Evacuating with Pets: Mission Possible?

“All night, I packed every crevice of the car with supplies and dog food. I was afraid to close the door in case it made too much noise. Outside, there was the crackle [of gunfire] and machine-gun bursts.” This is how Maryna from Kherson, the owner of eight dogs, prepared to leave the occupied territory. She had no intention of abandoning any of her animals.

NGOs often retrieve pets left behind by their owners in frontline areas — sometimes still tied up. Yet, some people are capable of heroic feats to keep their animals fed during the occupation and ensure they’re brought along when escaping. Which cases are more common? We can’t quantify it, but we can share a few stories of people who evacuated with their pets.

Escaping Occupation with Eight Dogs

A house in northern Portugal near a eucalyptus forest. Not long ago, it was uninhabitable, but Maryna Skrypnychenko and her husband have already made significant repairs. Their first task was fencing the yard to prevent their dogs — Yolkin, Yozhyk, Yoryk, Martyska, Mukha, Motya, Mysha, and Chucha — from running off. All of these dogs were once strays roaming around the outskirts of Kherson. One by one, Maryna took them in. But when the occupation began, her home city turned into a living hell. For her own safety, she needed to leave. With eight dogs, though? Here is how she did it.

A House Outside the City

We had a large, beautiful home near Kherson on the banks of the Inhulets River. I organized yoga seminars and art plein-airs there. It was truly a bright, welcoming place. This winter, it served as a shelter for our soldiers.

Recently, we learned that our home no longer exists: it took a direct hit and burned down.

Living on the outskirts of the city, I often saw packs of stray puppies, and I would take in the weakest ones. I first adopted one dog, then another, and eventually, I ended up with eight. My husband built them kennels and enclosures, and they had everything they needed.

A Month in the Basement

When the war began, russian forces immediately entered Kherson. My husband, a sailor, was away on a voyage. I took my mother from Kherson, thinking it would be safer outside the city. But on the very first day, we had to move into the basement. We didn’t know it yet, but missiles and drones were already overhead… And so we spent a month in that basement with the dogs.

They reacted badly to everything. They were terrified of explosions and still hate loud noises to this day.

About a week into the occupation, I saw russian paratroopers — they seemed to emerge from the ground. In full gear — it looked like something out of a movie! One of them asked, “Why haven’t you left?” I was too scared to respond. Then he said, “Get back in the basement and stay there.”

Neighbors gave me some fish, which I boiled and fed to my dogs, both the house pets and the strays outside. Now, my dogs refuse to eat fish at all.

Sometimes, I would go to a neighbor for eggs. Once, I pretended to be going for eggs again but actually went to spray-paint something on a garage. I called a friend to talk with me on the phone — if they shot me, at least she’d hear it. My first canister ran out, so I pulled out another and finished writing: “russians, go f*** yourselves.”

The Departure

The invaders had taken vehicles from everyone in the area. My car survived only because the garage was part of the house, and they hadn’t realized it was there. But if I wanted to leave, I’d need to get the car out without drawing attention. I hesitated for fear they’d seize it, as they had others.

A friend found a farmer who was trying to protect his fields and had managed to negotiate a work permit with them. He called and told me, “Be ready.” All night, I packed every crevice of the car with supplies and dog food. I was afraid to close the door in case it made too much noise. Outside, there was the crackle [of gunfire] and machine-gun bursts. Who or what they were shooting at, I had no idea.

Around six in the morning, the farmer called again, “Pull out of the garage but don’t open the gate. Wait until you see an armored vehicle with the letter Z, then open it.”

The farmer somehow persuaded the invaders to send an armored vehicle to the dacha [summer house] neighborhood, supposedly to “pacify” the soldiers who were causing destruction everywhere. When the personnel carrier arrived on my street, he called again, “Go now.”

By then, I had collected all eight dogs. Half of them had never been inside a car before. I stuffed them in, layered blankets on the back seat, and my mother lay across them because there was no room to sit. The dogs, frightened, sat still and quiet.

It was “fun”… I drove through twelve invader checkpoints! At each one, the soldiers inspected the cars. As I approached a checkpoint, I rolled down the windows. Eight snouts would immediately stick out, and the invaders would just say, “Get the f**k out of here.”

I reached Kherson. By a supermarket, women with children would gather each day in cars to form a convoy — it was less frightening to travel together. I joined the convoy. As soon as we left Kherson, we got stuck; a battle was underway, so we couldn’t move. There were about 200–300 cars, full of children and dogs… Eventually, the entire convoy turned back.

But I thought, “To hell with it. If I die, so be it.” And I went on.

It took us twelve hours to reach Koblevo — a drive that would normally take two and a half hours.

The dogs sat quietly like mice in the car. Only in Koblevo did I let them out for the first time… But I was still scared; there were explosions even there. Well, it was insane. No romance to it at all!

To Portugal With Plywood for a Window

At the customs checkpoint on the Romanian border, I rolled down the window and got out. Two of the dogs immediately jumped out. We had already been waiting in line for 3–4 hours. People were bored, so my chasing after the dogs entertained everyone, and at least we got a bit of exercise.

In Romania, I was met by so many volunteers! When they saw the animals, they started taking pictures and giving me food for them… I told them I had no space left to carry it. “Take it anyway!” It moved me to tears, I still remember it.

The first night, I planned to sleep outdoors. I set out eight bowls for the dogs, but the police came over, asked me not to sleep outside, and escorted us to a hotel. There, in the restaurant, they moved all the furniture, laid out mattresses, and set up beds for refugees.

I thought, “If anyone makes a sound, all eight dogs will start barking…” So I decided to sleep in the car near the hotel. I started the engine to charge my phone, then someone came over, and I got distracted and stepped out. The car had a button on the armrest that locked the doors. The dogs pressed it, locking themselves inside a running car! Until four in the morning, I tried to coax them to press the button again, but nothing worked. Finally, the volunteers broke a window so I could climb in. I patched it with plywood and continued across Europe.

Since then, the dogs have refused to get into a car. I don’t force them.

I remember sitting in that basement when my husband called and said, “I can’t live in a world without you.” That gave me the strength to leave. If they kill me, then so be it, but hiding in the basement, trembling, and waiting for them to come for me was too much. So, I gathered everyone and started the car…

Our home is gone, but the animals are safe. I’m happy that all our dogs are still with us. 

Six People, Five Dogs, Four Cats, and a Turtle

A family from Selydove in the Donetsk region is a large family with quite a lot of pets. Sviatoslav Torkhov worked in the mines while his wife Yuliya raised their three children: Oleksandr, Artem, and Alla. Yuliya’s mother lived nearby. This summer, they were forced to make drastic changes to their lives.

After the Airstrike

Yuliya: On June 23, there were two strikes on our town. Around 4 a.m., a shell hit the garden. Our roof only had some tiles slide off, and parts of the ceiling collapsed. It was still fixable, so we started repairs. My husband was on the roof, and the children, my mother, and I — with the dogs — were in the yard. At 5 p.m., there was another strike, this time hitting just beyond our yard. The windows shattered, and the ceiling collapsed. My husband fell from the roof, sustaining head and rib injuries. We were standing below, shielded from the debris by the garage, but all of us suffered concussions. The news said it was an aerial bomb, though we don’t know exactly what kind.

Our dog Stitch hid with us behind the garage while his mother, an Alabai named Lavyna, was near the fence with her little puppy, Misha. From a distance after the blast, I saw Lavyna lying there. I was afraid to approach, thinking she might be dead. But then the rescue workers checked on my husband and asked, “Would you like to check on your dog?” I finally went over and realized she was still breathing.

I called her name, “Lavyna, Lavyna,” and began petting her. She had hidden her puppy beneath her. She was badly concussed but had no other injuries and gradually started to come around.

Then, we began considering where to relocate and started searching for a place to live. We traveled a lot, and it was heartbreaking to make the animals wait for us for so long each time we left.

Aside from Lavyna and her puppies, we also have Stella, a mixed breed, and Nora, a shepherd dog, plus four cats — Busya, the Scottish Fold, Alisa, and her kittens, Borysych and Bagheera. And there’s also Burger the turtle.

Finding a way to transport all of them was a real challenge.

Sviatoslav: Finally, we found a contact for UAnimals and arranged for help transporting the animals. Volunteers Mariya Holovina and Andriy Zhdanov came. We remember them fondly to this day.

They prepared crates and laid hay in the car. I placed the animals in the crates, and Mariya and Andriy helped get them into the car. The animals didn’t whimper or try to escape — it was as if they understood everything would be okay.

In Petropavlivka

Sviatoslav: Few places allow families with children to stay, let alone with pets! With our large family, it was tough to rent a place where we could live with both kids and dogs.

I’m a miner, so we needed to be close to a mine. We finally found such a place.

Yuliya: We moved to Petropavlivka in the Dnipropetrovsk region. I arrived three days early to settle in and prepare to welcome the animals. I waited for them and settled them all in. Now they’re doing well.

The cats, who always lived in our trees, are still up in the trees. Lavyna adores our children but barks at strangers. If she runs outside, she won’t harm anyone, but people are still afraid of her — she’s huge. So she stays in an enclosure.

Stitch also wanted to run around freely and couldn’t be made to stay in one spot, so we had to add him to the enclosure. Still, the dogs found a way to sneak out to the yard.

Nora, the shepherd, is also a guard dog but is attached to us, having been with us since she was a puppy. Stella, an older dog, will give you her paw if you approach her — she loves attention.

How could we abandon them? We love them and didn’t bring them into our lives just to leave them behind. That thought never even crossed our minds.

Sviatoslav: Soon, we’ll bring my mother-in-law here; she’s still in Selydove. Then our family will be even larger. If you’re in a similar situation, don’t give up. Take your pets with you since pets are family members.

The Cat Who Celebrated Kherson’s Liberation

Yevheniya Akubekova lives in Kherson. Before the full-scale invasion, she worked as a cashier in a shopping mall. When the full-scale war began, the mall was destroyed, and she lost her job. Yevheniya had two cats, and just before February 24, 2022, she gained a third — the cat was left temporarily by her sister, who went to work in Poland. As it turned out, all three cats weren’t afraid of water: they traveled by boat and even went fishing. Yevheniya shared her experience of moving from place to place with her three cats.

The Start of the Occupation

We had two cats — Zoya and Varyushka — and in 2022, we also had my sister’s cat, Joey. He stayed with us through the war and occupation but is now back with my sister.

When Kherson was occupied, my husband and I didn’t leave the house for two weeks. Then, the cat food ran out, and our human food supplies were also running low. I was baking bread at home, but we were out of oil and sugar. So, we started going out to buy food. On April 9, we left for our dacha.

The left bank of the Dnipro is dotted with river channels and dachas on islands. We stayed there up until December 5. We planted a garden and caught fish. There was no electricity in the city, but we had it at the dacha.

The cats were terrified of the shelling. They still get scared and hide. It was horrifying when the orc [russian] planes flew overhead to bomb us. They flew so low, right above the power lines. The poor cats didn’t know where to run, and neither did we, crouching down in fear. I called for the cats, but they were panicked. When they heard a plane approaching from afar, they would dart inside the house.

Apart from that, the cats had a wonderful time there. My husband would fish and feed both our cats and the neighboring ones. The price of pet food skyrocketed. At first, locals raised prices on the remaining supplies, then the russians brought in more and sold it at triple the price.

Our biggest softie is Joey. He is affectionate and friendly. He followed me all over the island; everyone knew he was my cat. Liza was a stout little thing, bustling around chasing snakes and mice, getting leaner and more agile. Varya, the oldest, loved sitting in the attic — she had her own little sanctuary up there.

The cats even started bringing grass snakes into the house. They knew all the little holes and cracks where the snakes hid. I yelled at them to stop dragging those poor snakes inside!

The cats loved it there, and it was hard for them when we returned to the city. Joey didn’t eat for a week out of sadness.

Every weekend, I would take a boat to Kherson to buy essentials — oil, grains, or sugar — the things we couldn’t grow ourselves. My husband and I would pass through the Ostriv microdistrict. The orcs had a checkpoint there. They’d check our bags and phones. Once, we were boarded by an orc boat, they searched us and checked our passports and phones.

Liberation

I remember when Kherson was liberated. I went shopping by boat. We all knew each other, everyone else was also going. So we hired a taxi, we were on our way, and we saw a pickup truck with Odesa license plates and a guy in camouflage waving at us. I thought, “What a bastard, they’ve seized another of our cars, and he’s even waving.” I was so stressed I didn’t even notice his uniform was different! I arrived at the market, and it was buzzing: “They’re here, they’re here!” We’d been warned not to gather in groups because it might be a trap — the invaders could be disguising themselves… I said, “People, don’t gather!” They asked, “Don’t you want it to be true?” “Of course I do,” I replied, “but we were warned it could be a provocation.” I didn’t believe it. And Kherson was abuzz.

When we returned to the island, the talk was the same: “Did you hear?” “Is it true?” When it became clear that our forces really had come, we gathered everyone on the island and celebrated. Each family brought whatever they had, and we sat together, sang, took photos, and cried. Even the cat found us and sat at the table with us!

Then, the islands became a target for shelling. They used drones to watch where people were moving and fired at those spots. Soon everyone had fled, and we left in a hurry too.

We left our belongings behind but took the cats. Three carriers, two backpacks.

The dacha is now under orc control. We don’t know if we’ll ever return. Is it mined, is it destroyed? At least we have our animals with us.