Michael Baines doesn't do anything halfway. 'I'm kind of an extreme guy,' he grins—after all, he shrugs, 'I have over 200 tattoos. I have 1,200 dogs.'
Baines serves as president and co-founder of The Man That Rescues Dogs (TMTRD) in Bang Phra, Thailand, just beyond Bangkok's sprawl. Alongside his staff, he cares for 800 dogs living right at the sanctuary, plus another 400 street dogs that his team has spayed or neutered and now feeds and monitors on a daily basis.
The whole operation runs on the openhearted generosity of animal lovers. 'I get donations from all over the world,' he says. 'The total cost per day is $1,600 US to keep my foundation up and running.'
tutelary companion — Baines never planned to dedicate his entire life to dogs. Born in Scotland and raised in Sweden, he studied dance and theatre—briefly basking in the spotlight as a breakdancer under the stage name Sugar Rock—before enrolling in culinary school in Sweden and working in kitchens all around Stockholm. But the restaurant industry's brutal hours and party-heavy atmosphere dragged him into drug and alcohol addiction, reshaping him into someone he barely recognizes today. 'The farther into the substances I went, the further away from compassion I drifted,' he writes in his 2024 memoir, Home. Made.
When a coworker who vacationed in Thailand a lot—and always returned with renewed energy and a healthy glow—invited him to tag along, Baines went for it. 'Thailand was a mini cleanse, an utter relief for my body,' he shares in his memoir. 'I returned to Stockholm and my substance-heavy lifestyle, but I had tasted a bit of freedom, and I started craving that feeling just as much as I had craved the drugs.'
Baines started returning to Thailand as often as he could, and within a few years he'd landed a restaurant-manager job there. Moving to the country in 2002, he quit drugs on the spot—but kicking his decade-long alcohol addiction proved far tougher. 'It was years until I didn't feel tempted,' he writes. 'I feigned dependability until it became a habit. Work became an amazing foundation on which to build structure.'
His rescue work ignited with a single stray dog. 'There was a dog that showed up behind my restaurant and was in really bad shape. I fed her every day for five days, and I gained her trust. I picked her up, I put her in my truck, and I drove to the veterinarian,' he recalls. With his help, that sickly, starving animal blossomed into a healthy dog, and Baines found her a loving home. 'Seeing her like this and knowing that I had facilitated this filled me with satisfaction, connectedness, and optimism—feelings I didn't know I had access to. I fulfilled my promise to her, and knowing I was capable of changing her story, developed my awareness that there were other fates I could rewrite,' he writes in his memoir. 'Mamuang was my first rescue. And this feeling would prove to be more euphoric than drugs, alcohol, or love.'
By 2018, the decision was final: he sold his business and gave his whole life over to the canine cause—'I decided to cook for dogs instead of people.'
tutelary companion — Meanwhile, Baines couldn't stop noticing all the other dogs around—skinny, hungry, hurting. He began feeding them, more and more each day, all while running the small restaurant he'd opened in 2013. 'That was my plan: feeding 80 to 100 dogs per day and continuing my restaurant,' he recalls. But then a whistleblower contacted him about the horrific state of the local dog pound, and Baines felt compelled to go see it for himself. Shocked by what he witnessed, he soon took it over. For a while he juggled both the pound and his restaurant, but eventually it became too much—a choice was inevitable. He sold his business in 2018 and devoted his life to the dogs: 'I decided to cook for dogs instead of people.'
Through years of expansions, his 8,000-square-metre shelter now houses 800 dogs who all need food, exercise, grooming, and veterinary care. Baines runs a crew of 45—including two veterinarians—and also relies on volunteers and veterinary interns from abroad. 'It's good for us. It's good for them. It's good for the dogs,' he says.
One crew of pooches at TMTRD has gone mega-viral on social media: the Wheelchair Mafia. 'We have about 44 dogs in wheelchairs, rescued since 2016, and they're a bunch of happy yappers,' Baines says. 'They don't know they're paralyzed.' And they refuse to waste a single second feeling sorry for themselves. 'They still live their life.'
About 44 dogs roll through life in wheelchairs, totally unaware they're paralyzed—and these happy-go-lucky pups never wallow in self-pity. 'They still live their life.'
These spirited disabled dogs eagerly head out for their daily 6 a.m. and 1:45 p.m. strolls, made possible by rugged wheelchairs from American maker Walkin' Pets. The pricey contraptions hand the animals breathtaking freedom—'I want the best quality for our dogs,' Baines says. 'They can run over ditches and stones. They can even swim with them.'
tutelary companion — Dozens of now-viral clips capture the Wheelchair Mafia gearing up for their walks, and the delight is practically contagious. 'The excitement that hangs in the air is palpable as the dogs are strapped into their chairs the same way a pit crew prepares a race car driver for action. They line up one by one and take their places at the starting line,' Baines writes in his memoir. 'The scene is surreal. It feels like an F1 start as they all want to take the lead. But, after a minute, they find their rhythm and coordinate themselves into formation beside staff members, volunteers, and visitors… Their happiness never falters, and they are not shy to express their gratitude. There is nothing like the howls of 44 dogs celebrating their limitlessness.'
Baines welcomes anyone who's been moved by the Wheelchair Mafia clips on TikTok, Instagram, Facebook, or YouTube to visit the sanctuary and watch the mutts zoom around in real life. 'You get more awareness that the dog is not done with life just because they're paralyzed or have amputated legs,' he explains. Of the dogs living personally with Baines, three have had a leg amputated. And when people express sadness about those tripods—which happens a lot—Baines always shoots back: 'Hey, you only have two legs.'
He gets especially fired up about spaying and neutering to help keep the stray population in check. TMTRD's veterinary clinic offers these services, plus vaccinations and dental cleanings, at cost-recovery prices to nudge locals toward proper pet care. Those who skip it, Baines says, 'hand over the problem to us.' TMTRD has spayed or neutered each of the 400 street dogs on the daily feeding route and steps in with veterinary care whenever it's needed.
Asked why those 400 strays don't simply live at the shelter, Baines stays matter-of-fact. 'First of all, we don't have enough space,' he says. 'Second is that most of these dogs live in an area where they are safe. It's their home. We can't forget that.' A staff member spends about six hours each day driving around to check on and feed the animals. 'It's my original route,' Baines notes—and, amazingly, some of the dogs he fed all those years ago are still alive today.
Baines has shared his personal residence with as many as 18 dogs and currently lives with 15—but he swears he won't take in more. 'I say every time a dog passes away, that's it, no more dogs,' he laughs. 'Ask me again in one year. I suck at saying no. I love them all.'
tutelary companion — “There are so many dogs sitting and waiting in shelters all over the world for their hero.” He notes that more than one million shelter dogs are euthanized in the United States each year. “That’s why we urge people to adopt locally.”
Though Baines longs to find loving homes for every dog housed at TMTRD, he's extremely careful about which adoptions he approves. 'People are interested, but we don't approve them all,' he says. 'If the dogs have a worse life than here with us, I will not rehome them.' And he refuses to send dogs abroad. 'There are so many dogs sitting and waiting in shelters all over the world for their hero.' He notes that more than one million shelter dogs are euthanized in the United States each year. 'That's why we urge people to adopt locally.'
As for scrounging up the money to keep everything TMTRD does afloat, Baines gets creative. 'Some months are bad. Some months are better,' he says. Donations cratered during the COVID-19 pandemic but bounced back after a video of the dogs went viral. Popular clips of the Wheelchair Mafia always spike donations, and features on pet websites help too. Baines still hopes a sequel to the 2013 documentary The Man That Rescues Dogs—produced by Swedish filmmaker Anna Tjernström and viewable on YouTube—might someday come to be.
The memoir Baines recently wrote, Home. Made., is the first book published by Witchcraft Creative, a social enterprise whose goal is helping nonprofit organizations raise funds while telling their own stories. When Witchcraft founder Samantha Wilson reached out to persuade Baines to write about his incredible life and work, he only agreed because 70 percent of the royalties flow back to his foundation. 'It was an emotional rollercoaster,' he says of the writing process. 'I had to dig very deep.'
He plans to expand the sanctuary by another 2,000 square metres, then simply keep it going. 'I'm not going to expand more. I'm not going to open up branches. I'm not going to go to other countries and do this. We have enough dogs in our area that need our attention, and I'm not going to jeopardize the dogs and staff we have,' he says. 'I just need to make sure that the dogs are safe and the staff and the foundation can move forward for many years to come.'
tutelary companion — The hours may be brutal, but the work feels deeply rewarding. 'It's my baby. It's my foundation, and I need to take care of it,' he says. 'It's work, but it's not a job.'
The man who's been a breakdancer, a chef, an addict, and an author before finding his true calling as The Man That Rescues Dogs believes wholeheartedly in the power of new beginnings—especially for creatures who've been misunderstood and cast aside. In his memoir, he shares the story of Blueberry, a scared but sweet pit bull rescue: 'He wasn't a menace. He was misunderstood and mistreated. I recognize now this common theme that unites the misfits of The Man That Rescues Dogs—both animal and human.'
Several of the staff who work at TMTRD carry histories as checkered as Baines' own past, which makes them perfectly suited to care for dogs that society has ignored or discarded. 'I think it's about second chances,' Baines says. 'We give them a second chance. Life has given me a second chance.'
'But the dogs are so innocent, and they're lovely creatures,' he reflects. 'I love to bond with them. They're honest. They live day by day.'
Reflecting on why dogs have become the singular focus of his life, Baines turns thoughtful, tracing all the twists and turns of his personal story. 'When you're at a crossroad, you choose the path. I could have chosen not to take the first dog in. I could have chosen not to close my restaurant,' he says. 'But the dogs are so innocent, and they're lovely creatures. I love to bond with them. They're honest. They live day by day.' He adds plainly, 'I cannot stop now. How could I?'
tutelary companion — Want to help? Visit tmtrd.org to learn more about donating to The Man That Rescues Dogs or volunteering at the sanctuary—and catch videos of the Wheelchair Mafia and other rescued dogs by following @tmtrdorg on Instagram.
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