The grumpy hen Baba Zina, the dogs Romka and Hraf, Mike and Gina, the pig Dusia, and the goat Marta live in shelters or with families across Ukraine. Most likely, these, and thousands of others, animals would not have survived if they hadn’t been taken in, evacuated, or treated in time by the people honored by UAnimals at the Animal Protection Award. 

These people experience every layer of society’s attitude toward animals on a daily basis. They know how often indifference is intertwined with compassion in the story of an animal.

We asked them about the moments that left the strongest impressions on them, and here’s what they’ve told us.

“No one expected he would survive” 

Anastasiia Klimniuk, the founder and the head of Animal House Rescue NGO

Kharkiv/Poltava region

This memory is from February 26, 2022. Animal food was hard to come by in Kharkiv. You couldn’t buy natural food, and all pet stores were closed. A warehouse with pet supplies opened in a garage. We were in a queue for dog food with 60 other people. It was a moment I’ll never forget. A man approached us with a cat in a carrier. His house had been destroyed, his wife had evacuated. He decided to go defend the country and had nowhere to leave the cat. He asked the people if anyone could take the cat in. No one responded. My husband and I exchanged glances and almost instantly decided to take the cat. That’s how we started taking in animals.

Later, we found out that the cat belonged to that man’s son. He and his wife had just had a baby, who was just two weeks old when the war began. So they decided to leave the cat with the grandparents for a month. When the man came to that line, the young parents were under russian occupation. Later, I received a message from them asking, “Do you still have our cat by any chance?” They sent me a photo of him as a kitten. So when we took him in, he was still very young. In 2022, the cat returned to his family.

There are examples of very caring attitudes toward animals in our area. Once, people saw a German shepherd lying near their yard. At first, they thought the dog was dead since he didn’t even move his ears. Eventually, they realized the dog was breathing. The people contacted us, and we took the animal to a veterinary clinic. There was very little hope of him surviving. The dog had no sensitivity in his body at all. An MRI showed a dislocation in his cervical spine.

When we picked the dog up at the clinic, he was already eating and going to the toilet on his own. The people who found him agreed to take in the dog with a disability and care for him. They named him Hraf. Now he can crawl, lie in a sphinx pose, and sit up for about 40 seconds, and he doesn’t need anyone’s help to eat. They built a wheelchair-like device so he is able to move around.

She fled on foot with a child and a puppy from shelling 

Olena Rusina, the head of Pegasus shelter

Malozakharyne, Dnipropetrovsk region

Recently, we were asked to go to a village because there was a large injured dog there. He had just appeared on the streets, even wearing a collar, but no one knew where he came from.

Local elderly women noticed him. These weren’t young people, skilled at using the Internet, yet they still tried to post his photo on social media to look for his family. The women even chipped in to buy parasite treatments for the dog.

We got a call after he got into a fight with another dog. We arrived and were met by these women, all with canes. These were civilized people who didn’t abandon the animal. They didn’t say, as often happens, “The dog’s lying around somewhere, go find him yourselves.” They followed our car, led us to the exact spot where the dog was. They cared for us, the volunteers. That was very heartwarming. The dog is still being treated and now lives at Pegasus shleter.

There was also a case when the offensive on Vovchansk began. Some people even fled on foot. A woman contacted us, asking if we could help provide shelter for a puppy. We didn’t want to, as our shelter was overcrowded. But it turned out this young woman was fleeing shelling on foot. She only took her child in a stroller. Just imagine the state she was in at that time! On the road, she saw a small, exhausted puppy. He was in the same circumstances as she was. The woman picked up the puppy and placed him at the bottom of the stroller! 

She made it to Dnipro, but didn’t abandon the puppy in the city. Then she contacted us, saying, “What do I do with a puppy and a child?” I posted the story on social media, and a family immediately responded and adopted the dog.

“Forgive me, Mike”

Serhii Ludenskyi, the founder and the head of Save Animals Ukraine NGO

Dnipro

Not long ago, I was asked to evacuate two Rottweilers from the frontline village of Oleksandropil in the Donetsk region. An elderly man was still living there, with a granddaughter waiting for him in Poland. The only issue was the dogs: two Rottweilers, 7-year-old Mike and 5-year-old Gina, lived in his yard. Traveling with such large dogs would have been difficult for the elderly man. It was because of them that he hadn’t left.

On the day of the evacuation, the elderly man arrived at his yard by bicycle. He had come from a small neighboring village, which was hit less often by artillery. A field behind his house was burning after a strike. All of this was happening under the thunderous sound of artillery.

The most heartbreaking moment was the man’s goodbye to his dogs. He hugged Mike’s head and said, “Forgive me, Mike. I have no choice.”

That video on my TikTok got a million views. I think many Ukrainians could relate to that pain.

We knew that Mike was aggressive. I had to climb onto the roof of the van and pull him up by the leash to get him inside.

The elderly man asked us to leave quickly, to avoid prolonging the goodbyes. So we did.

We brought the dogs to our shelter near Dnipro. It turned out that Mike was only aggressive toward other dogs. Both Rottweilers were soon taken in by lovely families. I’m very happy there are people who don’t abandon animals and others who are willing to take them in.

Two skeletons on chains

Tetiana Nelha, the founder of Zoofamily charity fund and shelter 

Pavlysh, Kirovohrad region

I always see both sides of the coin in how people treat animals, and it shocks me. I look at the soldiers, the rescuers who evacuate animals from combat zones while risking their own lives. They’re amazing. On the other hand, there are people in our area who don’t sterilize their pets, who cruelly dispose of puppies and kittens in trash bags at garbage dumps or in treelines. Some head into shelling to save animals; others kill them.

In our area there were people who would frequently leave their homes, abandoning their animals in chains and not feeding them. By law, we don’t have the right to enter someone else’s yard and take the animals. We had to push to get the police to go in with us and remove the dogs from their chains. These were already two skeletons. There’s currently an investigation against those people, so I can’t say more. I took the animals for treatment and rehabilitation at Zoofamily.

When a vet becomes an animal volunteer

Aliona Hrinnyk, the founder of Give a Paw YU NGO

Pivdennoukrainsk, Mykolaiv region

One day the phone rang, “Hello, I’m a veterinarian. I googled ‘volunteers Pivdennoukrainsk,’ and your number came up right away. I want to be useful, by giving advice at the very least.” It was Oleksandr Sokolov, who had relocated from Enerhodar. We met, and I immediately invited him to join our sterlization projects.

Before that, I had rented a house in the neighboring village of Kostiantynivka for animals to be housed temporarily. Well, calling it a house is generous; it was falling apart. There were walls, piles of trash, and grass up to our waists. My husband, my father, and I started fixing it up. People helped. Someone brought a bucket, someone brought a broom. A few volunteers came to clear weeds. We made sure the house was in order and set up a temporary place for animals to stay in. 

When Oleksandr arrived, with other volunteers, we chipped in to buy thread, anesthesia, and to set up an operating room. We began sterilizing stray cats and dogs there.

Time passed. I changed jobs, and our financial situation improved. We invested money, and in September 2024, we opened a clinic in the city.

There, we treat pets for a fee — to help strays, you need resources. Soldiers and internally displaced persons get discounts; some even get treatment free of charge. If an elderly woman comes with a pet, we treat it at a discount or free of charge. Plus, we do free spaying only of female cats so far. Our city has a shelter. By agreement, we operate on their dogs. Sometimes animals are brought in for treatment and we don’t charge for that. For strays under care of volunteers, we only charge the cost of materials.

We run campaigns for the free sterilization of strays. Our city is small, and there are more animals here than people. So we focus on sterilization. 

That village house now serves as a post-op recovery space and houses animals with disabilities. And Oleksandr Sokolov still works with me at the clinic.

“It wasn’t the shelling that killed them, it was hunger”

Alina Ostapenko, a member of Sumy Animal Home 

Sumy

I hardly remember life before the war. February 24, 2022, was a turning point in my mind. That’s when my real test as an animal rights defender began. It seemed that after the liberation of the Sumy region, life should have gotten easier, but then came the shelling of border areas and mandatory evacuations.

A year ago, in Yunakivka, a border village in the Sumy region, a local woman found eight dead dogs in different yards. It wasn’t the shelling that killed them, it was hunger. Most of the animals remained chained up until they died, unable to find even a scrap of food. All of them had been left there by people.

We had to go there to save the chained-up animals. On our first trip to the border area, we evacuated two dogs, Bruno and Alex, from Yunakivka.

Bruno’s survival was nothing but a miracle. We found him tied up in a yard where two other dogs already lay lifeless. Alex survived by eating raw corn.

After Alex and Bruno, we evacuated around 15 more dogs from Yunakivka.

Bruno is now at the shelter, and we’re still looking for a home for him. Alex found a loving family last year.

After meeting these dogs, we began actively evacuating animals from the border areas. Few people wanted to go to the villages of the Sumy region, so I decided to learn how to drive. That’s how a new chapter of spending weeks in remote shelled corners of the region began. Sadly, we couldn’t save them all.

In three years, we’ve found homes for about a thousand animals. No more abandoned animals is the result I strive for.

Neighbors so unalike

Olha Volkova, the head of Soul of a Tramp shelter 

Lupareve, Mykolaiv region 

This happened in the village of Lymany, before my trip to the Animal Protection Award. There, one woman poisoned about 20 dogs.

An acquaintance came to me and said, “Imagine, Olia, while you’re saving animals, this woman asked me, ‘Are you going to the city? Then buy me some rat poison, I didn’t have enough. I’ll poison the dogs.’” When I heard that, I went to the village. But the dogs were already dead, I couldn’t do anything. I saw the woman who poisoned them. I asked if she didn’t feel sorry for the dogs. She replied, “No. I poisoned them, and I’ll keep poisoning them.”

Olha has passed her testimony to the legal department of UAnimals and hopes to bring that woman to justice.

Roman Oleksandrovych, Baba Zina, Dusia, and the others

Viktoriia Zhydkova, the founder of Virnist animal protection society and of Human Rights Initiative NGO

Dobropillia, Donetsk region

In August 2019, my husband went to take out the trash. There was a bag with puppies in the dumpster. Only one was still alive, it was just two hours old. That’s when our fight for its life began. My husband made a special box for the puppy, basically, an artificial mom. We fed it by the clock, woke up at night. One time, my husband suddenly yelled, “Come here!” I thought something bad had happened. I came over and the puppy had opened the eyes. I’ve never seen my husband so happy. And now that dog is our famous Roman Oleksandrovych. Little Roma.

Another real act of humanity was when a whole chain of kindness worked together to rescue a farm in Udachne. I’m a vegetarian, and it was essential to me to save the farm, not to slaughter the animals. I wanted to create a shelter that would take in farm animals, and I shared the idea on social media.

That’s when a man from Udachne called me. He had a small farm. I must’ve asked him ten times, “Are you going to eat the animals?” He said no, and that their goose was 15 years old, the goats were 17…

Many people were involved in the farm’s evacuation. And now the animals from Udachne live at my shelter. We have Dusia the pig, who gives you her paw. There’s Marta the goat, she always greets you, bleats in her own way, and stretches out her front leg. There’s a chicken we call Baba Zina because she’s always grumpy. The moment you walk into the coop, she clucks as if to say, “You’re walking wrong, standing wrong, doing everything wrong.” Her beak won’t ever close. 

Kolia and the puppies 

Inna Borodulia — founder and the head of Happy Cat CSO

Zaporizhzhia

I work closely with a soldier named Slavik. He has evacuated a large number of animals and finds people to take them out of the combat zone. He pays for sterilization and treatment out of his own pocket. I’m actually about to head out to vaccinate puppies where he’s stationed. I’d love to take them all to the shelter, but that’s just not possible. To me, he’s a human with a capital H.

But I have another hero. Kolia, a tall, easy-going guy who works at a factory. Honestly, at first, I thought he wasn’t the brightest. But things aren’t always what they seem at first glance. The summer before last, Kolia found newborn puppies in a dumpster. Not afraid of the challenge, he took them in and raised them. All by himself! And this while working shifts at a demanding job! Every one of those puppies survived. He found homes for them all and kept one for himself. Ever since, I tell him, “Kolia, you’re my hero.”

***

After receiving their awards, the winners of the Animal Protection Award are quick to step out of the spotlight and return to their animals. At home, they change back into work clothes and roll up their sleeves. For three years of full-scale war, these people have been taking in dogs and cats, farm and wild animals, those evacuated from the front line or nearby areas, and sometimes they evacuate them on their own. That’s hundreds, sometimes thousands, of new animals each year. Animals keep arriving because the war continues. However, we can at least make sure these animal defenders don’t have even more work because of abandoned and mistreated pets left behind in safer regions of Ukraine.

Budum… Budum… Budum… A white minibus crawls through 300-year-old pine trees. This is the Lithuanian forest in the Hetman National Nature Park. Before it became a protected area, the place was rife with poaching—electrofishing, nets, and 12-gauge hunting rifles.

Later, when the area became a nature reserve, some locals wrote letters to then-President Yanukovych, urging the park to be dissolved. “In a few years, you won’t have anywhere to graze your cows because this land will be privatized, and the fields will be plowed,” the deputy head of the environmental education department recalls telling them. Over time, the locals grew accustomed to the rules. Perhaps, because fines increased tenfold.

Trrr… The head of the Hetman Park’s state protection service stops his car. He needs to inspect the area. He parks at a recreational site with gazebos, tables, and swings. In the past, people from Sumy, Poltava, and Kharkiv would come here to breathe the fresh air. Now, only park staff can enjoy this privilege, as visiting the forests is prohibited. At the beginning of the full-scale war, the park was under russian occupation for nearly a month, and it is potentially contaminated with explosives. While sappers have not yet inspected the area, park scientists have already begun their work.

Nature Adapts

Mykola Hryhorovych points his camera at a fragment in a fallen tree trunk. Nearby, there is a crater from an airstrike that took place back in February 2022. He tilts his head back to observe the tree tops. On one side of the clearing, death has passed through—burned, decayed, dead branches. On the other side, green and living pines. This contrast reveals the wind’s direction on the day of the raid—northern, as the southern side of the trees suffered the most.

Mykola Hryhorovych is the newly appointed head of the park’s research department. Previously, he taught at the Sumy National Agricultural University’s ecology department and brought students here to study the species composition of plants. Now, he and his colleague, entomologist Oleksandr Volodymyrovych, are examining a crater left by a shell.

He scrapes the soil and puts samples into small jars. These are samples for monitoring, which will show the impact of the war on nature. However, it’s too early to draw conclusions now, as changes in the soil might only appear over time. In 20-30 years, a full atomic spectral analysis will be conducted to understand which elements migrate from the soil to the plants.

But now a brief inspection reveals that the plants are determined to overcome difficulties and changes. Birch and pine trees are already regenerating. Perhaps they were growing here before the shelling, and the explosion failed to completely destroy their roots. Or maybe a bird dropped a cone, leading to the growth of new trees. Moss, the first “settler,” is also taking root here. This change in the ecosystem is known as succession. Sometimes, its manifestations can be quite unpredictable.

“How did a marsh species end up here?” Mykola Hryhorovych wonders as he examines a reed stalk and narrowleaf cattail inside the crater. “Maybe the rains helped… but I don’t think there’s been been much rainfall.”

Mykola Hryhorovych calls Oleksandr Volodymyrovych for help. The entomologist dismisses it, saying that it is just moisture that had accumulated. After all, an entomologist is more interested in insects. He pokes the soil with a stick and notices wasp burrows. Striped insects burrow into the sandy slopes, where they breed. With each new crater from a shell, the population of wasps and bees increases. 

There is even a tarantula burrow in one of the craters. But it is not just insects that inhabit these war-created apartments.

Mykola Hryhorovych kneels in another crater and peers into a black hole under charred branches. A fox has made its home here and recently gave birth to a litter. A few meters away, there should be another hole through which the animals can escape in emergencies. He looks out of the crater, scanning the surroundings, but can’t find the emergency exit. He sets off to search, overcoming obstacles—fallen and broken trees—but doesn’t find the desired passage. The foxes have hidden their escape route well, away from prying eyes.

Instead, Mykola Hryhorovych notices something else. Near the charred tree stump that was at the center of the explosion, crustose lichens are appearing. The farther from the explosion site, the more visible these plants become. This, he says, is a good sign—the air is becoming cleaner. In fact, there is an entire branch of science that evaluates environmental conditions based on crustose lichens—Lichenoindication . But there aren’t enough hands to engage in this work here, another consequence of the war.

How the Big is Captivated by the Small

“Look at the beautiful admiral flying!” — Oleksandr Volodymyrovych spotted a butterfly.

A man nearly two meters [~6.7 feet] tall studies small insects. Oleksandr Volodymyrovych has been working as an entomologist at Hetman Park for seven years. Together with his colleagues, he observed that three years before the full-scale invasion, butterflies migrated from Crimea to the forest-steppe here. The entomologist believes that global warming likely played a role.

Research on insects in the park also led to the discovery of new species. In 2014, a unique species of leaf-miner flies was found here—Ophiomyia adunca Guglya, named in honor of Kharkiv scientist Yuliya Guglya.

So, as soon as the city of Trostianets was liberated, Oleksandr Volodymyrovych hurried back to the fields—hoping there were new discoveries waiting to be made. He wrote to the military administration, asking for permission to use lights during nighttime research. He explained that it was necessary to monitor the insect population. Of course, one could chase insects with a net instead of using light, but Oleksandr Volodymyrovych wasn’t quite in shape for that anymore.

The military hesitated for a long time, as active fighting had ended only two months earlier. Eventually, they granted permission, chose a safe spot, and left the researchers for the whole night. That night, the forest near the village of Zhuravne was quiet, save for the buzzing of insects. They flocked to the lamp, and the scientist described every species he saw.

Before the war, there were five such expeditions a year, but now, a single one is considered a blessing. Many scientists have joined the military, and some are reluctant to venture into the field due to safety concerns. They say that even in the most remote areas of the park, near Poltava, there could still be explosives.

Saved by Ancient Oak Trees

Today, some former employees who now serve in the Armed Forces of Ukraine visited the park. Among them was Oleksandr, who had been steadily climbing the career ladder since 2013 and, just before the full-scale war, held the position of a leading wildlife protection engineer. He used to catch poachers and conduct raids. But after February 24, 2022, his duties changed: instead of chasing poachers, he now had to chase russians through the forest.

In the first days of the full-scale invasion, Oleksandr evacuated his family to Poltava and returned to defend his home. He called his friends to meet and head into the city together. Trostianets had already been occupied, so the only way to get there was via forest paths not even locals always knew.

It was on these paths that Oleksandr and his friends encountered soldiers from the Kholodnyi Yar 93rd Brigade. They introduced themselves and agreed to show the brigade every passage into the city and the locations of the russians. They lived together in the ravines, planning surprise attacks on the invaders. However, the generals repeatedly postponed the assault.

During the day, the temperature hovered around 0°C [32°F], but at night, it dropped to -17°C [1.4°F]. The soldiers had no sleeping bags, and they couldn’t light fires. They sat freezing under ancient oaks with thick canopies. The russians bombarded them with shells, and many exploded in the branches. In a way, the park protected the soldiers.

Finally, on March 21, the assault began. The russians scattered in all directions, falling into classic hunting ambushes. That day, Oleksandr received seven shrapnel wounds and ended up in a hospital. After a few months, he recovered and fully mobilized into the army. Now, he beams with joy when he talks about shooting down Shahed UAVs at night, “We took down eight today.” 

However, the drones don’t always burn up in the air—they often fall into forests, where they start fires that can smolder for days, or even weeks.

Currently, smoke still rises from the area in Hetman Park where a Shahed drone crashed into the peatlands. Thick soil, fallen trees, and the stench of burning linger. The drone went down about two weeks ago. For the military, the priority is human life, and only after that comes nature. This particular Shahed could have reached its target—who knows what that might have been. Perhaps, an ordinary residential building or yet another hospital.

“The park will recover on its own, and we will help it,” says Oleksandr. “You can plant trees, and in 30 years they’ll grow—but it doesn’t work that way with human life.”

Life Has Changed

Before February 24, 2022, when Oleksandr was not yet a soldier, he often walked his dog in the park. His energetic dog would race through the forest for 40 minutes, rest, and then start running in circles again. Now, such activities are too dangerous. In the spring, after the de-occupation, many animals—foxes, hares, and dogs—were killed by tripwire mines. These days, Oleksandr’s dog sees only the confines of his own yard. “I don’t know where to walk my dog in Trostianets,” says the soldier. “The dog’s going to go mad in that kennel.”

The war has also affected the lives of wild animals—both birds and large mammals. Some have been forced to migrate to quieter areas, while others flee from the explosions even into human hands.

After the occupation, wolf tracks were spotted on the outskirts of Trostianets. Oleksandr suggests that the wolves likely migrated from the russian border or the Donetsk region, where intense fighting is currently raging. Previously, wolves were just occasional visitors to Hetman Park—passing through maybe once every two years.

Even on duty, the soldier has seen wild animals: several herds of wild boars ventured onto a mine-laden field. His colleague Maksym, who worked in the park’s tourism and ecology department before being mobilized, shared a story about encountering a lynx. He was stationed in the Chernihiv region with his brothers-in-arms, digging trenches, when suddenly a lynx strolled into their position and arrogantly laid down on a bench. The soldiers were scared, “Commander, should we shoot it? What if it jumps on one’s head—scary stuff.” Maksym wouldn’t allow it. The lynx thanked them for their humane decision by not harming either him or his subordinates. That was the end of the encounter.

“Animals are getting used to the explosions and are more at ease than before the war,” says Maksym. “This is because there are no poachers or hunters now.”

Nature adapts, despite everything, as long as it’s left in peace.

The head of the park’s protection service pulls out a gondola—or rather, an inflatable boat—and sets off on an inspection tour along the Vorskla River. The river has shallowed this year, and only the fry are racing about. Driftwood, submerged yesterday, now fascinates with its shapes on dry land. Still, some remain underwater. The somber man pushes through the trees and thorny branches, finally emerging into the “open sea.” The Vorskla remains silent and resting. It feels as though peace is possible, and life is slowly returning here. The nearest frontline is less than 100 kilometers [~62 miles] from Hetman Park.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

At least $600 billion is the estimated cost of damage to Ukraine’s protected areas and biodiversity caused by russia’s invasion, according to the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources. However, the real loss far exceeds monetary value. It includes countless dead animals, devastated ecosystems, and stolen beloved places—places dear to each and every Ukrainian.

In this article, Ukrainian opinion leaders share their favorite places, which, because of russia, we have either lost or are losing right now.

Sasha Tab’s Crimea

“At Cape Aya near Sevastopol, I first saw bioluminescent plankton. We swam at night, and I couldn’t believe my eyes—my hands turned into some sort of neon light. These are incredible memories! Sadly, I haven’t seen this magical plankton again,” recalls Sasha Tab, vocalist of the band Kalush Orchestra.

Sasha was fortunate to visit Crimea several times in his youth, traveling to Yalta, Partenit, Koktebel, Hurzuf, Feodosia, and Kaihador (then known as Ordzonikidze).

The damage inflicted on Crimea’s unique nature by russians during the 10-year occupation is hard to assess. However, it’s known that military drills involving missile launches and bomb drops are conducted in the Opuk Nature Reserve. Additionally, illegal sand extraction has flooded about 10 hectares of the Bakalska Spit Regional Landscape Park. 

Many other russian crimes against nature likely remain undocumented, and we may only confront their consequences once Crimea is liberated.

“My best memories are about Crimea,” Sasha Tab says. “The younger guys in my band have never been there. That’s unfortunate. But I hope we’ll still have a chance to see these places.”

Nataliya Zhyzhchenko’s Chornobyl

“The last time I visited Chornobyl was April 26, 2021, at 1:23 a.m.—precisely on the anniversary of the disaster. I was there with the plant workers, and I brought my father. We visited the Shelter Structure and honored the memory of those who perished,” shares ONUKA lead singer Nataliya Zhyzhchenko.

From a young age, Nataliya was familiar with the details of the Chornobyl catastrophe because her father worked as a liquidator at the plant from 1986 to 1988.

“There’s history here, lessons to be learned, and sadly, they are repeating. Chornobyl has always been a source of pain for me, but also inspiration and awe.”

Nataliya has been to the Chornobyl zone about 20 times, doing internships at the power plant, filming documentaries, modeling for Vogue, and composing songs. As she puts it, Chornobyl allowed her to escape people and recharge.

After almost four decades of recovery, nature in the Chornobyl zone is once again under threat, this time from russia’s full-scale invasion. In 2022, Ukraine’s State Nuclear Regulatory Inspectorate recorded elevated gamma radiation levels, likely caused by russian military vehicles stirring up radioactive dust.

“The nature there is unique,” says Nataliya. “The reserve is extraordinary because of the absence of humans and the environmental condition. When I was there, I saw a fox on the streets of Prypiat. I saw a moose and her calves when I stopped the car by the roadside. She looked directly into my eyes, assessed the situation, and simply walked away. Everyone [in the car] held their breath.”

The exclusion zone is home to many animals, including deer, roe deer, wolves, raccoons, wild boars, storks, lynxes, and bears. In total, over 300 species of vertebrates live in the area, 75 of which are listed in Ukraine’s Red Data Book of Ukraine.

“After all the harm humanity has inflicted on this area, it’s hard to imagine how else we could damage it. Nature will overcome this too. It will forgive this too. Unfortunately, but also, in a way, fortunately,” concludes Nataliya.

Anton Ptushkin’s Tuzly Lagoons

Blogger Anton Ptushkin’s memories of the Tuzly Lagoons are quite recent. In August 2022, he began filming a documentary there about animals during the full-scale war.

“We were filming the mass death of dolphins and cetaceans due to russian aggression,” Anton recounts. “I saw dead dolphins with my own eyes, lying on the shore.”

The Tuzly Lagoons, a group of saltwater lagoons [lymans in Ukrainian] in the southern Odesa region, are home to dozens of bird species, including some that are endangered. Despite the grim circumstances, Anton was struck by the beauty of the area. He was particularly amazed by the pelicans, noting he had never seen so many of them before.

This part of the Black Sea is also home to porpoises, one of the smallest cetacean species, including a unique subspecies known as the Azov porpoise [Phocoena phocoena relicta], which inhabits Ukrainian waters.

The natural park has been under enemy fire, with fragments of russian missiles found there. Anton was joined by a prosecutor investigating crimes against Ukraine’s ecosystem, who conducted autopsies on the animals to send samples to Germany and Italy to determine the cause of death.

“The park’s director, who has studied cetaceans for many years, believes that sonars and missile launches caused the mass deaths of dolphins,” Anton adds.

Anhelina Usanova’s Askania-Nova

“When I think of my time at Askania-Nova, I remember its peaceful atmosphere. But now, it’s far from a place of relaxation and connection with nature,” says Miss Eco International 2024 Anhelina Usanova.

She visited the reserve as a child during a nearby camp stay. She recalls reading about Przewalski’s horses and being determined to see them. Though she didn’t spot the horses, she saw many other exotic animals, including Caffra buffaloes, Chapman’s zebras, Père David’s deer, and American bison.

Today, these animals’ lives are in danger. We have previously reported on the fires in Askania-Nova, the largest occurring on August 22 and September 1, 2023. These fires destroyed plants listed in Ukraine’s Green Data Book. Since the start of the war, over 5,500 hectares of the reserve—nearly one-fifth of its territory—have burned.

Askania-Nova’s director, Viktor Shapoval, reported that three Caffra buffaloes died because the occupation administration failed to move them to winter quarters in time. Additionally, endangered species are illegally taken from the reserve to russia and Crimea, often to worse conditions where they lack the freedom they enjoyed in Askania-Nova.

A comprehensive assessment of the impact of russian occupation on the reserve’s ecosystem will only be possible after its liberation. After Ukraine’s victory, Anhelina plans to join a volunteer mission there.

“Our land will need a lot of work to restore everything, especially places as incredible as Askania-Nova. Its value cannot be measured in money, it is simply priceless,” she says.

Olha Martynovska’s Kinburn Spit 

“As a student, we used to vacation in Kobleve and Ochakiv, coastal towns near Mykolaiv. The Kinburn Spit was something like a foreign country for us, something exotic,” recalls Olha Martynovska, judge of the culinary show MasterChef.

One day, she and her classmates went to the spit that so “tenderly and delicately enters the open sea.” 

“After that, I had many foreign countries, islands, peninsulas, oceans, and seas, but this first one was like my first love. It stays forever, and the Kinburn Spit is a place of power for me.”

Now, Kinburn Spit is part of the russian-occupied territory, from which the mainland of Ukraine is regularly shelled. Fires frequently break out on the peninsula, and according to local residents, the invaders prohibit extinguishing them. Anticipating the advance of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, russians have mined the spit, posing a threat to wildlife.

“When Ukraine liberates Kinburn Spit, I’ll go searching for the roe deer and hares I used to see there,” Olha shares her plans.

Polina Uvarova’s Kyianytsia

“I remember how in Kyianytsia, you could hear the birds’ songs so well that we would stop just to listen. Now, alongside the birds, KABs and Shaheds fly,” says travel blogger Polina Uvarova.

Kyianytsia is a small village in the Sumy region, just 30 kilometers from the russian border. Polina and her friends used to love visiting Kyianytsia to enjoy nature and tranquility.

“There’s a stunning architectural monument there—Kyianytsia Palace—and the nature is just incredibly beautiful,” she recalls.

The forest, with its many streams, abundant wildlife, and picturesque lake, is how Polina remembers this place. But now, due to constant shelling, locals no longer travel to Kyianytsia to unwind.

“After the victory, I’d love to return and walk the same paths. I’d look for the springs and stroll by the lake. I’d go to the local store, buy some coffee, sit by the lake with an ice cream, and just soak in the energy of this place,” she says.

Sasha Shabalina’s Dzharylhach

“Dzharylhach is a place that russia has stolen from me,” says comedian Sasha Shabalina. Dzharylhach Island is the largest island in Ukraine and the Black Sea. Sasha visited it in the summer of 2020. “YouTube convinced me to go to Dzharylhach: there were so many videos calling it the ‘Ukrainian Maldives.’ The videos showed crystal-clear water and wild animals.”

Sasha decided to go and was amazed by the natural beauty and the peacefulness of the wildlife. Right after arriving with her friends, they spotted a dolphin playing near the shore.

“There was this feeling that we were guests, and the true hosts—the animals—were nearby, so we had to behave respectfully. For the first time, I saw how people can show respect for both nature and each other.”

Since the beginning of the invasion, the russians have occupied Dzharylhach. Since then, the local ecosystem has been fighting for survival, as the russians are now using the island as a firing range. In August 2023, a fire raged on Dzharylhach for a week in the part of the island home to rare species. Endangered animals such as the steppe viper and the unique empusa fasciata, a type of praying mantis that can mimic a drop of water, were at risk from the flames.

Dzharylhach now faces the threat of being turned from a protected area into an industrial site and resort. In 2023, russian authorities permitted fishing, hunting, logging, and the extraction of clay, salt, oil, and natural gas. They also allowed the construction of hotels and restaurants in the national park. 

Additionally, the invaders built a land bridge between the mainland village of Lazurne and the island to facilitate access for military vehicles. Environmentalist and zoologist Pavlo Holdin explained that this artificial connection posed a threat to the Dzharylhach Bay ecosystem. Fortunately, the sea washed away the land bridge during a powerful storm.

“I think I would have removed that bridge with my own hands. It is ecocide,” Sasha Shabalina says in frustration. “I really want to believe that nature will heal itself. Since learning about the occupation of Dzharylhach, I’ve been dreaming of all the animals rising up to defeat the invaders, just like in the movie Jumanji.”

Cover Photo: Nataliya Zhyzhchenko in the Chornobyl Zone. Source: ONUKA archive and Vogue Ukraine.

Banner Photo: Animal autopsy in the Tuzly Lagoons. Source: Anton Ptushkin’s personal archive.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

We meet Leonid Myslyvets, the mayor of Oster, on the banks of the Desna, near the rescue station. He spreads a map of the community over the car hood to show the length of the riverbed—from the village of Bilyky in the north to Krekhaiv in the south, covering over 50 kilometers. Almost every day, rescuers go out on the water here to check if any dead fish have appeared along the shores.

Black Water

Oster lies on the Desna, halfway between Kyiv and Chernihiv. By car, it takes about 1.5 to 2 hours to reach from either city. Just south of the town is the Beremytske Nature Park, where green tourism had been promoted before the full-scale war. However, the russian invasion, followed by russia’s poisoning of the Seym and Desna rivers, significantly reduced the flow of visitors.

The pollution of the Seym in the Sumy region began around August 14, when the first reports of deteriorating water quality emerged. By September, it had reached the Chernihiv region. Social media was flooded with photos and videos showing hundreds, if not thousands, of dead fish along the riverbanks. There were fears that the contaminated water could even reach Kyiv.

From mid-August to mid-September, local authorities and volunteers in the Sumy and Chernihiv regions collected nearly 40 tons of dead fish.

“The poisoned water reached us on September 12. At that time, we set up two small aeration stations along the shore, and from them, we placed tubes into the water—one 40 meters long, the other 70. We punched holes in the tubes, following advice from the department [Desna Basin Water Resources Management],” Leonid explains. “The water is gradually getting oxygenated: our divers went down there and said that fish gather near the oxygen sources to survive.”

We head down to the pier, where we can hear a buzzing sound. These aren’t russian Shahed drones that fly along the Desna at night. Near the water, there are two small pumps, each providing a flow of 400–450 liters [100-120 gallons] per minute. Tubes extend from the pumps into the water, and from the middle of the river, you can see bubbles being carried along by the current.

“The water still isn’t bright and clear enough, but on September 13, let’s say, it was like tar, and there was a dark residue along the banks. Now there’s much less of it. But if the situation worsens, we’ll install more aeration stations—we’ve already arranged with local businesses to add four more of varying capacities,” the mayor of Oster states.

While chatting, we put on life vests brought by Oleksiy, a rescuer. He helps us settle into a boat, starts the engine, and steers us to the middle of the river. We speed upstream. Both banks are empty. Occasionally, a solitary gull soars above the water, or a kite circles high in the sky.

“Fortunately, it didn’t come to a fish die-off in Oster. There’s a key indicator—the level of dissolved oxygen in the water. The normal value is 7 milligrams per cubic decimeter or higher. Ours dropped to 5, and below 4, fish begins to die. Another indicator is chemical oxygen demand, also measured in milligrams per cubic decimeter. The normal level is around 30, but ours reached 50 or more. I know that upstream, it could reach more than 100,” Leonid explains.

A drop in the first indicator and an increase in the second shows that a chemical reaction is consuming oxygen from the water. When fish start dying, they begin to decompose, which also requires oxygen.

“If there’s a fish die-off, they need to be collected quickly. We were prepared for this and are still ready because we read reports of more pollution being dumped into the Seym. The rescue station has six boats and nets to retrieve the dead fish. Even some locals have offered to help. So, I hope we’re ready if it comes to that,” says Leonid.

We approach the boundary of the community along the river. No dead fish are visible along the shores. Currently, in Oster and throughout the Desna and Seym, there is a ban on using the water for any purpose, swimming or fishing. But this doesn’t stop the locals. As we moved upstream, we saw several fishermen: one casting from a boat and two others from the shore. When they noticed us, they pretended they were just relaxing and that the rods and reels weren’t theirs.

“What can you do about them?” Oleksiy chuckles. “Some people just don’t care about bans. I hope they don’t get poisoned. At least at the market, they try to control the sale of dead fish. But how do you control it on the river? Sure, we go out every day, travel upstream. But we can’t be going back and forth all day,” the rescuer complains.

Oleksiy steers our boat into an old part of the riverbed—the natural course of the Desna. The one we had traveled earlier was dug during Soviet times. The Desna, though navigable, was too winding, so they decided to dig a straighter course. During the fish die-off, the old channel became a refuge.

“The fish sought refuge in the old riverbed, these backwaters, to survive. The water here was cleaner—people noticed that. You won’t see it now, though, because the water quality has improved,” explains Oleksiy, peering into the water. “Oh, beaver dens. I hope we haven’t disturbed them too much because beavers are the real masters here,” he adds as we turn back into the newer river channel.

On our way back, we spot tourists with a tent on one of the banks. Leonid remarks that these are the first he’s seen since the river pollution began. Before the full-scale war, up to 300-500 cars would pass through Beremytske Park, that is, its parking lot, every day.

“Usually, from late May to October, people would come to the Desna for camping. In the Oster area alone, there could be as many as 5,000 visitors during the season. Now, the shore is empty. As soon as the news of river contamination broke, people stopped coming,” Leonid explains.

We dock at the shore. The aeration stations are humming. The rescuers tell us that they keep running even during power outages, thanks to a dedicated generator.

How They Dispose of the Fish

The village of Slabyn, located 60 kilometers from Oster, is part of the neighboring Honcharivka community. We meet with the local elder, Serhiy Kraskov, also near the Desna. He’s currently giving an interview to British journalists.

Even though we’re standing on the steep right bank, the wind still carries the heavy, cloying stench of decay from the water. As soon as we descend, the smell hits us with full force. Dark patches are visible on the water, and along the shore, there are black streaks left by residue. However, there are almost no dead fish on the shore—they were mostly collected the day before. Nevertheless, among the shoreline vegetation, some dead crucian carp can still be seen, and a pike about a meter long lies nearby.

“The banks here are overgrown, so a lot of dead fish got stuck there. On Sunday, September 15, we walked along the shore and pulled them out with nets. We had people from the village council, the cultural center, and the medical outpost helping. There were also a few volunteers with boats—they took care of the opposite shore. That day, we gathered almost one and a half tons,” Serhiy recalls.

Simply discarding or burying the collected fish isn’t an option: the decomposition products could contaminate the soil and groundwater. Therefore, a special burial site is needed—a deep pit lined with concrete wells with a concrete bottom. These burial sites are sealed with a similar concrete cover and placed far from water sources and residential areas.

“In our community, there’s still a burial pit left from Soviet times, but it hasn’t been used since the 1980s. I remember talking about it with Chernihiv [the State Environmental Inspectorate in the Chernihiv region] when the foul water reached them, and they were also gathering dead fish,” says Serhiy.

We head out to see this burial pit. It’s a few dozen kilometers of driving along rough field roads. As the car bounces over the bumps, Serhiy continues talking about the die-off: many large fish perished. The biggest one he saw was a catfish about a meter long. They collected bream, crucian carp, and zander, and the most numerous were pikes.

“I don’t know how all this will recover. If both the large and small fish have died, who will lay the eggs? Unless we artificially restock. Plus, maybe something will come down from the upper Desna, where the poisoned water didn’t reach. But even if that happens, who can guarantee that this won’t happen again in a year or two? russia isn’t going anywhere,” Serhiy says in frustration.

We cross the highway connecting Kyiv and Chernihiv and head into dense wooded plantations between fields. In one of these plantations, we stop and get out. From there, we continue on foot along a packed dirt road leading to a deep pit. The closer we get, the stronger the stench becomes. The pit is about four meters deep, roughly the same width, and about ten meters long. If it weren’t for the two concrete wells, it could easily pass for a dugout for armored vehicles.

“Since September 13, I’ve been dealing with this burial pit. We urgently ordered concrete rings from a local business to line the wells. It turned out that in the forty years since it was last used, the burial pit had completely grown over with trees. There was no access, so we had to cut down some of them. Now, we need to lay an asphalt road here,” says Serhiy.

We approach the wells. One is empty, while the other is nearly full of bags sprinkled with chlorine. Despite the concrete lining, puddles are starting to form at the bottom of the pit—a result of the decomposition of the dead fish. The buzzing of green flies, seemingly thousands of them, is unbearable.

“Since we’re a starostat [an administrative unit headed by a starosta—a village elder], bureaucracy moves slowly here: we can’t make quick payments, especially on a Friday evening. But I’m grateful to the local businessmen who delivered the first three concrete rings already on Saturday. And on Monday, September 16, they brought three more. It was all based on trust—they trusted that we’d pay them later. But we needed to bury the fish immediately,” Serhiy explains.

The community ordered a second well just in case, anticipating a larger die-off. However, by September 17, the number of dead fish had decreased, so it wasn’t needed for now.

The filled well will eventually be sealed with a concrete cover and buried. A fence and warning signs will be placed around the perimeter of the burial site so that locals won’t accidentally unearth it a decade or two from now.

New Pollution Incident

On September 17, Serhiy Zhuk, the head of the Environmental Inspection in the Chernihiv region, told UAnimals media that the situation in the rivers of the Chernihiv region had finally improved: “The fish are no longer dying. I can say this because I personally walked along the banks. We still find dead fish, but these are ones that died 3-5 days ago, surfacing from the bottom or from under the roots. Of course, the Seym and Desna waters are still unsafe for swimming. Almost all life there has perished, and an unpleasant odor persists. However, the levels of oxygen, ammonium, and iron are normalizing.”

The Chernihiv and Sumy regions are still calculating the damages, which are currently estimated to be around 450 million hryvnias.

This environmental crime has clear russian involvement. The Department of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources of the Sumy Regional State Administration believes that wastewater from a sugar factory in the village of Tyotkino, in russia’s Kursk region, entered Ukrainian rivers. This conclusion was drawn after analyzing satellite images: they show that in early August, the wastewater accumulation basin at the factory was full, but by the second half of August (when reports of pollution in Ukrainian rivers emerged), it had emptied. Moreover, laboratory analysis of the water found substances “specific to sugar production.”

This is not the first time that russian activities have polluted Ukrainian rivers with wastewater. Oleksandr Yemets, a research associate at the Seymskiy Regional Landscape Park, recalled that this had happened at least twice before: in 2011, when an accident occurred at the treatment facilities in Kursk, and the dam near Tyotkino deliberately released polluted water into Ukraine, and again this year at the end of May. On those occasions, fish and crustaceans also perished. Each time, the incidents increased the risk of extinction for a unique species of the region, the Desman, which is on the Red List of endangered animals.

Unfortunately, this might not be the last such environmental crime. On September 16, the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources reported further deterioration of water quality in the Seym. Samples taken in the village of Manukhivka (about three kilometers from the russian border) indicated a drop in oxygen levels. Once again, russia is the most likely source of this pollution. However, identifying the exact origin and cause of the contamination is difficult due to ongoing hostilities in the Kursk region, which borders Sumy.

As of September 25, polluted water reached Baturyn in the Chernihiv region. The dissolved oxygen level, as mentioned earlier, was less than one—ranging between 0.3 and 0.8 milligrams per cubic decimeter. In the Sumy region, between the villages of Mutyn and Ozarichi, the oxygen in the water was completely depleted. The next day, the situation in the Seym in the Chernihiv region worsened further.

The Ministry of Environmental Protection assures that this pollution incident is not as severe as the one in August, and the rivers should be able to recover more quickly. However, if a fish die-off occurs again, the border communities will once again have to collect the dead fish from the banks.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.