Meet my adopted son

Say hello to Dirty Bertie. I call him Dirty Bertie because he jumped in the pond on his first day at his new home. And we all know what is at the bottom of ponds. Mud. Goozy black mud. I know because I jumped in the same pond. Twice when I was too young to know about goozy mud.

Bertie has come to live with Milou's mum and dad. He arrived in a crate from the other side of Australia. Just like me. He came from the same breeder so we are probably related but we're not sure. He sure does look like me.

I loved Milou but then he died and he was only nine dog years' old. Milou's not here to be a father to Bertie, so I am. I told Bertie that he could call me Dad. I think he liked that. Now he has a human mum and dad and me.

Bertie likes to roll and tumble and run like me. But he gets puffed out because he is only little. Sixteen weeks. I was sixteen weeks once and I know what it's like. You go like the clappers then run out of puff. And you can't do other things. You can't lift your leg to pee like us adult dogs. You squat like a girl dog. You can't stand on your hind legs because they're not strong enough. You don't have any balls. And you have a squeaky bark.

Once, when I was very little and I barked (squeaked), one of her friends said "Grow some balls, Lochy." And everyone laughed. I didn't know what balls were. Then I had them. And then I didn't.

Bertie likes to explore, like me. The first time I met him, he showed me all the places in the garden that he had discovered. The pond. "Don't jump in there," he warned. "It makes you black." I didn't say anything, I let him think that he was the first to discover that. Walking along the top of the wall at the end of the swimming pool. The little track through the ferns. The back of the house where no one goes. I knew all these places but Bertie was so proud of his discoveries that I pretended to be surprised.

And the doggie door. Oooooh, I don't like doggie doors. I am scared of them. They have a flap and I'm frightened it's going to hit me on the back. If you want me to go outside you have to open the proper door. But Bertie jumped through the doggie door and I wanted to play with him so much that I followed him. Never again. I didn't like it. But Bertie has no fear. He jumps through the doggie door because he is too young to know that the flap might hit him on the back. "Don't do it," I bark. But he goes ahead anyway and gives me a question-mark look.

There are so many things that I can teach Bertie. Like the evil eye. And standing up quick and twitching your ears when someone says "Walkies". And licking ears which makes her giggle. And sitting on her head when she's watching TV. That's a good one. There's just enough room for me between the wall and her head for me to lie on top of the sofa back. You get a good view of the TV from there.

When Bertie comes to my house, I'll show him how it's done.