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They smell, they walk poo into the carpet and sometimes they barf in my bed, but they're also a truck load of fun.
      A few years ago I decided to foster dogs. I was a bit lonely. I told the charity I had a few problems, but they said that was fine, a home was better than kennels and they were on hand if I couldn't cope. 'Lets have a go and see what happens,' they said. 'OK, blimey, OK, oh god, OK,' I said. 

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This is Hopi. The charity workers picked her up from a house where the owner had mental health problems and hadn't understood what a dog needed. They found her in a tiny kitchen where she had lived since she was a puppy - three years in one room. And they brought her to me, to my house; a hermit's house. It was up to me, a hermit, to show her the world and convince her it was nothing to be scared of. Oh blimey.
      I hid in my hood, wrapped a scarf around my head and we went outside. That was the start of our adventures together. Flashbacks, memories, whatever happened, out we went. I showed her, trees, lakes, the sea, the rain, woods, mud, rabbits, everything. And eventually, people. Within a few months I had met half the town, all those folk I'd been avoiding for years. 

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 Sadly Hopi developed cancer. She died last summer, but she died a happy, bolshy, confident little incontinent adventurer. 
      Today I have Burt and he's an amazing little adventurer too... he pees outside, and he has a bit of a stick obsession. 




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