During Israel’s 2006 war against Hezbollah, Houssein Hamze woke up one night to the sound of barking. Alarmed, he got up to check on the dog – his first rescue pet. Moments later, a bomb dropped next to his home and a piece of shrapnel landed right where he had been sleeping.

“I swear to God, he really saved me from death. Animals always possess a sixth sense we don’t have,” Hamze said.

Twenty years and two wars later, the 57-year-old is still repaying his debt to the dog that saved his life.

Soon after his near-death experience, Hamze founded the Mashala shelter in the village of Zefta, south Lebanon, to take care of animals in the area. In normal times he takes in strays, and in wartime he is the only lifeline for animals in the area.

On a recent morning, Hamze strolled through his small farm where the shelter is located, checking on fig trees as a line of dogs followed behind him, ears perking up with his every move. He opened an enclosure where two camels – rescued from the Bekaa valley last year – stood among chickens and geese.

“This is Jamoola and her son, Jamool. She is so sweet. When I don’t visit for more than two days, she starts to cry. And when I come back, she wraps her neck around me as if she’s hugging me,” Hamze said, as the camel placed her head in his lap, nuzzling him as he scratched behind her ears. Jamool, a calf who was still nursing, hid his face behind his mother.

The donation-supported farm hosts an eclectic collection of rescues. About 200 dogs – some of them missing ears or tails – gnawed on donated chicken feet, while horses whinnied at guests by the entrance. Chickens ran between the camels’ legs while geese patrolled the perimeter of their enclosure. A small conspiracy of ravens flew rings around the forested valley of the farm, never straying too far from the shade in the intense summer heat.

Hamze was one of about 20 people who stayed behind in his village during the last Hezbollah-Israel war that started on 2 March 2026 and forced approximately a quarter of Lebanon’s population to flee their homes. He stayed to take care of the animals, despite the constant risk of death from Israeli drone and airstrikes.

“Many people fled and left their animals behind during their displacement – some of them left their animals tied up. We would go out, untie them and leave them water,” said Hamze. He pointed to one dog he rescued, Lulu, who lost a chunk of her tail in an airstrike and for whom he has been caring ever since. About 50 dogs came to the shelter during the war by themselves, seeking out food.

During the conflict, Hamze would make daily rounds in his beaten-up truck, distributing dry food to the abandoned dogs and livestock in the villages of south Lebanon. It was not easy work: food was hard to secure, and he would often have to carry jerrycans of water long distances to dogs in more remote areas. On several occasions, airstrikes hit a building next to where he was working. Once during his feeding rounds, Hamze stumbled on the corpse of a man recently struck by a drone strike.

“By the end, all the dogs knew me. I would beep and they would come running,” he said.

Hamze would travel between the villages despite a Israeli drone that hovered overhead, watching his every move. He stuck the “Mashala” animal shelter sign on the roof of the car so the drone could identify him – but still it was no sure bet. Drones would regularly strike people in the area, ranging from Hezbollah fighters to medics to a man and his friend who went back to collect clothes from their home.

“I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was only afraid for the animals. I kept thinking: if I die, who will look after them? They would be lost,” Hamze said.

Despite his bravado, Hamze quietly made arrangements in case he was killed. He sent eight donkeys to a shelter in Beirut, fearful that unlike the dogs, they would not be able to survive on their own if he died. He would have sent the camels and horses too, but he could not fit them in a pickup truck.

Since a ceasefire in June ended most of fighting in Lebanon, life has gone back to almost normal for Hamze and the animals in his shelter. The thud of artillery is more distant now; it no longer sets off a row of furious barking. Hamze is now occupied with more mundane tasks: repairing irrigation tubing chewed on by dogs, and chasing animals with a syringe to give them their tick treatments.

His work during the war made him a minor celebrity in Lebanon. Videos of him braving drones to feed dogs went viral, prompting an outpouring of donations. With the war no longer in the headlines, donations are slowly drying up.

Hamze is still famous in the village, though. His farm is hard to find but everyone in the area knows him. “Keep going all the way down the road and take a left. And tell Houssein I say hi,” said a shepherd on the road.

And there is more work than ever, Hamze said, as displaced people return to their homes and have begun calling him to assist with animal rescues. Scrolling through his WhatsApp, he estimated he received about 500 messages and calls a day reporting animals that needed help.

“The assistance is really not enough. But thank God, we made it through the most dangerous period. I was on my own, there wasn’t a single day when you could stop working and rest. I felt completely drained,” he said.

Hamze said he hoped that one day the shelter would not be necessary, that people would value animals as much as they do humans. Maybe, with a proper respect for the sanctity of life, people would stop fighting, he mused.

“The conclusion is this: if you don’t have compassion for animals, you won’t have compassion for human beings. Believe me,” Hamze said, before planting a kiss on Jamoola’s outstretched head.