Volunteers aid flood victims in Spain, turning soccer field into shelter for rescued animals
One night, a couple of volunteers returned in silence. However, the shadow in their eyes weighed the most. After a while, the woman broke down, her tears releasing the pain she held inside. They waded through ruined homes for hours, dodging floating furniture. What they found shattered them: animal carcasses tangled in rubble, a family of drowned cats, and a woman clutching her lifeless dog.
- 2 weeks ago
December 18, 2024
Torrential rains from the DANA storm flooded Valencia, leaving widespread destruction, displaced families, and animals in urgent need of care. | Photo courtesy of Alba Arévalo
VALENCIA, Spain — On Wednesday, October 30, 2024, the neighborhood soccer team’s WhatsApp group shifted from match plans to urgent updates. Shocking images from the floods showed submerged roads, swamped towns, and families clinging to rooftops with their pets. A video haunted me in particular: a family held onto their dog as the current consumed the remains of their home. That harrowing scene drove me to act.
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Campito: soccer field becomes a refuge for families and pets during devastating floods
After witnessing the devastating floods, I suggested transforming the Campito—our humble soccer field—into a logistics center to help those in need. In a matter of hours, the place that once echoed with goals and laughter became a refuge.
Mud covered everything: the grass, the goals, our hands. It seeped into our souls. We converted the goalposts into feeding stations and lined the field’s edges with makeshift cages. Amid the chaos, we found purpose: to heal, feed, and offer shelter, if only for a moment. Each animal that arrived carried its own story of survival and loss.
Rescue brought a mix of joy and pain. Dogs appeared caked in mud, trembling with fear; cats arrived barely moving from the cold. One moment etched itself into my memory forever: a family arrived, holding their small dog—the only survivor from their home. They handed her over, tears streaming silently, their grief speaking volumes. In that instant, I realized we were not just saving animals; we were holding space for people trying to survive.
What began as a small initiative grew into something far larger than we imagined. Volunteers poured in from neighboring areas, carrying food, medicine, and blankets. People who once exchanged only passing glances in supermarkets now worked side by side. Tragedy gave birth to an unexpected network of solidarity, uniting us across age and differences.
Soon, animals and families filled the Campito. We organized stations: one corner for veterinary triage, another for donated food, and a shared space where owners and pets found comfort together. I will never forget drying a shivering dog rescued from a flooded house. As I wrapped him in a borrowed towel, his eyes met mine, reflecting both fear and profound gratitude.
Volunteers act swiftly to rescue animals from devastation
Although we lacked experience and resources, we pressed on with determination. The locker rooms became storage spaces, goalposts turned into meeting points, and the lawn became a web of interconnected lives. Amid the barking, the crying, and the relentless rain pounding against the tarps, we built something unexpected—a sanctuary.
People trudged through the mud, sometimes up to their knees, carrying whatever they could salvage. The rain did not stop, and the deafening roar of water swallowing homes filled the air. I remember a woman clutching her dog, her tears streaming as she whispered, “He is all I have left.” Faces etched with despair blended into a silent choreography of tragedy that refused to be ignored.
Stories of heartbreak spread quickly across the camp. One case still haunts me: a pregnant dog, trapped in an illegal kennel flooded by the DANA (a Spanish storm system). Half-submerged in water and mud, she lay paralyzed by fear, symptoms of hypothermia setting in. A volunteer approached her gently, whispering reassurance as he stroked her trembling body. After what felt like an eternity, he earned her trust, slowly leashing her and leading her out of the nightmare she had been trapped in. We placed her safely in one of the shelters we had managed to set up.
In the thick of devastation, mud became an invisible enemy, consuming everything in its path. I will never forget the moment a volunteer rushed into the camp carrying a Rottweiler. The dog’s labored breaths rattled in the still air, its mangled snout bearing unspeakable scars. We exchanged a glance—no words needed. We knew we had to act, and we had to act fast.
In the wake of disaster, a dog’s survival offers a glimmer of hope
Urgently, the team rushed the dog to the veterinary hospital. Her glassy, dull eyes revealed something that struck me deeply, like a silent plea for hope. At the hospital, veterinarians immediately began, attending to her with focused precision. While they delivered a guarded prognosis, her eyes began to spark with life again, as though she recognized she was no longer fighting alone.
Hours later, as I grabbed my phone to check for updates, I saw a message from the veterinary hospital: “She is out of danger. She has responded well to treatment.” The words lit up the screen as tears filled my eyes. Unable to hold back, I called for more details. “She’s resting, but she’s fine. She’ll need care, but the look on her face says it all—she has the will to live,” the voice on the other end assured me. Quietly, I listened, letting waves of emotion crash over me.
Outside, the chaos transformed into a nightmare. Mud smothered everything, spreading like a deadly carpet. Fallen trees blocked pathways, destroyed houses crumbled into wreckage, and cars piled up in twisted heaps. Light poles leaned precariously, wires dangled menacingly, and debris crowded every corner. As desperate cries of people searching for loved ones shattered the silence, the heavy air, saturated with humidity, clung to our skin. Every breath and every glance reminded us the catastrophe raged on, with horror lurking in every shadowed corner.
Volunteers wept as they grappled with the horrors they encountered. They found corpses of animals and people, discovered pet tents locked with lifeless creatures inside, and witnessed dreams swallowed by the mud. Night descended, casting an eerie spell over the camp. The volunteers fell silent, unable to describe the immense weight of the day’s tragedies.
Volunteers and organizations unite in rescue efforts
Even amid this darkness, small miracles emerged. A dog slowly trusted humans again after hours of patient care. A family reunited with their beloved pet. These moments pierced the endless night, reminding us even in tragedy, something remained worth fighting for.
Slowly, we turned collaboration with other organizations into our lifeline. In those critical early days, collectives like Support Mutu and small shelters united with us to care for animals and people alike. We tracked donations, coordinated access to impossible areas, and tackled emergencies head-on. Additionally, we rescued trapped animals and delivered medicine to stranded individuals. Those networks powered every step, ensuring our efforts achieved meaningful results.
In Valencia, desolation and mud transformed the streets into a grim mosaic. Amid the chaos, Sandra Cervera, a local actress, stepped away from the spotlight and cameras to confront the storm’s devastation. Trapped in the city, she dove into rescue efforts without hesitation. Sandra inspired everyone as she transformed from a movie star to a rescue worker. She spread maps across a makeshift table and traced flooded areas with steady fingers. Pinpointing the hot spots, she commanded the team with clarity and confidence.
Soon after, Sandra divided tasks among the volunteers. “Group one, prepare the transports and first-aid kits,” she instructed firmly, her voice instilling trust in everyone around her. Her phone rang constantly as she communicated “Yes, we already have a team on the way. We need drones to assess this perimeter—can you assist us?” Determination blazed in her eyes, showing no area was too remote and no hope too distant for her to reach.
Actress Sandra Cervera transforms from movie star to rescue leader amid disaster
In the wrecked villages, destruction turned familiar paths into mazes where animals and their owners searched desperately for one another. Yet, amid the ruins, moments of magic emerged. I remember watching a dog howl with joy as he spotted his owner. That sound—pure and unfiltered—cut through the despair, and for the first time in days, I smiled.
One night, Sandra arrived at the camp, covered in mud, her glassy eyes staring into nothing. She had spent hours trying to free a horse trapped in thick muck that swallowed him up to his chest. She removed her soaked coat and whispered, her voice breaking, “We had the tow truck ready; we were going to make it.”
Through sobs, she recounted the struggle. They navigated through the night in makeshift caravans, headlights piercing puddles and darkness. When they reached the horse, it gasped for air, terror in its wide eyes. Without hesitation, they plunged into the mud with ropes and shovels, fighting to carve a way out. Sandra described it as battling an invisible beast, her hands trembling as she spoke. Then the rain came harder. Minutes turned the ground into an unforgiving trap, undoing every effort. By dawn, the news arrived: the horse had not survived.
Sandra sat silently on a bench, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the mud-crusted laces of her boots. I knelt beside her, untying them gently. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and we cried together, grief heavier than the mud beneath us. When she stood and walked back to the toolshed, I realized something: it was not about winning or losing. It was about showing up, trying, and carrying on, even when the outcome shattered us.
Volunteers’ heartbreaking effort to rescue grieving woman ends in despair amid flooded roads
One afternoon, we received an urgent call. A woman’s voice cracked on the other end as grief consumed her. Through her sobs, she told us her husband and son died, trapped in their home, leaving only her dog alive. As soon as she sent her location, surrounded by mud and debris, we organized a rescue team to reach her. Immediately, two volunteers loaded a car with ropes and set off. However, just a few kilometers away, the car got stuck. The road flooded, and the mud, relentless as a beast, swallowed the wheels. The volunteers did not hesitate, yet they decided to continue on foot.
As they neared, a group of neighbors stopped them. “It’s impossible to get there,” they said. “There’s no road. It’s too dangerous.” Their words struck like a blow to the chest, paralyzing the volunteers with impotence. From the camp, we guided them and searched for an alternate route, but every option closed before us. I felt suffocated, unable to move forward.
Sadly, the volunteers returned, their hearts heavy with failure. That night, the camp fell into a thick silence. No one spoke much. The image of the woman, her dog, and her endless despair lingered, haunting us like a relentless shadow. We tried calling her again, but the communication failed. The emptiness swallowed everything. The flood pressed on, unyielding, weighing down on us all.
In that darkness, I realized something vital: the weight of these stories could not be measured in numbers or statistics. The woman, her deceased child, her lost husband, and her dog all merged into a storm of helplessness. We felt devastated as we could not become the bridge they desperately needed.
Amid the ruins, a family’s reunion with their terrier brings a moment of healing
One afternoon, a family arrived at the camp, their faces etched with exhaustion and grief. The flood devastated everything: their home, memories, and their sense of stability. But what mattered most to them was not what they had lost, but what they could still find—their terrier.
The woman, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, trembled while they waited for news. When we finally located him, the terrier huddled in a corner, covered in dried mud but alive. As we brought him to the reunion area, the dog stepped through the door, shattering a flood of emotions. The dog recognized his owner immediately. With a sharp bark, he dashed toward them like an arrow.
When the dog jumped toward her, the woman fell to her knees, crying, while he licked her face. As the whole family embraced, their tears flowed freely. While crying, some tried to hide their emotions, but most did not. At that moment, I realized why we kept pushing forward despite the exhaustion, the mud, and the hopelessness. Without a doubt, it was not just for the animals, but for moments like this, where we could still give something back.
As the night stretched on, the sound of water echoed from every direction. Teams organized missions to reach the most devastated rural areas, with each vehicle carrying flashlights, torn maps, and stubborn hope. One group reached a back road leading to a partially flooded warehouse. I remember their radio call: “There are cages with live and dead animals. We need reinforcements.” Their voices were flat, unable to express the horror they encountered.
Volunteers confront unspeakable horror in flooded rural areas, witnessing death and despair
Upon entering the rural areas, the smell of death and dampness hit them like a blow. Flashlights revealed rows of cages, some half-submerged in water. The sight broke hearts: lifeless animals in their cages and others writhing in pain, their eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. The reality struck hard as I realized the disaster was not just natural; humans also created it.
One night, a couple of volunteers returned in silence. However, the shadow in their eyes weighed the most. After a while, the woman broke down, her tears releasing the pain she held inside. They waded through ruined homes for hours, dodging floating furniture. What they found shattered them: animal carcasses tangled in rubble, a family of drowned cats, and a woman clutching her lifeless dog.
Every door the volunteers opened revealed more suffering: desperate families, trapped animals, and soaked memories. “A smell wouldn’t go away,” the woman added, staring at the floor. That night, as the camp fell into silence, I wondered how long we could endure this helplessness without breaking. The couple never spoke of their experience again, but their silence spoke volumes. Deep inside, I realized the pain did not end with the rescue; It transformed and stayed with us.
The camp resembled a horror dream as we piled up cages, draped wet blankets in every corner, and watched dim light flicker in the breeze. Spending the day navigating through the mud, we organized rescues, comforting families who lost everything. With fatigue weighing heavily, someone unexpectedly arrived with hot coffee. In the moment of grief, we felt the simple gesture as a luxury.
Amid grief, volunteers find brief comfort in hot coffee and shared stories
At first, silence surrounded us, broken only by the clink of cups and spoons. Gradually, we began to share stories. One volunteer described finding a dog trapped in a cellar, its eyes glazed but still alive when he saw him. Another spoke about a small cat he had saved days earlier. The words broke into fragments, interrupted by silence, fear, helplessness, and uncertainty about how long we could continue.
In that small circle, beneath a torn tarp, we shared a laugh, if only for a moment. Yet, we all knew, deep inside, it could not last. The camp served nothing more than a temporary shelter. But that night, as the coffee’s smell mingled with the scent of mud, something ignited in us. Surrounded by cages and memories of our losses, we found a brief respite. It was not enough, but it was all we had.
After weeks of tireless volunteering, I finally left the soccer field and confronted an unrecognizable Valencia. The city lay buried under a thick layer of mud and silence as if the waters trapped its essence. The air smelled of stagnant humidity, rotting wood, and hopelessness, heavy and dense.
Traveling to Madrid for work for three days, I felt like I entered a different world. There, I did not hear the word “mud” once. Everything felt lighter, less broken. I strolled through untouched streets, engaged in trivial conversations. But when I returned to Valencia, it hit me hard. As soon as I stepped off the train, the word flooded back. In the queue, others repeated it, like an echo, refusing to fade: “Mud, mud.” That word seeped into everything, like a shadow I could not shake off.
Valencia volunteers rescue over 600 animals as authorities remain absent
Back on the streets, mud surrounded me. It clung to sidewalks, streaked house walls, and lingered in the air I breathed. Days passed, but the mud refused to leave. It was not confined to the streets—it seeped into my hands, my memories, and every corner of my mind. Yet, amidst all the ruin, glimmers of resurrection emerged. Small victories became the fragile balance that kept us moving forward.
No one prepared us for this disaster. There were no protocols or instructions to follow. Still, we became volunteers—neighbors and strangers forming a network out of sheer necessity. In those first hours, the state remained absent. With no guidance, the catastrophe fell into our inexperienced yet determined hands.
Frustration grew as institutions observed from the sidelines. Left on our own, we improvised and created a response born from desperation and common sense. Volunteer veterinarians, educators, drivers, foster families, and small shelters united to rescue and care for over 600 animals. What began as a makeshift shelter transformed into a lifeline, a fully functional network forged through collective will.
The immediate emergency has passed, but the pain lingers. Families who took in animals now plead for extensions, unable to return home. For many, these animals remain all they have left. We scramble to fund veterinary care and food, waiting for the state to acknowledge and institutionalize our efforts.
Walking through the city, my boots crunch against the asphalt, the echoes of mud, barking, and cries still fresh in my mind. Valencia tries to rise, but the weight of the past keeps its people moving carefully, as though afraid to break. Among the remains, I see what we built—a shared dream of a future where mud no longer defines us.
