‘They don’t know it’s war’ — How Ukraine's pets endure sirens and explosions

One night in late November, there was a loud explosion. The sky flashed white. Yura didn’t know what the sound was. She only knew it meant death might be near. She ran.

Yura — or Yurha, as her family calls her — is a 12-year-old shepherd dog. Her legs ached. She could barely hear anymore. But her body remembered what to do. She pushed through the 1-meter-long yard, past the fence she had never crossed before.

In the dark, she looked like a wolf — large, black, moving fast despite her age.

By morning, the gate was still locked. But Yura was gone.

Her owners searched for hours — calling her name, asking neighbors, driving through nearby streets. Messages spread through local chats.

Yura was found curled on the pavement outside Syrets metro station in Kyiv, 2 kilometers (1.2 miles) from her home. A stranger posted a photo: "Big dog, occasionally twitching. Probably shaken by a car."

What happened to Yura is far from rare.

Across Ukraine, animals have become silent witnesses to war. Since Russia's full-scale invasion, pets have been running from rocket blasts, hiding during drone attacks, and slipping out of carriers during evacuations. Some never make it back home.

"They don't understand that these are the sounds of war. They just know they're scared and act on instinct," said Irena Skakun, chief manager of Zoopatrul Ukraine, a Ukrainian animal rescue organization.

Veterinarians across the country now treat cats for ripping out their fur and dogs for chewing their paws until they bleed — a behavior known as auto-aggression, a physical response to extreme stress. Shelters document dozens of such cases, Skakun said.

Night fear

Even in cities like Kyiv, far from the front line, animals are developing symptoms of chronic trauma.

Borys is one of them. He is a 5-year-old, small, fox-colored mixed-breed dog.

Borys lives in Kyiv's Dniprovskyi district — one of the neighborhoods most affected by strikes since Russia's full-scale invasion.

What they hear is the constant sound of air defense fire and interceptions echoing through the night.

"Sometimes it's debris from a downed drone or missile," Borys's owner, Marharyta Meleshko, said.

In 2023, as Russia intensified nighttime attacks on Kyiv and air defense activity increased near her neighborhood, the explosions felt closer and sharper.

"After that month, he started reacting to sounds. He pants, looks for a place to hide, tries to squeeze under tables or into corners. His heart races and his body shakes," Meleshko said.

Borys began refusing food. He started to panic as soon as it got dark.

"Night stopped being about sleep for him and became about explosions," Meleshko said.

Eventually, she sought help from a behavioral veterinarian. Borys was prescribed sedatives and anti-anxiety medication.

"I watch the airspace. If a large number of Shahed drones are entering, I know it will be a loud night. That's when I give him the pills. It helps slow down his panic response. But it doesn't erase the fear," Meleshko said.

Frontline animals

Yura and Borys are dogs still living in relative safety. They have homes and people who take care of them. Some sense of routine.

For animals closer to the front, that routine is gone.

Zoopatrul Ukraine has been evacuating animals from active combat zones since the first weeks of Russia's full-scale invasion. Their work began in Irpin when Russia began to occupy parts of Kyiv Oblast, and civilians fled with almost nothing.

"We started evacuating animals alongside people," Skakun said.

After Kyiv Oblast came Kharkiv. Zoopatrul was among the first organizations allowed into newly de-occupied Kharkiv Oblast, working with city officials to retrieve animals left behind during the months of occupation.

Later, there were repeated missions to Donetsk Oblast, usually at the request of other volunteers or the military. The largest mission followed the destruction of the Kakhovka dam in Kherson Oblast, when nearly 200 animals were rescued and relocated. Almost all of them found new families.

"People sometimes think lost animals are a result of negligence. But during a shelling, if a family is running for shelter and the leash slips, what can they do? If the window breaks and the cat escapes? It's not about carelessness," Skakun said.

Reunion

Yura also didn't try to come home. She just kept moving until she found a calm place with people and light.

She had never run away before. In fact, she had barely left the yard in years. Her family believes she climbed through the fence in a moment of disoriented panic.

They found her thanks to Instagram. People recognized her from a post. When Yelyzaveta Tsymbalist and Kostia Shchukin arrived at the metro station, they expected to find their dog dead.

Instead, they found her lying on the sidewalk, surrounded by women selling flowers and fruit near the metro.

"I jumped out of the car, and she looked up and ran to me. She cried. I cried. The old ladies at the bus stop cried too," Yelyzaveta said.

Zoopatrul urges pet owners to microchip animals or attach QR-coded tags linked to Animal ID.

"It makes a real difference. We recently found a dog, scanned the code, saw the owner had already marked it as missing, and reunited them within hours," Skakun said.

Living through

Meleshko, after nights of heavy attacks, moves through the next day on autopilot. Everything slows down. Walks with Borys are shorter and calmer. He is not himself, and neither is she.

"We were attacked at night, and the next day, nothing really mattered. It's not dramatic. It's just apathy. You get used to it. You live on autopilot," she adds.

Yura, the shepherd dog, has cancer. She is old. Her breed doesn't tend to live long lives, and Yelyzaveta knows it.

"I kept thinking — what if she had died because I didn't bring her inside that night? What if it was my fault?" Yelyzaveta said.

She also understands that dogs often mirror their owners.

"If I panic, she panics. So I try to stay calm with her," Yelyzaveta said.