A few kilometers south of Yerevan, the sound of barking begins even before a shelter comes into view. It rises over the quiet roads and open land, and this is exactly how you arrive at Kofi’s Shelter, and at the person who built it.
Anna Vardanyan, the founder of Kofi’s Shelter, stands inside, moving between dogs, calling out names, petting one while checking on another. Despite founding one of Armenia’s shelters, Vardanyan says she never actually dreamed of opening one. “I’ve never had an idea to start a shelter,” she says. “Because to me, a shelter is not a good place.” For her, the goal was never to create a permanent holding space for animals, but to rescue dogs, rehabilitate them and eventually place them in homes.
Her connection to stray animals began in childhood. Growing up in Armenia during the difficult years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, she remembers the conditions for street animals being brutal. “People were shooting them,” she says. “It was crazy.”
Years later, after living in Portugal for work and studies, she returned to Armenia and became involved with a local animal rescue group, and after leaving, she had already taken in 17 dogs herself. Dogs that had never been adopted and simply stayed with her. One of them, Nikita, had recently passed away just days before the interview.
At first, Vardanyan and her mother would stop whenever they spotted injured or abandoned dogs on the roadside. Over time, as more people learned about their care, dogs began arriving constantly. Puppies left in boxes, injured animals dropped near the gates, even pets abandoned by owners moving away.
“Here in Kharberd, in this area,” she explains, referring to the nearby countryside communities, “people come for the summer and then leave. Sometimes they get dogs for the season and then abandon them.” At one point, she recalls, someone even threw a cat over the shelter fence from a passing vehicle.
The shelter now houses hundreds of animals (a combined total of 182 dogs and cats), though Vardanyan avoids romanticizing the work. While rescue narratives are often framed sentimentally online, she speaks about the daily reality with blunt honesty. “I can’t tell you romantic and beautiful stuff about the shelter,” she says. “Because to me, it’s not like that.” Much of the work revolves around injury and recovery. Many of the dogs arrive after car accidents or abuse. Others carry behavioral scars that only become visible slowly and after spending time with them.
One dog at the shelter becomes aggressive whenever she sees men with beards. Ciara Akari, a staff member at Kofi’s Shelter, explains that she was actually attacked on her first day visiting after wearing a black mask covering the lower half of her face. “Then she [the dog] recognized and felt guilty and ran away from me,” Akari says, laughing. “Now she loves me.”
Over time, Vardanyan began noticing patterns in the animals’ behavior that hinted at what they may have experienced before arriving. “You just get to know what happened,” she says quietly. She points out the story of another dog who had been hit by a car. Veterinarians initially told her the animal would never walk. For months, Vardanyan carried out physiotherapy exercises herself until the dog slowly regained mobility.
“I was so happy she started to walk again.” she says.
Still, even successful recoveries carry frustration. Space inside the shelter remains limited, and some rehabilitated dogs cannot move as freely as they should because of overcrowding and territorial fights between animals.
Running the shelter also comes with constant financial pressure. For years, Vardanyan says, almost all expenses came directly from her family. Food, medical treatment, sterilization and construction costs piled up continuously.
Things began shifting after international organizations and volunteers started helping. The shelter partnered with veterinarians from the Brigitte Bardot Foundation, who assisted with sterilization programs for dozens of dogs. Volunteers also helped improve the shelter’s social media presence.
Today, donations and volunteer efforts cover a significant portion of expenses, though the uncertainty remains constant, but she insists that volunteers matter just as much as financial support. They help with feeding, grooming, cleaning wounds, socializing dogs, and assisting with any tasks designed to better accommodate and support the animals. “But the most important quality is just caring for the dogs,” Akari says during the conversation. “Doing everything you can.”
Adoption remains the shelter’s central goal. Vardanyan repeatedly returns to the idea that rescue only truly succeeds once an animal finds a stable home.
One of the stories she speaks about warmly is about a former shelter dog who was adopted. “One of the dogs got adopted from here. And recently had a photo with the Czech ex-president,” she says, laughing.
International adoptions have become increasingly common, though the process remains complicated because vaccinations, blood tests, paperwork and transport arrangements can take months to complete.
At the same time, Vardanyan remains extremely cautious about who adopts the animals. “Love is something a dog needs to feel, and it’s a person’s responsibility to give that, ” she says, “not just feeding them.” She also mentions that she sometimes refuses potential adopters, particularly people who oppose sterilization, want aggressive guard dogs, or those who appear unprepared for long-term responsibility.
Still, certain adoption stories remain especially meaningful to her. One of them involved a dog she describes as “a princess,” an unusually gentle and affectionate animal who struggled emotionally inside the shelter environment. “She looked lost here,” Vardanyan says. “Depressed.” The dog was eventually adopted and now lives abroad, far from the overcrowded shelter conditions she once lived in.
“Now she’s living her best life,” Vardanyan says, smiling.
Kofi’s shelter kindly accepts monetary donations through their website and Patreon page. Beyond financial contributions, food, medicine and toys are also appreciated, though Vardanyan laughs while explaining that toys rarely survive for long. “One volunteer brought a huge bag of tennis balls,” she says. “Three minutes later, the dogs had already destroyed them.”
Despite the humor, the shelter’s long-term concerns remain serious. When asked what changes she hopes to see in Armenia’s treatment of animals, Vardanyan answers immediately: respect for animals. She believes stronger laws around abandonment, sterilization, and animal cruelty are necessary, but says cultural attitudes must also change alongside them.
