In the dimly lit corridors of the Dogs Trust Rehoming Centre in Basildon, Essex, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of wet fur and unspoken stories of abandonment, Pete Wicks steps into a world far removed from the glittering dance floors of Strictly Come Dancing. The former TOWIE star, now a passionate advocate for animal welfare, has traded sequins for scrubs in his heart-wrenching new series, Pete Wicks: For Dogs’ Sake. Airing on U&W, the four-part docuseries plunges viewers into the raw, unfiltered reality of rescuing vulnerable canines—moments of joy laced with gut-punching sorrow that have earned Wicks the tearful moniker of “the new Paul O’Grady.”

From the outset, it’s clear Wicks isn’t here for the cameras. With two rescue dogs of his own waiting at home, his immersion feels profoundly personal. The series opens with a raid on a squalid South Korean dog meat farm, where over 170 terrified souls—shivering in cramped, feces-strewn cages—await a fate too cruel to fathom. Wicks, sleeves rolled up, joins Humane Society International rescuers in a dawn operation that unfolds like a battlefield of empathy. “These aren’t just dogs; they’re survivors with eyes that beg for mercy,” he whispers, voice cracking as he cradles a trembling Jindo mix, its ribs protruding like fragile piano keys. The footage is unflinching: matted fur caked in mud, whimpers echoing like distant thunder. By episode’s end, the dogs are airlifted to safety, but the weight of their trauma lingers, a silent indictment of humanity’s darkest impulses.

As the narrative shifts to the UK’s rehoming centre, the emotional rollercoaster intensifies. Wicks bonds with Ricky, a scruffy two-year-old pointer dumped without ceremony, his coat a tangle of neglect. “Look at you, mate—abandoned like yesterday’s news,” Pete murmurs, dropping to his knees for an unscripted belly rub that dissolves into laughter amid slobbery kisses. These interactions echo the late Paul O’Grady’s legendary tenure at Battersea Dogs Home, where irreverent humor masked a bottomless well of compassion. Fans, still mourning O’Grady’s 2023 passing, flood social media with comparisons: “Pete’s got that same magic—making you laugh through the sobs.” One viewer confesses, “Haven’t felt this since Paul’s final series; it’s like he’s channeling Lily Savage’s spirit, but with tattoos and a podcast mic.”

Yet, it’s the tragedies that carve deepest scars. In a scene that has sparked a torrent of tissues nationwide, Wicks confronts Theo, a majestic Italian Mastiff left homeless after his owner’s death. The gentle giant, eyes like polished chestnuts, receives a terminal cancer diagnosis—his body a battlefield of tumors, his spirit unbroken but fading. Outside the centre, Wicks collapses against a chain-link fence, tears streaming unchecked. “Heartbroken and helpless… this dog has so much soul, and now what? He just wants a couch to curl up on for his last days.” The vulnerability is palpable; Wicks later reveals it unearthed his own “painful memories” of loss, including a childhood pet euthanized too soon. Viewers mirror his grief: posts overflow with pleas for a second series, one declaring, “You made me ugly-cry for hours—Pete, you’re saving more than dogs; you’re mending hearts.”

Amid the despair, glimmers of redemption shine fiercely. A litter of Maltese crosses, once stuffed in a suitcase like discarded laundry, emerges transformed—coats gleaming, tails helicoptering in delight. Wicks orchestrates rehoming days with the fervor of a matchmaker, culminating in a finale where a once-feral stray finds her forever home. The clincher? A montage of sloppy, joyous kisses: Wicks, smeared in doggy saliva, locks lips with a grateful pup who’s just learned trust again. “True love doesn’t need words,” he says, wiping his face with a grin. “It’s this—a wet smack and a wagging tail saying, ‘You’re home.’”

For Dogs’ Sake isn’t mere entertainment; it’s a clarion call. Wicks spotlights the 129,000 dogs entering UK shelters annually, many victims of breed bans or economic hardship. His hands-on role—from grooming sessions that coax smiles from the shy to advocacy pushes for better welfare laws—proves celebrity can catalyze change. As the credits roll on a rehomed Theo surrogate lounging in a sun-dappled garden, Wicks turns to camera: “Paul showed us love’s messy. I’m just following his paw prints.” In a TV landscape starved for authenticity, Wicks doesn’t just rescue dogs—he rekindles our faith in happy endings, one tear-stained slobber at a time.