“Where did you get that bite from?”

“From the marbled polecat”

“Oh, you have such interesting animals biting you. Was this somewhere in the tropics?”

“No, in Ukraine”

While waiting for the shot of a rabies vaccine in the hallway of the Kharkiv emergency room, zoologist Volodymyr Yarotskyy tried to explain to people what kind of animal had bitten him. No one there had ever heard of such a beast.

What is the marbled polecat? It is a small but mighty creature. This carnivorous animal is similar to a European polecat, but it has its own peculiarities. It has long claws, strong muscles, and can scream loudly.

Returning the marbled polecat into the wild was an adventure in itself for Volodymyr Yarotskyy. Continue reading to find out how it went. You will also find out what the marbled polecat can do and what helps and restricts its reemergence in the Ukrainian steppes.

Face to face with a beast

Volodymyr shares, “In the summer of 2020, I was leading a tour to the Homilsha Woods National Nature Park [in the Kharkiv region]. And that’s when my colleagues called me and said that they had caught a marbled polecat at the biological station of the V. N. Karazin Kharkiv National University in Haidary is a village in the Kharkiv region.Haidary. We went there to have a look at the animal. It was in poor shape, and it bit me. I knew how to properly hold a ferret, just under its front paws. Then it can’t bite. In a marbled polecat, however, the tilt of the head is sufficient to bite your finger. The Mustelidae family, similarly to pit bulls, has the unique ability to bite through the flesh. Even though I was wearing welder’s gloves, the marbled polecat bit through them. It was my first encounter with an animal.”

The marbled polecat is a member of the Mustelidae family (aka mustelids), which includes animals that are both strong and plastic. Thus, it is related to the European ferret, marten, badger, otter, and skunk. And it has even more certain similarities to the skunk, but more on that later.

The animal’s Latin name, Vormela peregusna, comes from the Ukrainian language! The term peregusna is derived from perehuznya (перегyзня), which means “polecat” in Ukrainian. Vormela means “little worm”. Its body is very long and graceful, similar to that of a ferret or a weasel.

The species is known as the marbled polecat because of its color. The part pole, which means “chicken,” suggests that the animal is capable of stealing poultry. Yes, it did get caught doing this.

Marbled polecats prefer solitude. They spend time together only during the mating season.

In the article, Ukrainian zoologists refer to marbled polecats as the “occupied fauna”, i.e., animals that are not monitored by Ukrainian scientists. The scientific establishments, where the animal was safeguarded, are currently occupied, and the animal often shows up where there is active fighting.

Animals frequently play dead in the face of danger, a phenomenon known as apparent death. The most likely explanation is that predators are drawn to moving objects, and something that shows no signs of life will not draw their interest. However, some animals exhibit this behavior for different kinds of reasons. Certain snakes can wait for prey, whereas ants do so to avoid conflict.

Snakes, fish, insects, and mammals all pretend to be dead. For instance, possums. “Playing possum” means pretending to be dead or sleeping so that someone will not annoy or attack you. The black-footed ferret, skunk, and weasel can all do this. And the marbled polecat is an expert at playing the role of the dead.

But first, the marbled polecat will try other methods. When it detects danger, it stands on its hind legs and flashes its bright colors, which serve as a warning signal throughout the animal kingdom. In addition, the marbled polecat has special anal glands that can secrete a pungent odor. It also does this when it pretends to be dead or when it feels threatened.

Broken plans 

Volodymyr continues, “The girls placed the marbled polecat in a rabbit cage in an abandoned apartment that was cluttered with stuff.

I went to Lysychansk via Kreminna is a town in the Luhansk region, close to Lysychansk. Kreminna because I have family there. And I have a friend, Brian, from the US, who fell in love with Ukrainian forests and lived in Siverskodonetsk. I said, ‘Brian, can you give me a ride from Kreminna to Lysychansk? We need to pick up some rare animals, go to the forest, and release them. An hour there, an hour back…’ 

‘Don’t they stink?’

‘It’ll be fine.’ His wife was pregnant, and she was worried about the car being clean and her husband coming back as soon as possible.

I was going to vaccinate the marbled polecats against rabies, and I wanted to also take their paw prints and DNA material. But nope! It turned out that one of the marbled polecats had damaged the cage and gotten out. We spent three hours searching. We discovered it where half a brick had been broken off, behind the toilet. The animal curled up there, sleeping. We had to dismantle the toilet to get it out. Obviously, I was unable to do anything with the animals [vaccinate them and engage in research] because they were too frightened. We had to bring them to the forest, but I was bitten again.”

With its strong paws and long claws, the marbled polecat digs a spacious hole. Although when it is not in the mood to dig, it can sleep in someone else’s.

With the help of radio tracking, it was found that the marbled polecat covers up to one kilometer a day, rarely repeating its previous route and changing its den and territory of activity every 2-3 days. It spends time hunting, and when it is tired, it sleeps.

Temporary inconvenience

Volodymyr recalls, “When the marbled polecat bit me for the second time, I realized that I needed to get vaccinated against rabies.

Well, it’s 10 pm. We are going to an emergency room. They have no idea what the marbled polecat is there. And the rabies vaccine that was present contained six doses… Finally, they told me firmly that I needed to return for my next dose or find another vaccine from the same series.

They monitored me for two hours following the vaccination. Meanwhile, the marbled polecats were screaming. Plus, it smelled like there were skunks in the car.

Finally, when we went to release the animals, it was night . Brian brought me to Siverskodonetsk and said, ‘I’m not taking you to Kreminna, because my wife is waiting, but I’ll get you a taxi.’ And it was raining so heavily! Just a downpour! We also drove all over Siverskodonetsk in search of an ATM at two in the morning. We couldn’t see the road, there were streams of water everywhere.

In Kreminna, they quickly checked whether there was a batch of the vaccine I needed. And there was! So I got vaccinated there. And then I went home to Kharkiv and made 7 calls to get a referral for further vaccination. This is the twenty-first century, yet not everyone receives full vaccinations. People arrive on the first day, do not continue, and die from rabies.”

The boom of marbled polecats

Volodymyr elaborates, “In 2022-2023, there was a wave of mice in the trenches. At that time, there were many reports that marbled polecats were seen there. These are not very good stories, because these marbled polecats ended up in private hands. My colleagues from the NGO Ferret Galaxy and I called around to find out what the fate of the animals was. We were told that they were released. But it turned out that this was not always the case.

It happened that people realized that they could not keep a marbled polecat because it is a very special animal. Even though it appears adorable, it jumps at you, bites, and stinks. And then the animals get released. We know of two such cases.

This is the rarest species among mustelids. However, they are often captured.

Another marbled polecat I know of was in the Donetsk region. The animal was found near Kramatorsk is a city in the Donetsk region.Kramatorsk and was almost sold on the street. And then the man turned to Ferret Galaxy to consult about the maintenance of the animal… He swore that he had released the marbled polecat. But I don’t know if that really happened.” 

At the turn of the twentieth century, the marbled polecat was a common sight in the Azov steppes and on the territory of the modern Donetsk region. In the second half of the century, the animal began to die out.

The virgin steppe was plowed up more and more intensively, and cattle were grazed on what remained. The dogs that helped the shepherds herd their flocks caught wild animals in the steppes, including marbled polecats.

In the 1990s, scientists believed that only 100-150 marbled polecats remained in Ukraine. Gradually, cattle breeding in the East began to decline. And the predatory animal was seen more often. The revival of the marbled polecat began in 1998, as scientists later recorded. And since 2009, there has been a boom in the number of marbled polecats (if you can even call it that, given there have only been 29 of them identified over 43 years).

In 2010, a fight between two males was seen in Pryazovia is the geographic area of the north coast of the Sea of Azov, located in south-eastern Ukraine. Source: Wikipedia.Pryazovia, watched by another marbled polecat, probably a female. In 2016, a female was caught near Kramatorsk, which was a local sensation. According to the author of the study, 7 marbled polecats were found around Kramatorsk from 2016 to 2023.

In recent years, videos of marbled polecats from the trenches have been shared online. Last year, “a marble cat” was seen near a lake in Dnipro. And this year it was also spotted near Ukrainian military positions.

If you ever come across one, here’s a quick reminder: It is against the law in Ukraine to keep a Red List animal in captivity or to sell it.

The cover photo shows a marbled polecat at Magdeburg Zoo in Germany. Photo by Klaus Rudolph. Source: http://www.biolib.cz

Olena is described to me as a military woman who is “crazy about animals”. “She used to serve in our unit, and she always had animals with her. She took a lot of them home to Kyiv,” her brother-in-arms tells me. When I contact her, I am filled with surprise. It turns out that she is the Olena Bilozerska, who has been inspiring many with her bravery since 2014. Olena is a former journalist and a blogger. She first served as a sharpshooter in the The Right Sector Ukrainian Volunteer Corps was founded on July 17, 2014, as one of the volunteer battalions. It was created as a response to the rise of pro-russian separatism and the russian intervention in Donbas. (Adapted from Wikipedia)Right Sector Ukrainian Volunteer Corps. Later, she joined Ukraine’s Armed Forces after completing artillery training.

She loves poetry and painting, and she always has companion animals by her side. Many of them were rescued by the soldiers, and taken out of the war zone.

I spoke with Olena about the animals that accompany her on the front line and away from it.

Dogs on the front line

Are there any animals on the front line?

Yes, I have many stories about that. The most dramatic one is about a Cane Corso dog named Vasia. His human was part of the 503rd Separate Marine Battalion, where I was stationed at the time. The dog accompanied this guy everywhere, even in the trenches on duty. The dog even carried some stuff. One day, Vasia vanished. Soldiers were searching for him. They raised the drone and discovered something they’d rather not see. Vasia got into a trap. He became entangled in the wire near the trenches. It was nearly impossible to save him since you couldn’t slip in unnoticed. The recon guys were planning to evacuate the dog at night, but they did not manage to do it…

Because Vasia came back! He chewed off his paw and ran back on his three. He did not want to stay in captivity. He was sent to his human’s parents, and then I made Vasia famous by writing about his fate. His story got a lot of publicity, everyone admired him. Eventually, he received treatment and a prosthetic at the best clinic in Poland.

Does it happen that animals help you in combat missions?

In the fall of 2014, an old dog came to us in the village of Vodiane near the Donetsk airport. He went with our recon group on all the trips to the gray zone. Of course, we didn’t want to take the dog with us, so we shushed him away. He ran away at first, but then somehow knew which way we were going and waited for us at some crossroads. This dog ended up helping us a lot. He ran 20 meters ahead of the group and removed the tripwires. A human would have been, at the very least, seriously injured, but the dog was fine, because he is short compared to a human and runs fast. When he heard the “pop” of the detonator capsule, he managed to escape from the area hit by the debris 3-4 seconds before the explosion. So everyone was safe, both people and the dog.

How Efka was exchanged for F-1 grenades

You have a lot of photos of a red puppy. What’s the story here?

That’s Efka, the Belgian Shepherd mix. My friend and I found her beneath a kiosk along the highway in the summer of 2016. The guys named her Efka because when she was a small, round puppy, she resembled an F-1 grenade in her body form.

She went with us to the battlefield and was wounded. We rescued her as we would a wounded soldier. We drove her to the hospital at night, got a vet out of bed, took care of her, changed her bandages, and gave her injections… When I went on military duty, Efka had to be on a leash so that she wouldn’t run after me.

One day I was lying sick at our base near Mariupol, and my husband left early in the morning to go to another city to run some errands. Efka followed him to the bus stop. There he got on the bus and left, and she stayed there. He was sure that she would return to the base by herself.

By the next morning, she was gone. My husband and I went to that bus stop, asked people, put up posters — half the city was covered with them. We bought a battery-powered loudspeaker to drive around in the car and play announcements about our missing Efka… She was found three days later. Realizing that she was not going to get home, she followed people in military uniform and came with them to the military base of the Azov brigade. They left her there, and then they saw the poster and brought her. Of course, they didn’t want any money, but I gave them a few F-1 grenades for taking care of my Efka.

The silver one, the whiny one and the artillery one

And what about your relationship with cats?

The very first cat I had was called Vatnik, also called Komochok or Komtsia, a black kitten with a short broken tail. He was named Vatnik because in 2014, all the animals picked up in the Donetsk region were named either “Separ” refers to russian separatist troops in Ukraine, namely in the Donetsk and Luhansk regions. They were also known as russian proxy forces. This term carries a negative meaning and is commonly used to convey outrage, condemnation, or disapproval. (Adapted from Wikipedia)Separ or The word "Vatnik" refers to avid supporters of russian propaganda. (Adapted from Wikipedia)Vatnik. He arrived at the rear base and then accompanied me everywhere, including several advance bases (a few kilometers from the front line). When I went on military missions, he remained at these bases. He didn’t want to let me leave. When he noticed me getting ready to go, he grabbed my legs and yelled. When we were under fire, he’d drag me to safety by my leg. He went with me through many very dangerous places, but died on peaceful territory. He died after catching a poisoned rat. The rest of my pets are luckily still alive. 

A few months after Efka, Silver, a kitten of the Neva Masquerade breed, appeared. A soldier found him somewhere, and we took him. He was a very smart cat, but he was also sick.

Another dog, Shkavulik, grew up with the cat. In early December, a stray dog brought puppies to our basement. All nine of these puppies got sick with enteritis. On New Year’s Eve, my room at the base turned into a dog hospital. We managed to save only four of them. I decided to keep the smallest puppy.

I named him Shkavulik (in Ukrainian, “the whiny one”) since he was constantly crying pitifully. Shkavulik grew up with Silver, they adopted each other’s behaviors. Silver growled and tried to bark, Shkavulik chased after mice… And when other people’s cats came into the yard, the trio would chase them away. Efka and Shkavulik would chase the bird into a tree, and then Silver would climb up to deal with it.

All three of them, big Efka (weighing 30 kg), Shkavulik, and Silver, slept with me in my bed. There were rugs, but they wanted to sleep with me, and it was impossible to keep them away.

It was very difficult to feed them, because we were unpaid volunteers who did not have salaries. It got to the point where we had to take the other two dogs that came to our base and give them to other soldiers who lived better than we did.

Later, while I was an artillerywoman in the Ukrainian Marine Corps, I discovered a three-colored cat on a training site near Melitopol. I named him Busol (or Busia). Busol literally means “artillery compass”. She traveled with me to Exercise Sea Breeze, and there, American marines wanted to get her from me and take her to their ship. Busia is a Maine Coon mix. She weighs 6-7 kilograms. She’s also a really picky lady. She lets you pet her only when she wants to.

When the full-scale invasion exploded, the dogs, Efka and Shkavulik, were living with my father-in-law in the Cherkasy region. The cats, Silver, Busia and Kasia, were living at my home in Kyiv. I sent them to my father-in-law as well. When the war is over, I will take them back. In the meantime, they are growing up and getting older without me.

What do cats write in secret chats?

How do other soldiers behave towards your animals?

They are mostly animal lovers. However, there are people with different household habits. One of my now deceased brother-in-arms, for example, was a clean freak. We used to sleep on mattresses on the floor, and my dogs would go on those mattresses with their dirty paws after the rain. So many guys were grumbling about that, especially the one that loved cleaning. The animals and I even had to relocate to a different home. It was a risky maneuver because everything was taking place in a village on the front line that was frequently bombarded by the russian troops.

Do cats and dogs disrupt your work?

No, not in combat missions because we don’t take them directly into battle. And if they are in the trenches with us, they sneak away when it gets hot, as if they are not present. But when you work on a laptop, not even the greatest cat bed can match the excitement of a keyboard for cats. Their life revolves around lying on the keyboard. No amount of treats will distract them from their laptop. They don’t just lie there; they type messages in secret military chats, such as “trrrrrrrr” and “aaaaaa”.

When the commander reads this, he asks, “Have you been drinking there, or what?”. And among those reading this, there will definitely be a soldier who knows what’s going on. He will write plainly, “That’s the cat”.

I have also stories of cats running somewhere at night, and you take your rifle with a thermal imaging scope and go “hunting” for your own cat.

Can an animal somehow improve your mood or the mood of the people around you?

Oh, they’re experts at this Simply petting a cat or a dog makes you feel better. You kiss the fluffy one or the plushie-looking one on the forehead, one of them licks you, and you feel like you have something to live for.

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.

Natalka is sitting on the porch of a village clubhouse in Novoosynove, Kharkiv region. The roar of the frontline echoes in the background. Smoke rises on the horizon.

“What are you doing now?” I ask.

“Preparing a solution. There’s a dog feeling unwell over there. We’ll give it an IV.”

A massive dark dog is sleeping in a cage under a birch tree. An IV is set up and hung from the tree’s lower branch. Nearby, cages hold animals awaiting surgery in the UAnimals veterinary vehicle.

We speak with Natalka during a UAnimals veterinary mission in the Kharkiv region, near Kupiansk, where veterinarians have long been absent. Here, Natalka and her team sterilize animals and provide medical assistance.

— The locals in Novoosynove seem to recognize you. This isn’t your first visit, is it?

— We were here in the summer, and people have gotten somewhat used to us. Back then, this place was much livelier: stores were open, and there were more residents. But since then, the situation has worsened. Fewer people remain, and the atmosphere has grown more somber. The store that used to operate now serves as a temporary shelter for animals.

— When you chose this profession, did you imagine your life would look like this?

— No, not at all! No veterinarian envisions their life this way!

My mother is a doctor, and I also considered a medical career. However, I didn’t want to work with people and chose veterinary medicine instead. Turns out, veterinarians often work more with people than with animals. There was a time when I doubted my life choices. I left university in my third year. Later, I returned with a clear purpose and have been dedicated to this profession ever since.

Nowadays, everyone does what they can. Through the Accessible Sterilization project, we can sterilize stray animals and vaccinate them against rabies. That’s what we do. The project’s goal is to make sterilization and rabies vaccination accessible for stray animals and pets belonging to low-income families. We also want people who take care of street animals to have the opportunity to sterilize them.

A long time ago, around 15 years ago, I began visiting animal shelters. At the time, I was working at a clinic and was invited to help at the Hostomel shelter. The conditions there were, to put it mildly, poor. I saw animals giving birth within the shelter because they weren’t sterilized. Many puppies and kittens had illnesses and died. That’s when I had the idea to make animal sterilization more accessible.

— Why sterilize stray or street animals?

— Many animals are born uncontrollably.

Why do we encounter cruelty toward animals? I believe the main problem is that there are too many of them. People commit various acts that degrade human dignity — like drowning kittens or puppies. Additionally, kittens, puppies, and mature animals get sick when there is no one to take care of them. It is an endless cycle of suffering.

There are no laws regulating animal reproduction. Often, people refuse to sterilize their pets. Usually, it’s an immature attitude. They claim to feel sorry for the animal but then go on to kill kittens or puppies. This is the cruelty we strive to curb.

— What does your work look like?

— My colleagues — Yuliya Tkachenko and Lolita Polishchuk — and I have a stationary office in Kyiv where we perform surgeries on animals a few times a month.

However, most of our work is done on our trips. We operate in frontline towns as well as in the Kyiv region. We perform surgeries in Novi Petrivtsi, north of Kyiv, and Ivankiv, near Chornobyl. There, we rent spaces and sterilize cats and dogs brought in by low-income residents. We invite people via various social media groups. We also assist the Sirius shelter, which is struggling financially and lacks a veterinarian.

— Do you remember your first field mission?

— We started operating in villages before the full-scale war. However, I distinctly recall one trip already during the invasion. We traveled north of Kyiv to Kukhari, a village by the Teteriv River. Our army was holding back the advance on Kyiv there. Tanks passed through the village, and a major battle took place. The village was completely destroyed — only chimneys remained standing. It looked like a scene from a World War II film. It was deeply disturbing. We worked in a clubhouse that a caretaker was trying to rebuild, even though his own house had also been destroyed.

When we arrived, it seemed like no one lived there anymore. The reception was scheduled for 10 a.m., and suddenly, people began appearing from all directions.

Despite their destroyed homes and shattered lives, they came to sterilize their animals!

Our first mission to a frontline area was to Lyman after its liberation. It was winter, and we worked in an abandoned veterinary clinic. Seeing it was heartbreaking because it had been someone’s business. [During the occupation], Russian forces used the clinic — they vandalized everything inside.

The city was in ruins. We watched as our military vehicles and soldiers moved toward the front line… but we didn’t see them returning. The rumbling was constant. The sky glowed orange. It felt as if there were some big millstones where the frontline was, grinding people.

— How do people usually react to your work when you visit them?

— Soldiers care a lot about the fate of animals. They ask us to evacuate them, treat them, and bring them in for sterilization. All those who have already been affected by serious military events understand why sterilization is necessary and why animals should be vaccinated against rabies. After all, they are the ones who feed these animals and take care of them. 

For example, in the Zaporizhzhia region, particularly in Orikhiv, there have been recorded cases of rabies, and there are many foxes. We traveled there to vaccinate animals from rabies, and many people willingly came forward to get vaccines. There’s no resistance — on the contrary, people are grateful for the opportunity to vaccinate their animals.

— And who’s this joining us?

— These are Lyman and Richie — my dogs. They work here with us.

Richie is a dog from Kukhari, that heavily devastated village we visited after the Kyiv region was liberated.

We collaborate with a volunteer there who is very committed to preventing stray puppies and kittens from being born. However, due to the full-scale war, she couldn’t keep up, and Richie was born. We had to take the puppies for rehoming, but I decided to keep Richie.

And it’s clear where Lyman comes from! He’s from Lyman.

We were going on a trip to collect puppies that a soldier had asked us to evacuate, but we accidentally went to the wrong checkpoint. We explained, “We’re here for the yellow puppies.” They brought out Lyman. He’s black! A tiny puppy with no teeth. We said, “We have nowhere to take him…” and they replied, “Take him, or he’ll die here.” So we brought him with us and had to bottle-feed him. I thought about putting him up for adoption, but this little dog made me feel happy. Now he’s with me.

— Do you feel your work is making a difference?

— In Ivankiv, where we systematically sterilize stray animals, there are no unsterilized strays left. In fact, there are very few animals on the streets altogether. There were even a few seasons when people couldn’t find kittens to adopt. That’s an excellent indicator.

We’ve been to Lyman three or four times, and we’re quite pleased with the results. Most of the dogs there now have ear tags, which means they’ve been sterilized.

I also feel that our work is not in vain when people say “thank you.”

“Kupiansk Rai”: several concrete letters have fallen from the district sign, leaving only “Rai” [“rai” means “paradise” in Ukrainian, while the original word on the sign was “Raion,” meaning “district”]. It’s hard to imagine anything more ironic.

Flags flutter in the wind. Fading inscriptions left by passersby shimmer on the painted concrete. The wind blows in our faces. My fellow veterinarians step out of the vehicle, and the dogs follow — beautiful Lyman and impossibly funny Ritchie. I capture them all on camera. A minute later, we’re back in the cars.

We dive beneath a tilted railway bridge; pieces hang over the road like something out of a movie with explosions and high-quality CGI. The car veers onto a dirt road, jostling us as clouds of dust rise.

At one point, the car dips down, leaving a few weary soldiers behind on the side — and I see water all around. Rusted remnants of the bridge jut up from the depths like the spine and ribs of a skeleton. Oskil [River]? I pull out my phone, recording a few seconds, but all that’s visible is dust, and all that’s audible is a tune on the radio, “Your heart will tell you, for it has sight. It’s him! It’s him for sure!”

Together with the veterinary team, we head toward Kivsharivka, where they will sterilize and treat animals. Thus begins the diary of these eight incredible, smoke-filled days.

Characters:

o   Nataliya Sokolova (Natalka) — Head of the Accessible Sterilization project, veterinarian.

o   Lolita Polishchuk (Lola) — Veterinary assistant.

o   Yuliya Tkachenko — Veterinarian.

o   Roman Bidnenko (Roma) — Animal catcher.

o   Oleksandr Pohrebnyi (Sasha) — Driver of the UAnimals veterinary vehicle.

o   Olha Slynko (Olya) — Volunteer.

o   Andriy Kharchyshyn (Andriy) — Manager of the UAnimals rescue department.

o   Liliya Florynska (Lilya) — Animal welfare volunteer from Kupiansk.

o   Ranok the Dog.

o   Village Council Head Vasyl Bokov — Head of the Osynovo Village Council.

o   Aunt Valya, Zina, and others.

Tuesday, September 3

The car sways wildly between the pale chalk hills, the landscape resembling a sliced Kyiv cake. 

Ahead, the Kivsharivka sign appears, painted blue and yellow. The flag flutters on it, too, though faded to a lavender hue. We head a bit south to the first spot where the mobile clinic will be set up — the village of Novoosynove.

At 2:02 p.m., we arrive. The unknown soldier [Soviet-era monuments present in virtually every village] bows slightly under an old birch tree. We park the veterinary vehicle there, hanging branches around it for cover, and carry our supplies into an abandoned outpatient clinic. In one of the rooms, military call signs and code words are pinned up. I drop my backpack there.

The clinic wall has a gaping hole, and beside it, a rose bush blooms. The roof is shattered, and torn wires dangle like garlands here and there. I walk further in. Shattered windows reveal smiles of jagged shards, and blackened streaks make it appear as if something hot has scraped the building.  The fence is scrawled with messages for the enemy. Finally, I see people — women sitting on benches surrounded by cats. “Are you a volunteer? I’d like to speak with you.”

I barely manage to explain the type of our volunteer mission before the women start sharing stories about their animals.

“Who wrote on the fence?” I ask.

“Oh, Valya wrote it while Kostya dictated. She really shouldn’t have! There are four mistakes in every word.”

On the way back, I indeed spot the inscription, “ruskiy korabil.” When I return, Roma, the animal catcher, has just arrived from his first round. Dogs and cats “spill” from the car like out of the mitten [reference to a Ukrainian fairy tale]. Well, it just seems that way — they’re actually secured in cages. These are strays that will be spayed, neutered, and treated for parasites.

One puppy is too small for a cage, so it was let to wander on the grass, waddling between the cages with little, wobbly steps. Wobble-wobble, wobble-wobble.

“We’ll vaccinate this one soon,” says Natalka. “Let’s get it on video. Can you hold it…?”

“I just need to grab my mic,” I say, but I can’t bring myself to set the puppy down.

“Hand it over here; I’ll hold it,” offers Andriy, our manager.

I start to feel a pang of jealousy.

“Why don’t you two go together?” Natalka suggests, ending the debate.

I hurry to the clinic to fetch my mic, still holding the pup. The little one shivers like an aspen leaf but obediently sits on the couch while I search for the equipment. Once ready, we vaccinate and microchip him. I capture the process on film and already feel like I’ll never let this pup go.

Meanwhile, Natalka, Lola, and Yulia begin sedating the animals in the cages and starting the surgeries. Later, these cats and dogs will be vaccinated for rabies and treated for parasites. Roma and volunteer Olya are preparing for the next round of captures. I grab my camera and barely manage to jump in the car with them.

“Turn around so it doesn’t see me!” seems to be the mantra of the day. Roma shouts it to everyone helping bring a cat or dog to the car. He holds that if the animal doesn’t see the catcher, he can safely take it from its owner and quickly place it in a cage.

We gather cats around Novoosynove and Kivsharivka. Some people hand them over; others, Roma catches with a special trap cage baited with fragrant kibbles. Some are caught barehanded, while others need a net. By dusk, we’re back with 18 cats in cages.

The veterinarians finish their surgeries: 15 animals sterilized on the first day. It may not seem like much, but we still have plenty of time ahead.

The frontline rumbles, making it impossible to sleep in the clinic tonight. We gather our things and head to the basement of a five-story building. The building seems empty, but suddenly, a woman materializes near the entrance with a bicycle. “You all need a place to wash up! There’s an empty, bombed-out apartment with a water supply. The soldiers used to go there to bathe. Oh, how long we have lived with them here! They left at one point, then returned because they were afraid Aunt Valya wasn’t around anymore. But here I am. They meet me, they wheel my bicycle up… Second floor, there’s a spoon sticking out of the lock.”

Wednesday, September 4

In the morning, I head out again with Roma, the animal catcher, and Olya. Roma drives, while Olya keeps tabs on requests coming from Andriy and occasionally Natalka, jotting them down in her notebook and managing calls on her phone. After returning animals to their owners in Novoosynove, we set off to the village of Podoly to follow up on more requests. We bump along the dirt road like wandering Bedouins on camels, the air thick with smoke.

In Podoly, we’re met by Zina, a local volunteer who shelters abandoned dogs and knows where others might be found. She’s essentially our diplomatic envoy in this village. Zina hops into the car and confidently extends her tanned finger from the window, directing us.

Our first stop is with a woman picking up her already-sterilized dog, Pushynka. The woman cries with joy when she receives her dog and again when handing over Pushynka’s puppies for sterilization. “You’ll bring them back tomorrow, right?”

Our car crawls over sand dunes left by military vehicles, reaching a neighborhood where many residents remain.

“Where’s your other cat?” one woman asks. “My comadre is still trying to catch her,” another replies. “Those are my cats,” waves a woman in a snow-white headscarf. “They’re displaced. They used to live in the military’s house over there, but then they came to me. A cat and three kittens. The soldiers left, and nobody was feeding them.”

Our conversations with people go smoothly until we arrive at the home of some local drinkers, where dogs cluster outside. Despite our diplomatic envoy doing her best, we couldn’t break through the wall of incomprehension. A man and woman shout and tell us, along with Zina, to go away. We manage to take only one dog for sterilization.

Today, we sterilized 46 animals and distributed rabies vaccines and parasite treatments — items unavailable for purchase here.

Thursday, September 5

Emerging from the basement, my eyes take a while to adjust to the light.

A rumble starts: two helicopters soar overhead, their heavy bellies skimming above me, only to return minutes later. I spot blue and yellow insignias. Hopefully, they accomplished what they set out to do.

Everything around is humming and vibrating. At the mobile clinic, our first client is Simka, a cat brought in by an older man, Oleksandr Vasylovych. He tells us he has another cat, Bilka, along with three kittens. Maybe we can catch and vaccinate them? We head to his yard together.

Under the grapevines, the kittens huddle on the seat of an old rusted moped.

“I could leave here,” Oleksandr Vasylovych laments. “I’d let my little dog go. But what about these ones? I’m in a deadlock! I don’t know what to do with them! I’ve got nowhere to go, let alone take them. If I leave, it would be to the Sumy region. But they’re not wanted there.”

We manage to catch two and carry them back. Another cat comes out. “Murchyk, come along! Today’s my birthday. I didn’t know since there’s no power, and then I charged my phone and saw that it was today.”

Meanwhile, locals continue arriving at the mobile clinic, some women bringing cats quite literally in sacks. Everyone discusses last night’s shelling in Kivsharivka. One shell hit the bus station near the kiosk where we bought food yesterday.

By late morning, I set out with Roma again to Kivsharivka and Podoly. After the strikes, the smoke was thicker. The bus station is blackened and destroyed, and patches of grass are still smoldering.

At 12:01 p.m., one of the busiest episodes of the veterinary mission begins. After returning sterilized animals to Podoly, we set off to locate a collapsed house rumored to be sheltering seven puppies. All feral, and they need to be caught to vaccinate them.

We finally locate the place: a sieve instead of a fence, and the house missing an entire wall. Piles of bricks cover the ground, while shelves stocked with canned food and household items are visible inside. Roma and I enter what used to be the kitchen — it’s dark and disorderly.

We shine our flashlights around but manage to locate only two puppies. The others dart under a gap in the floorboards, and the next 20 minutes are filled with dust and chaotic scurrying. Roma uses some kind of a rod to pry up the floor, reaching into the holes to grab the puppies by hand. They whimper, but eventually, we catch them all.

Back in Novoosynove, I set off on foot to find another store. A dull thud echoes in the distance. At an intersection, a burnt car lies under a wooden sign labeled “Store” with an arrow pointing left. I follow it. The houses along the way have warped walls, and on one, with relatively fresh pink paint, someone has scrawled, “Glory to Ukraine, death to enemies!”

“Do you have any bread?” I ask.

“No bread delivery today. Tomorrow.”

Apart from bread, they seem to have everything else.

By day’s end, we had operated on 37 animals, most of which were captured strays. We continued distributing parasite treatments.

As the sun sets, I step outside to take in the village. Tended but empty gardens stretch before me. Corn and unharvested tomatoes. Marigolds bloom everywhere.

Friday, September 6

We’re at a new location, though the village name isn’t much different — Osynovo, now on the right bank of the Oskil. Once again, we set up the mobile clinic near the village council and community center, where a crowd has already gathered. Some wait with cats and dogs for sterilization, while others simply want to chat. They sit beside us on the bench, talking, and talking, and talking… The common theme for everyone here is their dogs and cats.

Midday, soldiers bring in a dog named Sandy, who resembles a husky, for sterilization.

“She’s our sister in arms,” says Sasha, a soldier, squinting in the sun. “She’s been with us in the dugouts, the trenches… always hiding with us in the shelters. She’s been with us since she was a pup.”

Roman turns to me and asks, “Shall we head to the dump?” I nod, “Of course.”

The local dump is said to be a goldmine for catching stray animals. We arrive during the golden hour when everything is bathed in the warm glow of the low sun. Golden-tinted trash blankets the hills.

We’re followed by a man of remarkable erudition: “I know three languages,” he declares, “Ukrainian, russian, and Romani! And here’s my dog. Bomba, come here!”

Our trip to the dump is only partially successful; we manage to pick up just one dog there and another on the way back.

But today, more owners have started bringing their animals for sterilization. Altogether, we sterilize 59 cats and dogs: 33 brought in by their owners, with the rest from our animal catching rounds.

We settle in for the night at the village community center. The head of the village council brings us blankets; I lay mine beneath a poster of a Soviet soldier. There’s no Wi-Fi or phone signal here, so to catch an internet connection from the Starlink, we have to step onto the council’s porch. However, the community center houses a small library with relatively modern books. A red-painted sign above reads, “Kupiansk District! Our homeland.”

Saturday, September 7

“I brought seven cats from Kupiansk,” says volunteer Yulia, setting seven carriers in a row. “I collected them from people who can’t bring them here for sterilization on their own. Many people have left, abandoning their animals, who can’t fend for themselves. I’ve taken in one cat and four dogs. Some others, we go and feed.”

Today, animals are brought in from Kupiansk, a soldier and a few villagers come by. Later in the afternoon, I head to Kupiansk myself with Roman. We’re not alone: volunteer Lilia joins us, her notebook filled with addresses.

“How’s veterinary care here?” I ask. “Nonexistent,” Lilia replies. “It’s been about ten months without any help. Sometimes, people contact veterinarians in Kharkiv online or take animals themselves to Chuhuiv or Kharkiv. There used to be a clinic in Shevchenkove, but it’s gone too. Now, it’s only phone consultations.”

By the end of the day, the vets sterilized 67 cats and dogs.

Sunday, September 8

“This here is Sofa. She’s a sweetheart, never causes trouble,” a local woman, a mother of three, tells me about her dog. “Either way, she needs to be sterilized. It’s better for the dog and for us — otherwise, we’d have way too many dogs. I also have Lyalya. When the explosions are close, they run everywhere, barking. Sofa sleeps under my car because she’s scared of explosions.”

The wait is long, and soon, the woman shifts to sharing memories of the occupation.

“They took everyone to the basements, forced us to sing the russian anthem. Some made it out; some didn’t. It was terrifying when planes flew over the rooftops. At first, I’d huddle in a corner, clutching my head… I don’t know how I managed to pull myself together. It took them a long time to push them out of the woods. Now that our troops are here, it’s not as scary. God forbid it happens again.”

A clear autumn sky with thin, transparent clouds.

This is Prystin, the third village on our route. Here, too, we’ve set up the mobile clinic beside the village council and community center. Beneath a bench, a neat pile of shell fragments is stacked — smooth metal with jagged, torn edges.

At 5:37 p.m., the air thickens with smoke. The first puppy vaccinated during the mission sleeps, unbothered by any explosions. In Osynovo, I’ve already named him Ranok [“Morning”]. Some people sit “under the Starlink,” trying to pick up a signal. Andriy is on the phone with UAnimals manager Nastya: “I’ll text you every hour, ‘All good, all good.’”

This reassurance is necessary because it was whistling and falling nearby recently. We ducked behind a wall, though who knows what good it would’ve done.

Just afterward, our driver Sasha calls out, “Drone!” and we crouch near a birch for a few minutes.

I see people outside the village tying three cows to graze. The young women continue their surgeries while Roman is on a capture round.

In the evening, the village council head stops by again. “That drone dropped something near my house. There was some kind of another thing,  it fell in a woman’s yard. I’ll go visit her and tell you what that was. Will this one here turn out like marble?” He nods at Ranok, who indeed has a reddish coat with faint marbled patterns.

The veterinarians work late as usual: today, they’ve operated on 41 animals.

To keep the light use minimal, only the vet van stays illuminated. Once that light goes out, everything is swallowed by thick darkness. Only the sky over Kivsharivka continues to flash.

Monday, September 9

Early in the morning, something hit nearby again. I hear the village head on the phone, asking, “Could you bring a couple of canisters of water, at least? There was a strike, and we don’t want the fire spreading to the sunflowers…”

It’s the second-to-last day, so, together with Andriy, the manager, we record a video summarizing our efforts. He holds the shaggy Lyman in his arms. “The Grads [MLRS] last night were memorable,” Andriy says with a half-smile.

But it’s time to take stock for real: the vet mission has provided aid to 390 animals, most of them strays.

Tonight, there are few stars, but the moon is visible. It’s waxing but no longer a thin crescent. Its broader shape glows in the sky — a strange, blood-red hue.

Tuesday, September 10

We pack up, load Ranok into the car, and begin the slow drive back to Kharkiv with Sasha in the vet van. The veterinarians, Roma, and Andriy take a second van. The vet van has some mechanical issues, so we can only drive in second gear, giving us ample time to take in the sights of the Kharkiv region — beautiful and smoke-filled. russian radio occasionally breaks through the static.

In Kharkiv, I stop by a pet store, buy a dog carrier, and head home.

We arrive in Kyiv that evening, all of us — the veterinarians, Andriy, Sasha, and us with the dog.

Just before arrival, I text Natalka: “How are you?” “All’s well,” she replies, sending a photo from the van with a glass in hand. “Celebrating life.” And the little “marbled” dog is giving me a hard time to finish this text.

Viktor Shapoval has led Askania-Nova for two months longer than the duration of the full-scale war with russia. Prior to this role, he served for 20 years as a research officer and head of the biomonitoring and protected steppe laboratory within the reserve, joining right after graduating from Kherson State University. Over this time, he has not only acquired extensive knowledge about the unique steppe environment but has also, as he says, developed a deep love for Askania. It pains him to watch from afar as the reserve suffers under russian occupation, a situation he shares in the following interview.

History and Significance

The full-scale invasion marks Askania’s third encounter with war, and military conflicts are fundamentally incompatible with preserving natural reserves. During the Second World War, German and Soviet forces ravaged Askania-Nova’s infrastructure, showing little regard for the animals’ welfare; the Germans even transported a significant part of the collection away. This happened during the First World War as well. Currently, only its distance from the frontline provides a degree of safety.

Askania-Nova was seized on the first day of the full-scale invasion without notable resistance as the fighting began closer to the Dnipro River and near Melitopol. There were only isolated clashes near the reserve, and damaged military vehicles were found on its outskirts. However, the level of combat intensity witnessed in other Ukrainian protected areas did not occur in Askania-Nova.

It wasn’t until two months later, on May 2, 2022, that representatives of the occupation authorities arrived. During their visit, I heard much “instruction” about the so-called “special military operation,” responsibility, and other such nonsense. I made my Ukrainian stance and a lack of desire to cooperate clear. That, unsurprisingly, was not well-received. I also stated the amount required to sustain the reserve, and from their reaction, I saw that they appeared “a bit” surprised. They assumed they could simply step in and “rescue” us but this happened to be too expensive.

I believe the reason for their initial delay in coming to Askania-Nova was banal: they prioritized capturing profitable farms and agricultural enterprises. There is no need to look for any environmental logic or understanding of the historical value of Askania-Nova in their actions. They were utterly disinterested in the history, cultural and ecological value, or international conservation status of the reserve. 

Money and Support

The reserve is a budget-funded institution, so we had a procurement plan, with the final stages of tendering scheduled for late February. Naturally, everything was disrupted, and we faced a challenge in sourcing food for the animals. This didn’t mean starvation struck immediately. We had some reserves, but the feed consumption in Askania-Nova is quite high.

The frontline severely disrupted and cut off all logistics — Askania-Nova essentially turned into an isolated island amid a swamp. We had no choice but to openly request help via social media. It was a risky move; it’s no secret that the FSB monitors social media.

When we posted our first message about Askania-Nova’s critical needs, we connected with Oleksandr Todorchuk [founder of UAnimals]. Late that night, he wired us a substantial amount. A person we had never interacted with understood the situation and trusted us. We used that initial donation from UAnimals to purchase the first batch of feed. And we are incredibly grateful.

All those willing to help, including international partners and charitable organizations, could only support us financially. Delivering supplies to Askania-Nova from [Ukraine-]controlled territory was impossible, and requesting it from the other side was simply immoral, and we rejected that idea outright. We purchased goods within the occupied territory from our local farms. Thanks to this assistance, we managed to sustain ourselves in almost autonomous mode for more then a year.

Duty and Responsibility

The question of evacuation was not open for me for a long time. The responsibility for the reserve rested squarely on me as the director. For employees whose presence wasn’t essential on-site, we implemented remote work. However, those who cared for the animals and plants remained in the reserve on their workplaces.

We are neither a library nor a trolleybus depot — you can’t close us for a certain period of time and ask the animals to wait.

I left on the last day before the annexation was announced, on September 30, 2022. During the seven months I was in Askania, we stabilized the situation — securing feed, building materials for routine repairs, and spare parts for equipment maintenance.

A budget-funded institution has specific obligations, such as preparing financial and scientific reports. While on occupied territory, I couldn’t fulfill these. By leaving, I was able to meet with our partners and arrange charitable funding for the reserve, managing Askania-Nova remotely.

Even in such challenging circumstances, the reserve operated under Ukrainian jurisdiction. It’s telling that on collaborator Volodymyr Saldo’s channel, there was information of Askania-Nova “sabotaging” the russian authorities’ orders for over a year — a recognition of our resistance by the invaders themselves. To me, “sabotaged” is too mild a term.

On March 20, 2023, Dmitry Meshcheryakov was installed as the occupation director. Since then, all charitable expenses for Askania-Nova’s upkeep have ceased.

We still receive information about what is happening in the reserve, but I no longer have direct leverage. We document all the damage to the natural and artificial ecosystems in Askania-Nova, develop proposals for assessing these damages, and relay this to the relevant authorities and agencies to ensure future compensation through reparations from the agressor.

Our scientific work continues. We received a certification confirming the institution’s status as a scientific establishment, we continue to carry out a research program, and publish the professional journal Bulletin of the Biosphere Reserve Askania-Nova. 

There are still many things that can be accomplished remotely. For example, we document all fires. Up until March 2023, we could inspect fire zones directly, but now we rely on satellite images.

Negligence and Lawlessness

In August 2023, there was a large-scale fire in the Great Chapelsky Hollow [also referred to as the Great Chapelsky Lowland] where hoofed animals are kept. Predictably, the invaders immediately blamed the Ukrainian Armed Forces, alleging that artillery fire was the cause. They even announced some sort of investigation, but judging by the silence that followed, they quickly realized their own involvement in the course of this “investigation.”

The lack of proper scientific and veterinary oversight in the reserve causes significant issues and animal deaths. For instance, in November 2023, three African buffaloes died on the Big Chapelsky Pod. You might ask why a warm-climate African animal was left in unsuitable conditions in November. The answer is simple: the occupation administration has no relevant experience. They failed to properly move the animals to winter enclosures. Another animal died from an injury caused by a vehicle — a buffalo fractured its cervical vertebra and died on the spot. We have reported all these incidents to law enforcement.

The animals also suffer from the constant flyovers of russian aircraft above Askania. In August 2022, during one such flyover, a nilgai antelope panicked and collided with a concrete wall. Environmental laws prohibit flying over reserves due to the stress it causes the animals.

The invaders are even stealing our animals. On December 1, 2023, they took seven animals, including two Przewalski’s horses. We notified the National Academy of Agrarian Sciences of Ukraine, the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources, the National Commission for UNESCO, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs through official letters.

The Przewalski’s horse is a species listed under a special appendix to the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, which russia has also ratified. But whether the terrorist state follows international norms is a rhetorical question.

Only the liberation of Askania-Nova will put a stop to the invaders’ unlawful actions. The only real safeguard against this is the Armed Forces of Ukraine.

Currently, Askania is operating on inertia, surviving solely due to the dedication of the Ukrainian staff with many years of experience.

Yet, I have to give the occupation authorities credit — they’ve become adept at creating an image of “happy life” under the russian flag. The russians have now opened up excursion routes and are claiming it as an achievement. These routes existed long before the occupation administration arrived and even long before I was born — dating back to Friedrich von Falz-Fein (1863–1920) was the founder of Askania-Nova nature reserve complex.Friedrich von Falz-Fein. Only professional propagandists could so skillfully claim others’ accomplishments as their own and parade them as their achievements.

Liberation and Restoration

We are currently in a state of uncertainty. Only after the liberation will we understand exactly what needs to be restored in Askania-Nova.

It’s clear that the invaders will take some animals away, and some will die. But I believe some animals will remain — surviving even through catastrophic circumstances. We will work to restore their populations.

We might face a major demining problem in the reserve. The soil cover is also damaged by craters and trenches. The invaders started digging a trench even in the virgin steppe, but we managed to stop these insane actions. 

We know that trees are being cut down in the arboretum, and certain significant collections have already perished. We will need to restore the infrastructure, the territory, collection funds, and the natural ecosystems.

Through this experience, I can say that I’ve come to fully grasp a deep love and attachment to Askania-Nova, one that only became clear to me when I was deprived of it. I am no different from the hundreds of other enthusiasts working in the nature conservation field. It’s not highly profitable, but for us, it’s a calling. This is work that captures you and demands a natural reverence for nature. It’s a commitment for life.

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.

Main image: Viktor Shapoval. Source: Dim TV channel

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.

“Is that a bang,” asks the bearded man sitting in the dugout. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to hurt you… You’ll be safe and warm here.” He is talking to a kitten. You might recognize this scene. The soldier shared the video on his TikTok page, where it has already garnered nearly three million views.

The man in the video is Vitaliy Petrov, a tank platoon commander. Before the full-scale war, he lived in Kyiv, working as a driver—first as an employee and later as an entrepreneur. His family dog, Aiza, stayed behind in the rear. While on the front lines, he found himself caring for a cat, who soon became a social media sensation.

Vitaliy adopted the call sign “Joker,” after the DC Comics villain, who had a companion named Harley Quinn. Fittingly, Joker’s real-life black kitten is named Harley.

At the time of our conversation, Vitaliy’s unit had been holding the same frontline position for five months, with Harley living there for four of those months. 

Joker mentions that Harley “spiced things up” on TikTok, where he now has over 125,000 followers who offer tips on cat care and even send food for her. Our call connects. Joker’s camera shows us his dugout.

— Is the cat with you now?

— Yes, she’s having lunch over there.

— I’ve rewatched that video of you holding her as a kitten about 15 times…

— Yeah, there were some heavy shellings back then. I found her terrified and brought her into the dugout. I talked to her, and she listened so intently—it was unbelievable. Even after the shelling ended, she didn’t leave the dugout for another hour.

— How did she find you?

— When we first arrived at this position, there was a pregnant cat here. One of our unit members is a vet, so he helped deliver the kittens. Once they grew up and started running around, I took a liking to a little black one. That’s how I got her. 

Joked had his Harley, so I named her the same.

Harley has lived with us in the dugout all her life. The other kittens run around outside, and she used to run off with them, too, but now she’s become quite the house cat. 

I feed her, and she eats with the other cats while we leave for work. When we return, the other four cats scurry off, but Harley sits there like she owns the place, totally unbothered.

— How did you manage to tame her when the other cats stayed feral?

— Harley’s a bit of a disaster, to be honest. If there’s wire anywhere, she’ll find a way to get tangled in it. I’ve had to rescue her countless times.

Once, I’d just returned from my post and was resting when a comrade burst in, shouting, “Grab a knife and come with me!” I said, “Why a knife? I’ve got a rifle.” He insisted, “No, grab a knife!” I said, “Let’s do the rifle! Are we going into hand-to-hand combat or what?” He said, “Your silly little thing hanged herself, come quick!” I ran after him, and sure enough, Harley was hanging on the net. She was above the dugout, fell down, and was caught by her neck. I cut her free, she was trembling all over. I took her into my arms, and she calmed down.

I don’t know exactly how I managed to tame her. Maybe she lets herself be touched because I kept finding her and showing her love.

— Does she show you love in return?

— Oh, it’s incredible. Every morning, there’s a whole ritual. When I get ready for work, Harley comes over and starts meowing. She won’t stop until I pet her and let her rub against my face, like giving her a kiss of sorts. She just can’t let me gear up and go to work in peace. She demands attention before she’ll let me go, like, “Fine, you can go, but not for long.” She also goes to the other guys for a pet, but when I lie down to rest, she comes to my bed only.

— What’s a typical day like with her?

— Some days, there’s a ton of work and others, you just get up and monitor the perimeter of your zone of responsibility. There are firefights, fending off attacks. During those times, I don’t lock her away because if I do, she gets even more anxious.

She mostly stays in or around the dugout. Meanwhile, we do our job a little away. Once, I was on my post, and she came to visit. I was shocked. I petted her, but then I took her back because we don’t need that—she could give away our position. 

Orlans [Russian drones] can see everything very well with their cameras. If they see dogs or a bunch of cats, they know there are people nearby. We don’t need to let them know it.

— Does Harley have a favorite spot?

— When I’m lying on the bed, her favorite spot is on my chest, just near my shoulder. She lies down there and goes to sleep.

— How does she react to the shelling?

— She was scared as a kitten, but now, not so much. The only time she gets fussy is when she sees me putting on my armor and grabbing my weapon. She knows I’m leaving, and she shows her displeasure.

— Does she affect your mood?

— Definitely! When I used to be looking for her when she was a kitten, I was beside myself with joy when I found this little ball of happiness. 

During shelling, it was the other way, I’d worry that something could hit her…

— Can she cheer up others?

— Without her, it would be duller. We reminisce with the guys about how we were scrambling under fire to find Harley.

When I couldn’t find her for a week, it really got me down. But then I’d see her mom, and I’d think, “Okay, they must be nearby.” That cheered me up.

Sometimes, we’ll be sitting together with the guys, and Harley will come over, bothering everyone, meowing. Once someone acknowledges her and talks to her, she’s happy. She’ll either curl up somewhere or sit and listen.

— In the videos, you talk to her so sweetly. Don’t your comrades tease you about it?

— At first, they joked, “Did you replace your wife’s attention with that of a cat?” They even called me the “cat dad.” Think what you will, let it be so. But frankly speaking, you can’t endure war without humor.

Kabachok used to live in Donetsk region. Where exactly is classified as the militarymen found him on a mission. He’s a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig by breed, but more like a dog in his behavior. Out in the field and on the road, he used to live in an empty ammo box. Now, he has a much more sizable home. On his way to the shelter, Kabachok was accompanied by eight soldiers and two journalists.

“He’s completely tame. Eats everything, but we’re watching his diet so he doesn’t gain too much weight. Kabachok should be ‘sportivo’,” says Andrea Cisternino, owner of the Rifugio shelter in Lisovychi.

This svelte Italian in rubber boots used to be a fashion photographer. Now, he has chosen a different mission — taking care of hundreds of animals in northern Kyiv region.

For nearly a decade, Rifugio has been a place for homeless and poorly-treated animals to find a new home. It recently had many new arrivals from Kherson oblast, hotspot towns and villages, and also — pets of soldiers who had to leave for the front lines. Right now, the shelter is housing approximately 500 animals. Nobody knows the exact amount — once the number broke 400, the workers simply lost track. 

NOSE TO THE GRINDSTONE

“At six in the morning I light the wood stove by the kittens and puppies,” tells Natalia from Liubymivka, “while another coworker heats up the one in the kitchen and starts making porridge. Then, I clean up and go help her out. We give the porridge to the dogs, then feed the pigs and clean their enclosures. And the other person goes to wash the dishes, while I go wash the eyes of our kittens. I do whatever other procedures the animals need. After that, we go to clean the dogs’ enclosures. Switch out their water and all that.”

Work continues deep into the evening.

Natalia and her colleague take care of pigs, cats, and dogs. Three other men work with horses, goats, and sheep. The owner also often takes up the pitchfork, but he also has other duties, such as looking for funds to support the shelter. Andrea says, “My main mission is to make sure all of these animals are well-fed.”

FROM ITALY TO LISOVYCHI

Next to the enclosures at the edge of the forest, Andrea also built a photo studio. There’s not much to show right now: the corkboard only has two pictures pinned to it. One of them depicts the dogs Chupi and Bruno, the other — the supermodel Helena Christensen. Both photos were taken by Andrea. In Italy, he took pictures of top models and sportscars. Right here is where he keeps the old and weathered photographer passes for “Formula-1” and various runways.

In 2009, fashion photographer Andrea married Vlada, a Ukrainian, and moved to live with her. By that time he was already involved with animal rights activism, and he was shocked by the scale of dog hunting in Ukraine.

Back then, Kyiv was preparing for UEFA Euro 2012. In order to “clean up the streets”, homeless animals were simply put to death. Andrea says that politicians turned a blind eye to dog hunters — what’s more, the government at the time was directly complicit in animal extermination.

In Kyiv, Andrea got in touch with volunteers who took care of homeless animals. “There was one time I got a call from a volunteer who was taking care of 35 dogs. That day, 20 of them had been brutally killed. And this is just one of dozens of cases that I have documented. Every day, I brought more evidence to Ukrainian politicians, and each time they shrugged and said they knew nothing about it,” says Andrea.

After that, he began publicly protesting animal cruelty in Ukraine. In response, dog hunters published Andrea’s private information on their websites. Since then, the Italian Embassy has assigned him a personal bodyguard.

Andrea and his wife Vlada set one question for themselves: what constructive steps can be taken to rescue homeless dogs? That was when the couple decided to create a shelter — but founding a shelter required massive funding.

What happened next was something straight out of a movie.

On Christmas Eve in Milan, Andrea met a woman who read one of his interviews and asked to meet with him.

“We had coffee together and talked for an hour and a half. Then she asked me if I had any pressing concerns. I said that we had many, but the most important was purchasing land so we wouldn’t get kicked out. She immediately wrote out a check for the required sum. It was a Christmas miracle.”

Rifugio began construction in 2014. At first, Andrea started taking in homeless dogs.

In the very first year, the shelter was struck by a fire. 71 animals died that day. Andrea shows a tattoo on his arm. “Always in my heart.” It’s dedicated to the dogs who passed that day.

The police found no signs of arson, and so no case was opened. But eventually, the culprits came forward of their own accord with an apology. They said they didn’t know what Andrea was doing and why. This apology confirmed Andrea’s suspicion that arson had indeed occurred, but his lawyer convinced him not to sue.

Andrea did not give up because of the tragedy. On the contrary, Rifugio now houses five times as many animals as back in the day and not just dogs. The shelter gets by mainly thanks to Italian sponsors. The shelter also established connections with Ukrainian volunteers. The townspeople, Andrea says, help out as well.

“The locals nowadays see our shelter very differently, all thanks to years of hard work. With our Italian friends, we organized free sterilization days, and people would bring their pets to us. Some of the townsfolk work here, too. If all I used to see before in Ukraine were dog hunters, then now we get daily phone calls asking for help, or people bringing in homeless animals on their own,” Andrea tells us.

And to think that very recently, the shelter had a very real chance of disappearing for good.

40 DAYS OF OCCUPATION

“I was cleaning the stables when I heard two russian fighter jets overhead. One of them started descending. I thought it was going to shoot, and that’d be the end of our shelter. The jet got so low to the ground I could see the pilot,” Andrea says as he describes the spring of 2022.

Later in the afternoon of February 24th, the shelter was abuzz with fighter jets and helicopters. Aircraft battles took place right above the village. Andrea shows us an audio recording of the explosions, “Day and night it was like this, day and night.”

“One of the worst moments happened when we heard that russians were running out of food,” says Andrea. The shelter ran out of food too, on occasion, whether for humans or animals. Even though the staff were making stockpiles a month before the invasion, by the middle of March they had nearly run out.

Andrea lost 12 kilograms and even broke two ribs.

“I was cleaning the stables, slipped, and broke two ribs. Naturally, I couldn’t just go to the russian or chechen soldiers to get patched up. I grit my teeth and waited for Ukrainian soldiers to liberate our territory.”

Natalia lost weight too: she gave part of her rations to the dogs she was taking care of. The shelter staff knew that aid for animals was coming through to Kyiv, but between Lisovychi and the nearest blockpost lay thirty kilometers — a distance nobody could risk braving at the time.

Andrea received offers to evacuate on more than one occasion. Even during the occupation, the Italian embassy insisted he leave the country, even going as far as to develop a plan and receive approval from the military…

“I asked, ‘Will you take everyone — my employees and animals, too?’ They said no, just me. So I stayed with my animals,” tells Andrea.

In total, Andrea spent 40 days in occupation, though he only managed to count that after the fact.

On April 2nd, he says, at a very unusually quiet time he heard a car horn. Strangers were at the shelter. Did the russians climb the fence? One of them shouted in Italian, “Andrea, hello, it’s me!”

“Russian soldiers speaking Italian? Impossibile!” recounts Andrea.

In reality, standing by the gates were the Italian journalist Claudio, translator Tetiana, and a Ukrainian volunteer. Waiting by the fence was a car with supplies — and a Ukrainian flag flying on the roof.

“I thought I was dreaming. Only when Claudio hugged me and I felt the pain, I remembered my broken ribs and understood — this is real.”

MEET THE VIPS

The first large animal at the shelter was a cow by the name of Margo. Now, she also has company in Mikaela. And right next door are two more esteemed signoras.

“Frieda, Frieda, Kapla!” Andrea calls out. Finally, two considerably-sized pigs waddle out of the barn, squinting from the sun. “Oh, buongiorno!”

Above all else, these refined dames love getting mud baths and scratches. The pigs can tell people apart and even respond to pet names.

Aside from domestic pigs, there are also two Vietnamese ones: the already familiar Kabachok and Harry. Though he is Kabachok’s closest relative, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Harry can only be found in the barn, sleeping in the hay. He’s chewing in his sleep, showing off his sizable tusks. Sleeping is his favorite hobby.

“Harry befriended a duck around here,” says Andrea. “Other ducks were bullying her, so she found safety in his company. They sleep and eat together.”

Marcio, Ser, Mina, Mami, Annushka, Roza, and Lola are the sheep community at the shelter. They arrived here from large farms where animals are raised for meat. That’s also how the shelter found their chickens, geese, and ducks.

The goats peek out from the barn. It almost looks like they want to give an interview of their own — and boy, do they have stories to tell. Take Berbek, for example this billy was wandering on his lonesome by the belorussian border when the locals found him and suggested Andrea take him in.

Mary the pony was on her way to a slaughterhouse when Andrea picked her up. Later it was found that Mary was pregnant when she got rescued: she gave birth to Op, and he is no pony at all. The stallion lives in the same enclosure as his mom and is nearly thrice as big as she is.

The racehorse Voron would have similarly ended his career at the slaughterhouse were it not for the shelter’s staff. Thelma and Louise came under Andrea’s care from the mounted police. Another mare by the name of Tatanka used to live in the same pasture with them — she died in 2023 because of a russian rocket that fell next to the shelter. Tatanka’s heart stopped then and there.

“And this one here is from Lisovychi,” Andrea shows us the gray Baron. “He spent his whole life as a workhorse. A woman from the village brought him in because two of her sons enlisted in the army, and she couldn’t take care of him on her own. Careful, he bites! Though… seems like he’s in a good mood today.”

Cats’ apartments

The cats have a separate space from the other animals. Here we can find former strays: some were brought in by Andrea, others by volunteers. As soon as I step in through the door, they cling to me and start purring. Some are trying to climb into my lap, some — onto my shoulders, and all of them are sniffing me curiously all over. You can pick them up by the armfuls, that’s how many there are. 

The feline enclosure is comfortable and fully furnished. People from Lisovychi donated a sofa for the cats specifically. Andrea points to the WC sign: “Our cats can read.”

Outside, Natalia is hard at work. “Cats were trying to drink from the mop bucket, I took it outside,” Andrea says in Italian. “Ah, I had to run to break up the dogs and forgot all about it,” Natalia replies in Ukrainian. “I understand his Italian,” she says. “How? Sometimes through a translator. And then, after a while, you learn to understand each other bit by bit.”

She picks up a stick off the ground and leads me to a completely different world — the world of dogs.

POTAP, DON’T BOTHER BABAIKA!

“Everyone! Quiet down, kids!” Natalia waves the branch around in front of the enclosures.

“You call them ‘kids’?”

“I mean, that’s what they are. Though we call some by their patronymic, too. We’ve got Dina Nikolaievna and Tamara Petrivna.”

The dog enclosure reminds me of a long apartment building, full to the brim with canine residents of all kinds — cheerful and melancholic, friendly and not so much. I can point at any dog here at random and Natalia will know its story from beginning to end:

“I assign them enclosures by personality. Here we have six dogs, and they all get along just fine. We could probably add another calm dog here no problem. When Harold moved in, he was an instant leader. Doesn’t bully anyone, it’s just that he might go around sniffing everyone’s bowls — and only when he’s done, everyone starts eating… And the more aggressive ones, you need to group them up with dogs that have character. They set each other straight. Dina Nikolaievna, shush! Potap, don’t bother Babaika! And this one is Hera. Hera, come here. She’s really smart. Hera, who was making all that noise in the enclosure, hmm? Who did that?”

To feed them all, the workers cook 300 liters of porridge every day. 

“Two of us use mopeds to get around, takes about 40 minutes to feed everyone. And this enclosure we call Verkhovna Rada. Liashko, come here! He’s the most talkative of the bunch. That one’s Poroshenko — the chubby one,” Natalia introduces us to the rest of her dogs. “Behave, I said!” she shouts to the “deputies”.

Many of the dogs here were brought by volunteers from frontline territories. For example, this shepherd from Mariupol was found among ruins by a couple driving out of the city. They just picked it off the road and took it with them.

There are also arrivals from Kherson. Andrea already arranged for four Kherson dogs to be transferred to Italy. Two more are getting ready for their trip.

“We had two dogs come in from Kherson recently,” says Natalia. “They lived in apartments. Enclosures like this were foreign to them. Stasik here… He spent all his time in his dog house, curled up and crying. So we brought him a proper bed and made a little room for him. Two others from Kherson are going to Italy soon. Stasik is already there.”

Later we run into Cefina, an American Staffordshire terrier, who made herself at home in the boiler room. There’s also the playful Lulu and the giant, though no less playful, Lucky. In Rifugio, these dogs are waiting for their masters who are defending Ukraine on the battlefield.

“Everyone knows: if Briulik is somewhere, Pastor is also there!” says Den Babenko, the chaplain of the 107th Mariupol Battalion of the 109th Independent Brigade of the Territorial Defence Forces. The rule also applies vice versa: if there is Pastor somewhere, there is also a small Yorkshire terrier called Briulia there.

Den’s call sign is Pastor. He actually serves as a pastor of the Protestant denomination in his native Pokrovsk. Long before the full-scale war, he had opened a centre for people with drug and alcohol addiction there. In 2014, he founded the Misto Myloserdia (The City of Mercy) project, which fed the needy on the streets of Pokrovsk and Myrnohrad. The project is still active today. Before the full-scale invasion, Den started organising a volunteer centre in Pokrovsk, and in the first days of the great war he joined the Territorial Defence Forces.

Now Den serves as a military chaplain. The military unit is stationed in Pokrovsk, and almost every day he drives to the frontline towns and villages to evacuate civilians. He often goes to the zero line to take out the wounded or deliver ammunition. Den organises donations for the purchase of bulletproof vests, cars, thermal imagers and transports all the necessary items to the frontline.

To tell us about his comrade Briulia, Den calls himself:

— I’m sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday. I had to take the wounded guys out at night, but I was not allowed to drive a car to the positions. They were taken out this morning.

— Did the dog travel with you?

— Yes. This is not just a dog — he is actually a friend, a warmate. Moreover, he is my personal psychologist. My combat Yorkie Briulia. He is 6 years old and he is my pet dog.

— If Briulia is a pet, why did you decide to take him with you?

— Due to circumstances. I knew that the russians would attack here. And I had no other thoughts than to take the family out. The worst thing that could happen was if they got to my family. Therefore, I sent my ex-wife and daughters to England, my wife and son — to Germany. I had no one to leave Briulia with. I could have sent him with my family, but we didn’t know what would happen at the border. Therefore, we decided that the dog would stay here.

I was afraid that the russians could get to my relatives, as I have been wanted in the “DPR” since 2015. They did not occupy Pokrovsk then, but their morons were here. When they came, there were only a few places in the town where Ukrainian flags hung. One of them was hanging over my church. They started calling me: they said, “Take it off, or we will set everything on fire.” About a week after they were expelled from Pokrovsk, I got a call, “Good afternoon, this is the ‘DPR’ prosecutor’s office. If you don’t come within three days, we will declare you as wanted.” I said, “Okay, then I will come with the Armed Forces of Ukraine.”

At first, I did not take Briulia to the army. My mother-in-law stayed here, and I took him to her like a little child: on Monday I took him to my mother-in-law’s house, and on Friday I took him for the weekend. Then we had the opportunity to rest at the military base on Saturday and Sunday. It went on like that for a couple of months, and then somehow I didn’t manage to take him to my mother-in-law’s place. He stayed with me for a week or two. And when I sent him to my mother-in-law again, after a while she called me and said, “Come and pick up your depressed dog. He does not eat or drink anything. Once he crawled under the sofa, he stays there.” When I arrived, he immediately started eating plain wheat porridge. He ate and got in the car. Since then, he has always been with me. We went to various cities: Bakhmut, Soledar, Lysychansk… 

There are a lot of abandoned animals in danger near the frontline. UAnimals evacuation team does a couple of trips a month to rescue them. You can help to save more animals!

I love him very much and would like him to be around.

— Where did he live with you?

— We lived on the base. I have various tasks: to go somewhere, pick up people, evacuate… And he is always with me! Always! When we are allowed, we spend the night at home in Pokrovsk.

— Has Briulia’s character changed during this time?

— He was calmer before the war. And in the conditions of war, he became a kind of master.

 — Does he chase cats?

— Now he does. He used to have a cat friend, but he died during the war. He chases all dogs, especially big ones. One day he got into trouble because of this. He was lucky that there was snow then. He ran up to the husky, and she kicked him with her paw — a knock! He fell into a pile of snow, and the big dog did not find him there. Otherwise, he would have been beaten.

Now Briulik got used to the military, he considers them as warmates. I had an incident… I was given a furlough, I came to Lviv and met my wife there. And so, Briulik was running towards her, and my wife called out, “Briulik!”, spreading her arms for a hug. And he ran past her. It turned out that two soldiers were standing behind her, and he was running towards them. The wife was offended, “Briulik, you are a traitor!” And I said, “No, no, no, he is a soldier now, he is running to his people.”

— Does he interfere with work?
— Imagine, this is the first time in history: he is preaching with me at the pulpit! He just lays down on the stage and waits for me to finish the sermon. He knows that he has to wait. You know what it is — a dog in the church. Everyone pays attention to him. I always say, “Hey, pay more attention to what I’m preaching, not to the dog!”

— Do you share the military meal or buy him food separately?
— He’s cool now. Over the past six months, he has had personal volunteers who send him food every Saturday. They also offered to sew military overalls for him. I say, “Don’t waste money, please, he won’t wear it!” He simply does not like to dress up, because he becomes a brake dog. You get him dressed, and he can barely move from paw to paw. He has one “coat” for the most severe frost: he more or less wears it. I don’t cut his hair now, and he has become so shaggy, shaggy. “You are a curly poodle,” I call him.

— Does Briulia somehow support you psychologically?

— Of course he does! Before the war, we lived one life, we were happy… Everything has changed. At least, I have seen my son since the beginning of the full-scale war, but not my daughters — only through video chat on Telegram. Sometimes, sad days come. And he understands that I’m sad.

When everyone was evacuated from Pokrovsk, I talked to him like to a person. I just told him about my pain and asked, “Do you understand?” And now I can sit opposite him and talk.

And sometimes I scold him. We get to the positions, somewhere where we can be fired upon, and I say, “You stay in the car.” And he jumps out. We don’t have time. I run, and he runs after me. We run into the basement, I shout at him, “Are you stupid? I told you to stay seated!” And he does not care: even though he is afraid, he still follows me.

— And how do other soldiers respond to such a small terrier on combat missions?

— He works for them as a psychologist too. Especially if I meet Yorkie fans, they are ready to tear me apart. They ask, “What does he eat?” I say, “Well, everything I do.” They say, “What are you doing, he can’t eat that!” They switch from the subject of war.    

Once we came to the boys of the 36th brigade near Avdiivka. And they call out, “Guys! Briulia has arrived!” They made a cartridge to hang on his collar. They presented it and said, “Look, Briulia, Patron doesn’t come here, with all due respect to Patron… And you are killing russians with marines near Avdiivka!”

The military is a lifesaver for animals. They always feed them… The Ukrainian army loves animals, the guys take them away from the positions.

— Does it happen that Briulia cheers you up?

— Always! This is a dog. Even though he is my friend, he remains a dog.

Every morning he lies down and watches until I open my eyes. As soon as I open them, he accelerates and jumps on me! He doesn’t calm down until he washes me off.

And once he saved me.

Once we had the task of bringing a full bus of ‘goodies’ to treat the russians. I was driving near Karlivka. It was just the two of us with Briulia. He started fussing, jumping off and on me… He had never done that before. I said, “Do you want to go outside? Let’s go.” I stopped, opened the door… And he ran out and sat down. I was already angry, “So, either you do your job or I’m leaving.” He sat for a while, then jumped back in and we drove off. And then a shelling from Grad system began in front of us: bang, bang! There were wounded people there. And if we hadn’t stopped… I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry, mate.”

— And where is he now?

— He is near me. Today they allowed me to spend the night at home and wash up. So we went to a coffee shop in Pokrovsk. Everyone knows him here.

By the way, let my warmates read about Briulik. At first, the deputy battalion commander was not happy when he saw him, “Oh, fighters with a dog, that’s all we need!” A week later, I come, and he brings me bones, “This is for Briulik.” Imagine that, he ate in the evening and thought about Briulik!

Disclaimer from UAnimals media: feeding a dog with bones is dangerous for the animal. Even more details about the proper nutrition of dogs are in our test.

Everyone in the battalion knows my dog. They say that he needs a combatant certificate!