Paddy's Second Act

I’ve participated in five Mission Rabies vaccination campaigns. Some of you might remember my post from February 2023, during my fourth campaign. If not, let me briefly set the scene. (Fair warning: the first photos are from 2023. After that, the good stuff — me and Paddy today, living his second act.)

On the way to a vaccination site, I spotted a scrawny dog walking tentatively and unsteadily through a rice paddy.

Scrawny stray, wandering aimlessly through a rice paddy

That had me worried, so I said we should stop and check out what was going on. Was he lost? Sick? We stopped the van and headed into the paddy. When we got closer, the truth became apparent: both of his eyes were badly damaged.

Both eyes, damaged beyond repair

He was blind, terrified, and clearly not going to survive long on his own.

He couldn’t see us coming, but he could hear us — and he tried to get away. We offered some food to coax him closer, but he wasn’t interested.

We tried slipping a leash over his head, but that only frightened him more.

Eventually, we managed to corral him and bring him to Mbwa Wa Africa Animal Rescue, a sanctuary and clinic run by Jens Fissenbert. After a long debate, the team decided the kindest option was to remove both eyes. Jens suspected a spitting cobra was the culprit — a snake here in Tanzania that often aims straight for the eyes.

This dog was never going to be adoptable, but that didn’t matter. At Mbwa Wa, there’s space for every misfit. He recovered from surgery quickly, though his adjustment to a sightless world took longer. Bit by bit, he learned the layout of the grounds and joined the ranks of the other residents — cared for, safe, and finally at peace.

Tradition at Mbwa Wa says the person who rescues a dog gets to name it. Since we found him in a rice paddy, I called him Paddy.

Fast-forward to September of this year (2025). After our Mission Rabies orientation session, Jens invited us on a tour of Mbwa Wa. I’d been there before, but there was no way I was staying behind. I had a goal: find Paddy. I’d gotten occasional updates from volunteers, but I hadn’t seen him since that fateful day nearly three years earlier.

We walked the grounds, visiting the different areas of the sanctuary — including the new state-of-the-art veterinary clinic under construction. We passed the outdoor kennels where Paddy had spent much of his time after surgery. This was his ground zero, the place from which he slowly learned the layout of his world.

And then, as we were standing there, who should come meandering around the corner but Paddy himself.

What a difference. About twenty pounds heavier, his coat thick and healthy, moving slowly but with confidence. He heard our voices, ambled over, sniffed each of us, then flopped down in the grass nearby.

Relaxing on the ground not far from his kennel

I knelt beside him, stroked his head, and tried — unsuccessfully — not to get choked up.

An emotional reunion for me.

A moment of pure gratitude. From a blind, frightened stray in a rice paddy to a beloved resident in a sanctuary where he belongs. Doesn’t get any better than this.