Fred tells his side of the story…..
I wasn’t quite what my humans had in mind when they decided to adopt another dog. They had a plan: small-to-medium, calm, easy-going, the kind of dog who doesn’t act like he’s just downed three espressos.
Back then, I was called Joki, scruffy, and (apparently) very adoptable. A friend sent them my photo, and I ticked every box: cute, compact, and not a chaotic puppy. A ready-made companion.” Outstanding marketing. Slightly misleading. When they came to meet me, the volunteers at the refuge placed me straight into Richard’s arms. I made an immediate executive decision: That one is mine.
They left (rude), then came back days later pretending to have “thought it through.” Meanwhile, I’d already chosen my human. Richard was clearly the correct option. The other human, Nikki? She was pleasant. However, credit where it’s due, she launched a relentless bribery campaign. Treats. Cuddles. Effort. Suspicious levels of dedication. After a couple of weeks, I upgraded her to very lovable.
Once I settled in, I really came into my own. Turns out I’m part Yorkshire Terrier and part… rocket. Possibly a tornado. They expected calm and delicate. They got high-speed, high-energy, fully committed chaos. To be fair, I can relax after four walks, an agility session, twenty laps of the house, and a few vertical jumps to check on the neighbour’s dog. Then I collapse on the sofa like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.
For six weeks, I didn’t bark. Not once. They thought I was broken. One evening, Nikki and Richard made a critical mistake: they put on a nature documentary. And suddenly, WOLVES. Real wolves. On the television. In my house. Obviously, I took immediate action. Full-volume barking. Rapid deployment around the living room. Tactical inspection behind the TV (very suspicious). Emergency sprint upstairs, then back down again to secure the perimeter. I handled the situation flawlessly. They, on the other hand, nearly fell off the sofa. Since then, wildlife documentaries have been banned. A wise decision.
They say I’m “a bit of a handful.” I say I’m enthusiastic. At the vet, for example, I like to announce my arrival loudly. It’s only polite. Inside, I perform a mix of wrestling, evasive manoeuvres, and interpretive wriggling. The vet offers biscuits. I remain professionally difficult.
In conclusion: I may not be the calm, low-maintenance dog they planned…..but I chose them, I trained them, and I keep things interesting. And yes, they absolutely adore me.
As they should.
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Nikki Attree 