On the southern fringes of Donetsk, in the shadow of a huge steel plant, a cacophony of barking overwhelms the dull thud of artillery fire. The PIF animal shelter is crammed with almost 1,000 dogs of all sizes, ages and breeds (though the number that can claim any sort of pedigree is probably in single figures). 

Many are orphans of the conflict that has shaken this city for the past six months. Their owners have left or in a few cases been killed by the shelling. Some have been discovered tied up and emaciated; others carry the scars of shrapnel or hobble around on three legs. There are several in every cage, with a handful of straw to protect them from temperatures that plunge far below freezing at night. 

The director of the sanctuary is Victoria Vasilieva, a tall middle-aged woman with jet black hair, whose compassion for the animals in her care is unstinting. She cradles a young dog called Jennifer, the only survivor when a shell hit her family's home near the airport. Jennifer was found traumatized in the ruins and it has taken weeks to gain her trust. 

Vasilieva says that the dogs here used to be terrified by the sounds of war. Now, like the people of Donetsk, they hardly notice them. 

Inside the office block, a puppy -- mostly black Labrador - is recovering from a broken leg and shrapnel wound. Vats of oatmeal are cooking in the yard. It's like feeding an army. A few very lucky dogs are going to new homes in Germany, Finland and Russia, but the great majority will remain at the shelter so long as there is money to feed them. 
What sits next to it?
 in the shadow of a huge steel plant