or a deserted city.

Except for ichthyologists, environmental activists and avid sports fishermen, people are not very concerned about the decrease in the population of fish in the water, which is not surprising: humans and fish exist in different dimensions. Fish do not sing like birds, flutter like butterflies or entertain us like squirrels in the park. Even when we approach their environment, fish are only shadows, glimmers in the depths and circles on the surface to us.

I have long observed that most people’s associations with fish are primarily gastronomic. Try posting a photo of river fish on social media, and the comments will start pouring in: “fish soup, ‘taranka’ (dried fish) for beer, carp in sour cream, stuffed pike…” Other animals — even the “meat breed” mammals — are not automatically perceived as a future steak or roast. The silent death of a fish weighs so little that it is bought and brought to the kitchen still alive. By analogy with dehumanisation, we can say that fish as the most de-animalised creatures by humans. Even the meat of fish in Ukrainian is not called using a special term for it, like chicken or veal, but simply “fish” — no linguistic difference between alive and dead fish.

In the lives of connoisseurs of forshmak (a dish made of salty minced fish or meat) and sushi, nothing would change even if all the fish disappeared from the basins of the Dnieper, Dniester, Prut and both Bug rivers. Shops mostly sell imported fish. Even before the start of the full-scale war, the catch by Ukrainian fishermen satisfied only 15-20% of the demand. In 2022, industrial fishing in Ukraine decreased several times compared to 2021, so now the share of domestic fish in legal sales is negligible.

However, this decrease can be explained by the fact that fishing in the sea in the occupied territory is no longer included in the statistics, and in some regions, industrial fishermen don’t go out to sea due to hostilities. The chances of restoring fish populations in rivers and lakes due to reduced industrial fishing are not increasing significantly. That’s because other factors causing the decrease in fish populations haven’t disappeared; on the contrary, some have been added.

First of all, this is water pollution. In addition to industrial and animal husbandry emissions, pesticides, herbicides, fertilisers and waste, there are “products” of war — explosives, fuel and other atypical “chemicals.” In some cases, like recently in the Ternopil region, these cases are documented, but what’s happening to water bodies in the combat zone and the front-line strip is beyond our knowledge. It’s difficult to assess the damage from poisoning the Dnieper and the Black Sea due to the Kakhovka tragedy. On March 22, due to rocket hits on the Dnipro Dam, petroleum products were spilled into the Dnieper — so much that the environmental damage was estimated at 140 million hryvnias; although the Minister of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources of Ukraine Ruslan Strilets suggested that it could be much higher.

Fish are not the only victims of russia’s ecocide, but they are among the most vulnerable: they have nowhere to escape from poison. So, 40 years ago, several hundred kilometres of the Dniester died out due to waste emissions.

“Chemicals” kill fish in another way as well. Fertilisers from fields and gardens, entering rivers and reservoirs, cause explosive growth of microscopic algae — the water “blooms.” In such conditions, fish can’t breathe, they die and, decomposing, poison the water even more.

The second reason for fish loss is poaching. Even before the full-scale war, unofficial estimates suggested that poachers caught more fish than legal industrial fishermen. Penalties for illegal fishing in Ukraine are substantial, but the severity of the law is offset by its optional enforcement. Fishery officers don’t always manage to be everywhere and don’t always work conscientiously. Moreover, poaching tools are becoming more effective. The most despicable of them — the “electric rods” that kill everything alive in the water — were supplemented by cheap Chinese nets made of thin thread. This upgrade of the age-old method allows depleting water bodies of everything that swims, and poachers, unlike industrial fishermen and the State Agency of Fisheries, don’t care about population restoration.

Development and destruction of riverbanks also interfere with fish. Concrete embankments, sand extraction and artificial beaches where there used to be reedbeds. This strikes at places where fish live, especially where they breed. The ban on building on riverbanks is probably the most shamelessly ignored law in Ukraine. The ichthyofauna of a concreted water body becomes as impoverished as the vegetation of an asphalted yard.

Hydroelectric damming, which turned large rivers into lakes of almost stagnant water and stopped fish spawning migrations, is another complex topic. But hydroelectric power stations are being built even now — on small rivers in the Carpathians, where vulnerable, whimsical and rare fish species live: trout, grayling, Danube salmon. Their reproduction often depends on migration. The price of a bit of “green” energy is a dead river.

Companies damaging the ichthyofauna are sometimes forced to compensate for the damages — by stocking the water body with young fish. The trouble is that various fish species die, and mostly the so-called valuable ones (in terms of consumption and cooking) are stocked.

And then there are the introduced species. Within a few kilometres of your home, there’s probably a pond with reeds, water lilies and frogs. If you had gone scuba diving there several decades ago, you would have seen crucian carp, tench, pike and loach — fish species known in our area since Neanderthal times. Now it is home to the Asian silver carp, American channel catfish, Amur sleeper and the ubiquitous pest fish — the stone moroko. They are hardier and more prolific, so they rapidly displace local species.

Not only invasive fish species harm: water bodies are overgrown with Canadian waterweed, which is tellingly nicknamed the “water plague.” To clear the thickets, people introduce herbivorous and, again, Far Eastern fish, such as silver carp and grass carp. There’s also an “air plague”: the cormorant, once a seabird, has settled in rivers and lakes throughout Ukraine. In some languages, its name means “glutton” for a reason: the bird can eat up to a kilogram of fish per day.

Of course, for people who can’t tell a perch from a herring, the substitution of one fish species for another in rivers and lakes is a minor trouble. However, the disappearance of habitual biological species triggers a chain of changes that threaten ecosystems and the environment as a whole.

And finally, non-sport fishing. Fishing is one of the most widespread hobbies. It’s simple, accessible to everyone and can be relatively inexpensive. Although people fish mostly for excitement, relaxation and communion with nature, all the fish that have been caught are supposed to be taken home — if not for oneself, then for a neighbour’s cat. The person who comes back from fishing with a bag of catch is praised, while the one who returns empty-handed is laughed at.

There is a daily limit of permitted fish catch for amateur fishermen — three kilograms. This is another tradition: to measure fish in kilograms. However, a “kilo of crucian carp” can include dozens of undersized ones that will never spawn again. Or a couple of pregnant females — then instead of thousands of future fish, there will be “tasty pancakes with carp roe”. And then there are complaints that there’s been a lack of fish lately.

In spring and early summer, there’s a spawning ban, but it’s not universal (you can fish within populated areas from the shore with one rod), and there aren’t enough patrols to chase everyone attracted by the “spawning frenzy”. On many water bodies, fishery officers have never been seen. Of course, fishermen there won’t be bothered by either spawning bans or legally established minimum sizes of fish to keep. Moreover, modern high-tech fishing gear, as opposed to the old-school hook and float, allows catching more, especially small fish that haven’t had time to spawn.

“How much will they catch there!? Just a few tails,” they’ll say about a person with a fishing rod.

But when dozens of people take several individuals from a limited population every day, the time will soon come when it will not be able to reproduce. This is especially detrimental to ponds, lakes and small rivers, where fish cannot migrate from elsewhere.

In the civilised world, fishermen adhere to the “catch and release” principle. Caught fish are carefully removed from the hook and returned to the water if they are not severely injured. Somewhere this principle is applied voluntarily, while somewhere fishing is forbidden altogether. In combination with expensive licences and strict control, the “catch and release” principle makes amateur fishing less accessible to the masses and thus it protects fish.

In Ukraine, the “catch and release” culture is not very widespread yet, and even enforcing rules on fishermen is not very effective. So much depends on our goodwill.

If, while resting on the shore, you see someone fishing with nets or otherwise violating the rules, call the fisheries patrol. If you see someone dumping poisonous substances or waste into the water, throwing garbage or anything else, call the police.

If you fish, release your catch. If someone from your family or friends is fishing, encourage them to release rather than take home. The culture of perceiving fish as food, as always a legitimate and desirable trophy will not disappear instantly, but it can gradually become a thing of the past.

I’ve been passionate about fishing since childhood — it’s a hobby, a passion and a family tradition. It took me some time to embrace the “catch and release” culture too. What helped was the realisation that fish were beautiful. They’re interesting, graceful, perfect components of our vulnerable, fragile nature, which, once lost, cannot be artificially restored. We can’t admire them like flowers, birds or squirrels in the park, but it will be great to see many circles on the water again and know that there are fish.