Міжнародний студентський соціально-мистецький науково-дослідний проєкт (UN)SPOKEN

My Second Chance to Fly

Story by Anna Kapsamun from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

I remember the cold before anything else — how it crept into my feathers and numbed my wings. One moment I was circling above the river near Horishni Plavni, searching for fish and freedom, and the next I found myself unable to move, frozen fast to the snow and ice. The wind howled, and my strength faded, but I did not give up hope. I knew that out there, somewhere, was someone who could help.

Then I heard voices — distant at first, but growing closer. A man from Kremenchuk saw me lying helplessly on the riverbank and knew something was wrong. He called the rescuers and soon, human hands gently freed me from the ice. I was weak, cold, and scared, but not alone anymore.

I was taken to the Center for the Rescue and Rehabilitation of Wild Animals in Horishni Plavni. There, kind people wrapped me in warmth, fed me, and cared for my injured body. They healed my feathers, treated me for stress, and gave me the time I needed to grow strong again. Every day, I felt myself becoming more like the eagle I once was - until finally the day came when they opened the cage and let me see the sky with fresh eyes.

On that beautiful day in a place of hills, forests, and lakes — I spread my wings. The wind felt different now: warmer, welcoming. I leaped into the blue and remembered what it truly felt like to fly. I soared above the treetops, the river glistening below, and I knew I was finally home.

I am a white-tailed eagle — a rare bird from Ukraine’s skies and thanks to the care of those who rescued me, I have been given a second chance to live the life I was meant to lead.

Link to the article.

Kotia: The Story of My Life

Story by Kateryna Zhyhorenko from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

My name is Kotia. I am a cheerful Yorkshire Terrier and about 5 years old. In Ukrainian, my name means “a kitten” because I have the gentle heart of a little cat. I was born in Mariupol. I can remember my first family really well. Dad was the first one to hold me in his arms, and I loved him instantly. Mom was always very busy with their little daughter, so she didn’t have much time for me.

Then, the explosions started. I was so scared. Every time I heard an explosion, I trembled like a leaf. Even now, loud noises make me shiver. One day, Dad left, and I never saw him again. Mom, the little girl, and I began a long journey toward Germany. We travelled for many days, staying with different people in different places. It was so tiring!

When we reached Melitopol, Mom realized I couldn’t go to Germany because I didn’t have any papers. She decided to leave me with a man named Yura. Yura was very kind and happy to have me. He reminded me of my first Dad, so I grew to love him. He had another dog, a big, fluffy girl named Dana. We became fast friends. Yura loved eating sausage and rich, fatty meat, and he shared it all with us. Unfortunately, he didn’t know that my tummy is very sensitive and that I shouldn’t eat fatty food. But it tasted so good that I ate it anyway! Afterwards, my stomach would ache. Yura would let me out into the yard, thinking I needed fresh air. It was March and very cold. Yura didn’t realize that, unlike Dana, I don’t have a warm undercoat to keep me warm. I would cry at the door, asking to come back in, but Yura didn’t hear me. This lasted until the end of April.

Sometimes I would have fun, as Yura let me run along the streets without a leash. I especially loved racing between the cars on the road. One day, a woman named Ira saw me. She went to Yura and told him I was in danger. By then, Yura had realized that looking after a “little child” like me wasn’t his greatest talent. He said, “I don’t need this dog. Take him if you want”.

Ira brought me to her home and said, “This is Kotia. He is going to live with us”. At first, not everyone was happy. Dad in this family said he had allergies and didn’t want a dog in the apartment. “This dog isn’t staying,” he declared. Their daughter Katia said I was a stranger and should leave. But then, they gave me some delicious food. I ate every single bite, which made Dad smile. Still, I felt very sad and worried about my future. The apartment was so warm and cozy. I didn’t want to go back to Yura.

So, the family decided I would stay temporarily with Ira’s friend and just visit them sometimes. They gave me a bath, and I looked so handsome! Then, I got a stylish haircut, and I looked even better. Eventually, Ira read somewhere that my breed doesn’t shed, so Dad finally agreed to let me join the family for good. They even got me my very own passport! It was issued on the same day as Katia’s birthday, so they decided that would be my birthday, too. Everyone noticed that our names, Kotia and Katia, sound almost the same. It felt like destiny.

Soon, the explosions grew louder and closer, and we decided it was time to leave. This time, I had my papers, and my new family took me with them to Germany.

Now, Dad says that I am his dog. Mom says I am an example of bravery and resilience. She says we must look forward with courage, and everything will be alright.

One day soon, the shells will stop falling in Ukraine, and we will return to our real home. We will go to the seaside in Kyrylivka again. There will be so many happy people there with their favourite pets, and the air will be filled with music and the sound of children laughing.

The Owl Named Andrii

Story by Kristina Stepanenko from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

I was lying by the side of the road, barely able to tell where the night ended and morning began. The world was spinning, the silence was ringing in my head, and the pain above my eye burned sharply. I am a creature of the night, born to fly in the dark — but that night, the darkness betrayed me. I crashed into something cold and invisible, and everything went wrong.

I didn’t react when the car stopped nearby. I didn’t have the strength. I simply sat there, confused and helpless, waiting — though I didn’t know for what.

Then I heard footsteps. Careful, human ones. A man in uniform leaned toward me. There was no threat in his eyes, only concern. His name was Oleh. Among his fellow soldiers, he is known by the call sign Ratatui. A border guard.

At first, he thought I had caught prey. But when he noticed the blood above my eye, he understood immediately — I was injured and in danger. I could barely move and had lost my sense of direction. Without his attention, my flight might have ended forever.

Oleh didn’t drive away. He didn’t ignore me. Instead, he reached out for help. Through a volunteer from the UAnimals organization, he contacted a well-known ornithologist, Andrii Borodii. After reviewing the photos, the specialist explained that such injuries often happen at night, when owls collide with mirrors or car windows.

Following the advice he received, Oleh bought the necessary medicine and carefully treated my wound. Without this help, I would not have survived — blood poisoning would have taken me.

Now I am under constant care. I am being watched over day and night, fed, protected, and spoken to gently. Oleh and his fellow soldiers even gave me a name — Andrii. A human name for an owl, but one I now carry with pride.

I am not flying yet. But my vision is clearer, and my strength is slowly returning. And I know this for sure: there are people who protect more than borders. They protect life itself — every fragile life that needs help.

And when I return to the night sky over Zakarpattia, I will remember this moment forever. A border guard once stopped his car… and saved an owl.

Link to the article.

The Swan: A Journey from Ice to Flight

Story by Marharyta Takhtarova from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

I remember the day when winter almost defeated me.

The wind drove dry snow across the frozen reservoir, and the ice cracked and groaned as if it were alive. Just yesterday dark water had splashed around me, and today it had turned into a cold mirror that trapped my feet. I tried to take off, beating my wings, but there was nowhere to run — the ice held me tight like a chain.

I am a swan. I am used to water, to the current, to the gentle waves beneath me. But ice is stillness without movement, a cold that rises from your feet straight to your heart. At first I waited. Then I called out. My voice carried across the empty shore, but the only answer was white mist.

The night was the most frightening. Snow covered my feathers, and the wind crept beneath my wings. I tucked my head in to preserve warmth and tried not to move, saving my strength. Time became slow, like frozen water.

In the morning, I heard new sounds — not the wind and not the cracking of ice. They were footsteps. Heavy, cautious. I lifted my head and saw people on the shore. They spoke to each other and pointed in my direction. One of them carefully stepped onto the ice. I was frightened and tried to take off again, but the ice would not let me go.

The people moved slowly, testing the ice with a long stick. They did not shout or wave their arms. Their voices were calm. When they came closer, I saw in their eyes not a threat, but concern.

One of them threw a thick, warm blanket over me. The world went dark, but suddenly — warm. I was carefully lifted. The ice released me. I no longer felt its cold embrace.

They carried me to a car. Inside it was warm and smelled unfamiliar. My feet slowly thawed, and feeling began to return. The people spoke quietly; someone gently held my wings so I would not hurt myself.

When they lifted me from the ice, I was too weak to return to the sky at once. I felt pain in my feet — they had gone numb from the frost — and one wing did not obey me well. I tried to remain proud, as a swan should, but my strength had nearly left me.

The people did not take me back to the water, but to a quiet, warm place. There, I was treated with medicines. I was carefully examined. Someone’s gentle hands spread my wings, checked my feathers, and warmed my feet. It felt unusual to allow myself to be touched, but I sensed that they meant me no harm.

During the first days, I slept a lot. My body was warmed by special lamps. I was given clean water and food. Sometimes I heard the people say that I was strong and that I would surely recover.

I watched them with one eye and gradually stopped being afraid. When the pain grew quieter, I tried to stretch my wings — at first uncertainly, then wider. With each day, my movements became easier.

After some time, they carried me to a spacious enclosure with water. Small, but a real pond! I carefully stepped into it and felt the familiar coolness — no longer frightening, but dear to me. I swam, slowly at first, then faster. My wing obeyed me.

The people smiled. I saw joy in their eyes, as if they themselves had learned to fly again.

And then the day came when they brought me back to an open body of water where it was not bound by ice. I spread my wings, strong and confident. In my chest there was not fear, but gratitude.

I ran across the water, felt the air lift me, and rose above the shore, above the winter trees.

Now, as I fly over frozen reservoirs, I remember: even if ice binds your wings, warmth can come from where you least expect it.

The Story of Beethoven’s Rescue

Story by Mariia Maslova from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

My name is Beethoven. I am a seven-year-old ram, and for most of my life, I lived in a place called the Dermatology and Venereology Center in Kropyvnytskyi, Ukraine. I was not an ordinary ram. I was an honorary donor. My blood helped doctors and scientists conduct important laboratory research. I did not fully understand what they were doing, but I knew I was helping people. That made me feel proud.

The people at the center were kind to me. They fed me, talked to me, and cared for me every day. I was part of their family. But as time passed, I grew older. Eventually, I reached what humans call “retirement age.” I could no longer perform my duties as a donor. The government stopped providing money for my care, but the staff did not abandon me. They paid for my food and needs from their own pockets because they loved me.

Still, everyone understood that I deserved a better life – a real home, with fresh grass, open space, and freedom. One day, journalists came to visit me. They filmed a story about my life. I was a little nervous, but the people who loved me hoped someone would see the report and help me.

Something wonderful happened.

The very next day after the story was shown on television, kind people came for me. They took me to a village about 40 kilometers away from the city. I remember looking back one last time. The people from the Center were standing there. Some of them were crying. They were worried about me. They wanted to make sure I would be safe and happy.

I wanted to tell them not to worry.

My new home was beautiful. There was green grass everywhere. I could walk freely, feel the sun on my wool, and breathe fresh air 🐏🌿. For the first time in my life, I was not a laboratory donor. I was simply Beethoven – a ram living his peaceful retirement.

I will never forget the people who cared for me, protected me, and gave me a second chance at life. Because of them, my story did not end at the Center. It began again in freedom.

And now, every morning, when I stand in the sunlight✨, I feel grateful.

Adapted from this video.

Sunny the dancing bear

Story by Oleksandr Podzyvalovskyi from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

They called it “dancing,” but I knew it as survival. I remember the music playing and the terrible heat rising from the ground beneath my paws. I didn't lift my legs to entertain; I lifted them because it hurt to stand still. They took me from the wild when I was just a cub, and to make sure I obeyed, they took my teeth and pierced my nose.

I used to think that the sound of human voices meant only one thing: pain. For a long time, my world was very small and very dark. I sat in a cage that wasn't right for me, my nose throbbing from the metal ring that controlled my every move. I was tired, my jaw ached where my teeth used to be, and I felt like I was fading away.

Then, one night in March, everything changed. Strangers came, but they were different. They didn’t shout or force me to stand. They spoke softly. I didn't know it then, but these people had driven through a thunderstorm just to find me. They loaded me up for a journey that lasted 16 hours. The road was bumpy and the rain poured down, but for the first time, I didn't feel alone.

When we finally stopped, they gave me a name Sunny. They said it was because I was friendly, even after everything I had been through. They took the metal ring out of my nose. The sharp, constant pain that had defined my life was finally gone. I was emaciated and anxious, but as I looked around my new home, I realized I didn't have to dance anymore. I am now at a rescue center where the ground is soft grass, not hot plates. The humans here don't want me to perform, they just want me to be myself.

Link to the article.

My Fortress No Longer Protected Me

Story by Oleksandra Kardashova from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

My world used to be calm and warm. I remember the scent of the parquet floor and the gentle fingers that would tickle my neck. My owners called me by name, and though I could not answer, I would always freeze with delight whenever I heard their voices. For a tortoise, happiness is when the floor doesn’t tremble and there is juicy lettuce in the bowl. I felt completely safe inside my shell, believing it to be the most reliable fortress in the world.

And then the fire came.

That sound was like nothing else. It didn’t just scare me — it launched me into the air. I flew for so long that I had time to think: "Tortoises aren't supposed to fly." The whistle of the wind, an impact, and then darkness.

When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by the unfamiliar grass of a football field. My back leg burned with pain — I could feel that it was mangled. Through the fence, I could see my home... or rather, what was left of it. Gaping wounds instead of windows, and black smoke.

I lay there for hours. Every minute felt like an eternity. I simply stared toward the ruins and waited. I knew my people could not have abandoned me. But were they alive? Were they searching for a tiny speck in the grass amidst this hell?

The first one to notice me was a man with a large black object in his hands — a journalist. He looked at me with such sadness and, at the same time, with hope. He picked me up gently, and for the first time in a long while, I felt human warmth.

He didn't leave me there. He handed me over to people in white vests with the Red Cross symbol. "Hang in there, little one," they whispered.

The medics treated my wounded leg. It was painful, but their hands were professional and tender. They marveled at my will to live. I just kept waiting, gazing into every face that appeared in the tent.

And then, the moment arrived. I heard a familiar sob. Not the terrible cry of despair, but a shout of relief. "She’s alive! She’s here!"

Dear familiar hands scooped me up. They smelled of ash and dust, but they were my people. They pressed me to them as if I were the greatest treasure in the world. It turned out they had been searching for me in the ruins, calling out, hoping for a miracle.

Now, we are together. I have a bandaged leg, and they have scars on their hearts. Our home is destroyed, but my true fortress is not my shell. My fortress is the love of my people, which found me even behind the fence of a stadium.

Link to the article.

Rescued bears Runa and Cody

Story by Ruslan Pateichuck from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

I would like to tell you a story about us, little bear who were rescued.

We were found abandoned by our mother in Lviv region, and a few days later we arrived at the Domazhyr bear shelter.

Our names are Cody and Runa, bears who were found in the wild without their mother. The local hunting station watched us for two days, hoping that our mother bear would return, but unfortunately this did not happen.

We were still very small then, only a few weeks old. It felt like we had no chance of surviving on our own, so it was decided to take us to the Domazhyr shelter for care and rehabilitation.

As the shelter workers said:  The bear cubs were hungry and very weak. They weighed only 5 and 7 kilograms. It was an emergency rescue operation. Ideally, they should be rehabilitated and returned to the wild, but currently there are no brown bear rehabilitation centers and their return to nature in Ukraine. Therefore, this shelter took us under its care to provide us with the best and safest life.

Now Runa and I have been in the shelter for about eight months. We have already gained over thirty kilograms each, and a team of experts takes care of us day and night, monitoring our diet, physical condition and general development.

This is our story with Runa about how we ended up at the Domazhyr bear shelter - a place where animals receive not only food and shelter, but also dignity, love and a chance at life.

Our symbolic names were given to us by the shelter's mascot: Runa - gentle and careful, like the secret of the forest, and Cody - stronger and braver, with the character of the future master of the mountains.

The shelter workers became a temporary family for us — attentive, patient, and professional. Step by step, we began to gain weight, become interested in the world around us, play, swim in the water, and explore the territory.

Today, we no longer look like the helpless creatures we found in the forest. We are growing, becoming stronger, and learning to live in a safe environment.

Unfortunately or fortunately, Runa and I will never return to the wild — nature lost us too soon. But thanks to Domazhyr, we have a different future: a life without fear, hunger, and loneliness. And, perhaps, this is true humanism — not to change the laws of nature, but to lend a helping hand in time when the other option is death.

For all those who care, there is a donation button on the shelter’s website. Everyone can help and support. The minimum one-time donation is $20.

Peace to all!

Romashka the Cow

Story by Snizhana Zhovnir from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

My name is Romashka. I am a little cow who truly loves life. That day I was slowly walking across the field with my friends, eating fresh green grass and smelling daisies. I loved these flowers so much that people named me after them. The sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and it felt like the perfect day.

I took a few more steps, and suddenly the ground disappeared under my hooves. In a moment, everything became dark and cold. I had fallen into a deep well. I was very scared and didn’t understand what was happening, so I started mooing loudly, calling for help.

After some time, I heard human voices. They were rescuers. They spoke calmly, as if they wanted to comfort me. I felt them carefully lifting me up. When I finally saw the sky again and breathed in fresh air, I realized I was saved.

I was not hurt and returned to my field. Now every day feels special to me. I eat grass, walk with my friends, and smell daisies again, but I also know this: even in the scariest moments, kind people can come and help. My story has a happy ending, because I am alive.

Drake the Brave Dog

Story by Mariia K. from Bogdan Khmelnitsky Melitopol State Pedagogical University

My name is Drake. I want to share my story – the story of an ordinary pit bull from Kyiv who was lucky enough to feel warmth, safety, and family love after long months of abuse from a former owner.

I have always seen colors better than I have heard sounds, because I am deaf. Maybe, in some way, I was lucky not to hear the shouting and insults. Still, I remember his face clearly – cold and empty. His look hurt more than any sound could. He treated me cruelly and without mercy. I believe that no one should treat another living being this way.

I could not understand what was wrong. What was my fault? Yes, I did not obey him, but not because I did not want to. I simply could not hear. I cannot even hear myself.

Our last walk happened in winter. That day my owner was completely out of control. I was already used to being pushed and beaten, but when he began to choke me in the middle of the street, I felt real fear. I thought my life was coming to an end. Suddenly, strangers stepped in and called the police. The officers could not take me away immediately because I tried to protect myself from unfamiliar hands. At that moment, I did not know yet they were trying to save me.

I spent almost a year in rehabilitation at a shelter called Plyushka. There were many dogs like me there – animals with broken spirit. After constant fear and pain, trusting people felt almost impossible. But the volunteers did not give up. They learned to communicate with me through gestures, and slowly I began to believe that humans could be kind.

My new owner did not appear in my life suddenly. He did not rush and did not demand anything from me. At first, he simply came to the shelter, sat nearby, and waited in silence. His movements were slow, and his eyes were calm. I could not hear his voice, but I could see his patience.

Today my life is full of new colors. I have parents and even a brother – another pit bull. I live in a home where I am not afraid and where no one is afraid of me. I have realized that silence is not scary when it is filled with love.

Link to the article.