On bonfire night, 2016, I adopted my folks – their daughter had recently married and moved to Dundee so they needed rescuing.
It’s only been a few weeks and (thanks to me) our family is wonderful. My folks’ training is well underway… (within the first week, as a goodwill gesture, I stopped toileting indoors)…
- tuneful woofing at the front door leads to an expedition to the park and a romp with my new buddies – there’s always a few of them with their folks
- at least 2 expeditions per day – gathering sticky willow burrs is a hobby so we de-burr & pamper when we get home (I am rather handsome!)
- from first adopted when 10 minutes was enough, we’ve now progressed to 60/90 minutes per trip (Did I mention I’m fit?)
- my folks are particular with my pedicure – with 6 toes it’s a bit crowded on that foot with a careful lean on the skirting board, I am adept on stairs now
- And if I find a leaning opportunity on my travels, I cock my leg (It’s man stuff!) a howling yip while birling = food in my bowl (only 3 times daily but I’m working on them!)
- I was a rickle of banes in my pre-Jura days and I’m 9 kilos of muscle now (I no longer need my support harness)
- My chin isn’t scabby anymore (I used to bump it on the ground)
I have a variety of names:
- Jura-dorable – when I lie on my back for a tummy rub or climb on mums’ knee for a cuddle
- Jura-toe rag – for a run-by baffie snatch
- Jura-wee clart – after a puddle romp
- Jura-gorgeous boy – well… I am!
Only strange thing… when I first meet folks, they usually say to mine ‘what’s wrong with his leg?’ or ‘what happened to his foot?’ or ‘that’s a wee shame’. Must be a human thing… I don’t understand what they mean… none of my chums treat me any different… so I don’t give a woof!