If you want to know what it's like to do animal rescue during a time of international crisis, read on...
(*For easier mobile phone reading, turn sideways for LANDSCAPE view)
When the bombs came, the elderly but resolute woman searched frantically for her little ‘Pushinka’ in the small apartment that she called home. Meaning ‘fluff’ in Ukranian, Pushinka at just 2 years old had in the past month, encountered a lifetime of struggles.
Despite the woman’s best efforts, the gentle grey cat was nowhere to be found and the heart-breaking decision was made to leave without her dear feline companion. Weeks passed and at the woman’s persistent requests, a neighbor returned to the apartment and there sat Pushinka, distraught but alive. How she survived alone is unknown.
I met Puskinka and her owner as they reunited at the Ukrainian-Polish border of Medyka, Poland. Deployed as a responder with the International Fund for Animal Welfare or IFAW, we had managed ‘the blue tent’ that stood at the border’s gates to welcome the flood of refugees crossing on foot from Ukraine. It can get busy as the primary Polish border crossing, taking in a steady stream of 6,000 people daily over the past several weeks.
As a behind-the-scenes as well as frontlines organisation with the goal to create better outcomes for animals, people and the places we call home, IFAW was amongst the first to take action when the conflict unfolded. I myself have deployed with IFAW once before during the 2019-20 Australian bushfires, but something was a bit different about this operation. It wasn’t so much about animals as it was about family.
Day and night the clitter-clatter of luggage wheels banging against the bumpy pavement announced the waves of women, children and the elderly looking for a safe haven.
From all backgrounds and stages of life, in their flight they took with them only the most precious of essentials – namely, each other. What stood out for us was that included in this family unit, was their beloved pets. They simply refused to leave them behind.
Refugee animals of all shapes, sizes, scaled, furred and feathered came through the tent. As I was being briefed on the way to the border, my colleagues remarked on one observation in particular: It was clear through their genuine appreciation for our help and requests to look after their pets above their own needs, that these animals were truly cherished by their owners.
The cats were remarkably affectionate and the dogs largely well socialised and genuinely happy to get attention from these IFAW strangers donning blue tops and funny accents.
Each animal, like it’s human companion, harboured a heart-breaking story of loss and grief.
But there were also tales of hope and great resilience, like the wearied dog I met as he limped across the border, a result of a shrapnel wound acquired when his apartment was blasted to rubble. The owner was eventually found but without a home he could not take care of this sweet dog, whose expression portrayed one of carrying the weight of the world. Kind-hearted rescuers promised the elderly man they would bring the dog to safety and give him a good life. Finally arriving at the blue tent, underweight and exhausted, we gave the dog a meal, water and a new harness. I then quietly wished him well as he continued on into the night with his intrepid rescuers.
Being within a stones’ throw from the gates meant we were able to impart an immediate visual message of support.
In fact, the entire footpath was lined with tents of people attending to any basic need one may have in a time of refugee crisis : UN representatives, refugee assistance, women’s groups, medical tents, safe places to sleep & rest, baby strollers, stuffed animals, free SIM cards, warm food and drink…the message was clear – here you are welcome and we will help:
In front of the tent were stationed IFAW interpreters, young people who themselves fled the conflict but opted to stay on to help their fellow Ukrainians.
Their tireless efforts and upbeat energy not only helped to keep the rest of the team going, but they literally were the link to those most in need.
When a refugee would come through the gates with an animal, the interpreter would greet them and then guide them to whatever it was that was needed. Sometimes their pets would be packed in small carriers 2 or 3 at a time, others were hurriedly stuffed into boxes with holes punched in the walls where they would stay for days on end.
Still others had been walking for days without a meal and were now in poor body condition and dehydrated. Some had wounds and medical conditions, many were in good health but the family needed to leave. All of them were tired and worried.
Upon greeting the family, first thing was first. If the pet needed a rest, drink or meal we would make that happen. If they were going onwards to a waiting bus, they would need a safe and secure carrier for small animals, basket muzzles for larger dogs.
There was a veterinary clinic set up at the train station that we were in close contact with and to where we directed them for further care if necessary. Before they left, we made sure that they had the necessary water bowls, food, animal clothing, carriers, leads, harnesses, stress relieving supplements and basic supplies that would be needed for their onward journey.
At times the families just needed a break after their long and stressful ordeal. They longed for a warm meal, shower and rest. We were able to give their pet a time-out so that they could tend to these basic needs.
In fact, perhaps my greatest role was to relieve them of one source of stress from their lives, even if for a moment, so that they could have a chance to breathe. In the blue tent they knew that their beloved pets were in good hands. It may sound like a small thing, but it was one less small thing.
It was not uncommon to share brief but intimate moments with the people that were fleeing for their lives. Like an exhausted mother who broke down after we gave her dog a little red jacket. Putting her hands together to her mouth as if in prayer, she yelled out with tears in her eyes “bless you, you are all so amazing!”. I couldn’t believe it. After waiting out the shelling she had the grit and determination to travel for days, reaching the border with children and animals all on her own. It was her unrelenting spirit that got all of them here. “I am so proud of you, look what you’ve done, looked what you’ve achieved!” was all I could muster.
Tearful and exhausted but bolstered by the milestone reached, the woman turned and walked back into the night.
Countless such stories as these, of great struggle, hope, comfort and immense gratitude were witnessed by each member of our team, and we were better for it.
The actions of IFAW extended well beyond the doors of the tent. In addition to helping those who managed to escape, much work remained for those still within the country. More than once I was approached by someone needing help from a local charity group that was going into Ukraine that night.
Venturing deep into Ukraine to provide direct help to animals left behind is important work, but for these groups the scale of demand tended to quickly overwhelm all logistical and outreach capability.
This is what IFAW really excels at in my experience, providing assistance to resident groups who not only know what is urgently needed and how to get it done locally, but who themselves have a real stake in finding long-term solutions.
Help was given wherever possible, from loading up a waiting van with rations, to providing a literal ton of food to the Nikolaev Zoo that is sheltering hundreds of dogs on top of the thousands of zoo animals caught in the crossfire.
As the days passed, the foot traffic continued: Volunteers with crates of cats, meowing anxiously and in need of a toilet break after 3 days journey. Young mothers with worried eyes, unsure how they would protect their children in this new world. Elderly women, tired - but not too tired to rescue as many animals as they could before fleeing to the border, a journey that could span 1000 kilometres.
The traffic also flowed in the other direction as groups of steely-eyed fighters crossed on foot into the unknown. In the first several weeks after the invasion the great masses of people and animals was an especially devastating sight, but the overall sense of being a part of something greater made everybody work even harder.
As I write this there is now a flow of Ukrainians going back into their country either because some regions are stabilising or there is no better choice. Regardless of direction, the stories that traversed our doorstep were overwhelmingly those of love, of looking after what was truly important, and doing what they believed to be right in the face of adversity.
Pushinka finally reached the border to reunite with her human companion. After several days travel she arrived at our tent in a panic-stricken state. Wide-eyed and pacing, she was beside herself from the upending of the life that she had known and the chaos unfolding all around. We moved her to a large crate to get a break from it all. Then I witnessed something incredible:
Our team leader Diane opened up the cage door, leaned deeply in and told Pushinka it was going to be ok. Pushinka immediately got it.
Stopping half pace, she leaned heavily into Diane’s arms, pushed her head into her hands and closed her tired eyes. Finally at peace, Pushinka and her new friend held each other for the next 20 minutes as the panic and chaos was hushed into the peaceful silence of the moment that was being shared.
Finally rested, Pushinka’s human companion blessed us all as she shouldered her heavy luggage for the next long stage of her journey. She planned to join family somewhere safe, but most of all she hoped to return one day to her beloved country. I was concerned about their journey ahead but in the meantime, felt gratitude that in these dark times they would have each other.
As I write this piece I am on my way back to my own loved ones, unsure of how I will process my time at the gates.
It has been so upsetting to see how we can treat each other, and yet there is something so humbling about bearing witness to the best of humanity in the worst of times.
These people could have been me, our main difference being as simple as location of birth. When the soldiers came, what would I have done? What would you have done?
As I look out the window 38,000 feet below, the spring patchwork of yellow and green farmlands, speckled towns and grey cities roll by endlessly. I could be anywhere. A reminder that perhaps, after all, we share more in common than we realise.
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