Cieco: A blind dog’s journey from Nabatieh to Beirut, fleeing Israeli bombs

Baabda, Lebanon – Cieco was enjoying a cool shower between pine trees as the late summer sun set.
As the soapy water washed off, his auburn and caramel coat gleamed through and Barbara, satisfied, towelled him off and walked him to the dog shelter within the Alyarz Leisure Club.
The date was September 27, and they were in Baabda, about 10km (6 miles) from Beirut.
Just as the Alyarz Pet Club (APC) volunteer released the Dutch Shepherd-Plott Hound from his leash, loud explosions echoed.
Israel had dropped 80 bombs on Dahiyeh, the suburb south of Beirut, a 15-minute drive from the shelter.
But deaf and blind Cieco could neither hear nor see the explosions, he could only feel what he must have known was encroaching danger.
Cieco (meaning “blind” in Italian and pronounced “Cheyko”) had just gotten to the APC two days earlier, on September 25, evacuated from the Mashala animal shelter in Nabatieh, on the southern border between Lebanon and Israel.
He had lived there for two years, looked after by Mashala founder Houssein Hamza, who took him in after he got a phone call telling him a dog had been found, shot in the face.
Multiple pellets – their origins unknown – remain lodged in Cieco’s face and skull.
Hamza did not name the injured dog who came to his shelter two years ago, focused on nursing him back to health, so Cieco was named by the team when he arrived at the APC in Baabda.
As Israel intensified and widened its attacks on Lebanon last month, Hamza began to worry about the most vulnerable animals in the shelter and started planning to evacuate them.
He posted a video on social media, appealing for people to foster or look after a blind dog and cat, and the Lebanese public responded generously.
In the following hours, dozens of people reached out, and a few days later, Hamza entrusted the blind cat and dog to a taxi driver in Sidon, who transported them to Beirut.
The 90-minute journey stretched for hours due to heavy traffic from people fleeing the south, compounded by relentless Israeli bombing along some routes.
How much of it Cieco felt is a mystery.
When he arrived at the APC, he needed time to adapt to life at the shelter and to slowly be introduced to other dogs and his surroundings.
“He was isolated at first to get used to the smells around him. He was extremely scared, not understanding who we are or where he is,” Razanne Khatib, the founder of APC, explained.
“He would barely sleep. And if he did, he would sleep while standing.
“We then introduced him to the other dogs, and he now trusts his environment more.”
Hamza has never considered evacuating from the south himself, as about one million people have done across Lebanon in the last few weeks.
Leaving the shelter and animals behind is not an option, he said.
“For society to thrive, we need people to save humans, but also people to save animals. And another part to help the environment. If you only think you can help the humans and not other beings, you disrupt society, and the environment.”
Over the past 18 years, he has tended to dogs, cats, and chickens, relying on the goodwill of people and private donors to provide food and shelter for the animals and compensation for his helpers.
Initially, he took in pets only from his village. But he slowly expanded, unable to turn an animal away until his shelter, equipped to host 150 animals. Now, has some 300 dogs, 50 cats and other animals.
Now residing in Kfour, a bit further from the border, Hamza has adopted a new daily routine as Israel’s attacks increased in recent weeks.

While he used to check on the animals daily, the more dangerous roads made the drives less frequent and he now ensures there is enough food to last the animals a few days, in case he cannot return immediately.
Hamza also checks on animals left in deserted villages, feeds any strays, and coordinates with shelters across the country to get as many animals as possible into safer environments.
“At home, I take care of my chickens, cats, and birds, feeding them before heading to the shelter,” he said.
“First thing, I feed and water the animals, then [I do a] round of the area. I feed the village animals, and sometimes people tell me about dogs frightened by the planes and explosions, so I check on them and the animals left behind.”
The situation has not improved in Nabatieh, and Hamza finds himself busier by the day. But the rescuers who took the animals from him send him regular updates.
Sandra Mouawad, the founder of the Paws Crossed Lebanon shelter in Beirut, took in the blind cat, who was named Fossa, while APC took the dog they later named Cieco.
During the onslaught that killed Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah two days after Cieco arrived in Baabda, some dogs at the facility began to growl and bark while others huddled in their enclosures, frightened by the chaos.
Cieco barely moved, although he was probably shaken by the vibrations.
The night that followed was a nightmare for the people in Dahiyeh, facing Israel’s demand that they evacuate certain areas before bombing them through the night.
Families with children, the elderly, and animals were forced to sleep on the streets.
Lebanon’s most vulnerable communities, already weakened by the multitude of crises over the past few years, were left even more helpless.

And animals were not spared. On October 4, the APC posted footage of animals panicking and crowing in fear as Israeli explosions went off in the background.
But shelters across Lebanon, as well as Hamza, are defiant, saying that now is the time to step up, and not back down.
“The more you love something, the more that love grows over time,” Hamza explained, referring to his love for the animals he cares for.
“My conscience didn’t allow me to leave them behind, even though my family had all left. If I didn’t love these animals as much as I do, I wouldn’t still be here.
“But I love them, and I trust in God – my fate is in His hands.”