As the metal gate latch squeaks, the three-legged German Shepherd is first to greet Mayssam Dhiaa Dawood at the animal shelter she runs. One-year-old Max seems overjoyed to see Ms Dawood, leaping into her arms and licking her. “I can’t abandon these creatures,” says Ms Dawood, 41, as she shows <i>The National </i>the dozens of dogs and cats at her shelter in a Baghdad neighbourhood. “This is something beyond my control, there is something strong inside me that spurs me to take care of them.” In a country where cruelty against dogs and cats is widespread, the widowed mother stands out. Stray dogs are a problem in Iraq. Authorities use either guns or toxins in dog-culling campaigns that seek to prevent the spread of diseases and attacks on residents. Ms Dawood's passion for animals started when she was 5 and had two cats. She took action to help strays after seeing the animals being mistreated. In 2012, she started saving vulnerable animals from the streets of the Iraqi capital. She turned the second floor of her house in Baghdad’s northern Adhamiya neighbourhood into a shelter, where she took care of 15 cats and two dogs. “Whenever I see dogs and cats that need help, I grab them and take those who need medical care to a veterinary clinic,” she says. But the feedback from Iraqi society has not been positive. Many conservatives believe that cats and dogs bring impurity to the households they live in. The cleric at the mosque opposite to her house criticised her during sermons and turned other residents against her. “He was indirectly mentioning me in all his sermons as the ‘woman who imitates foreigners who breed dogs and cats’,” she says. “He kept telling me that instead of helping these animals I take care of a [human] orphan,” One day, a neighbour complained that his prayers were not accepted due to the presence of dogs and cats next door. Her son was refused entry to pray inside the mosque and a complaint was filed at the police station, accusing her of spreading diseases in the neighbourhood. A police officer told her she could be imprisoned. “The situation was unbearable. I reached the point of depression and whenever the bell rang, I was terrified,” she says. Bowing to the pressure, she left Adhamiya. She has moved three times, each time facing the same problems, before settling in Ghazaliya, in western Baghdad. She borrowed 12 million Iraqi dinars (about $8,200) to rent a small lot to set up the shelter. In one corner, she lives with her only son in two rooms built by insulated panels. “I focus on those who need help,” she says. “Some are paralysed, blind and handicapped or suffer from chronic health problems in their lungs or liver, or psychological issues due to the abuse.” One of those is Max. She found him four months ago suffering from gangrene in his left front leg, that required surgery. “Max is a well-trained dog, but unfortunately he was neglected. We saved him three times from death,” she says. Inside a big metal cage, cats gather around a fuel-burning heater. Others sleep or play on stands. As Ms Dawood opens the gate, some jump on to her shoulders and others rub against her legs, miaowing. The shelter houses 75 cats and 14 dogs and goes through 300 kilograms of leftover chicken Ms Dawood buys from restaurants, as well as 105kg of dry food a month. To cope with the increasing bills, she runs a “hotel” that looks after cats for 5,000 dinars a day. The fee for dogs is twice that. Prices are higher for those that need medical care. She puts animals up for adoption but only after carefully vetting prospective owners. In the past, new owners have either sold the pets or neglected them Already she has heard gossip that her new neighbours are complaining and preparing to expel her. “My relation with these animals is like a mother and son. We can’t abandon each other. I left everything for their sake” she says.
