By the time we flew home from New York it had been nearly two years since Arthur had rescued me from the shop in Stevenage. In that time I had flown tens of thousands of miles, and I'd run out of fingers to count all the countries I'd visited. I'd had more good times in those two years than many people get in a lifetime. But it had all come at a price.

Mentally I was fine, but physically I was not so good. My li'l plushie feet had really taken a battering, and were full of holes. The soon-to-be-doctor, Arthur, informed me that I had a simple choice - either I had to go under the knife, or else it was likely that I would lose both feet within a few months.

The procedure was complex. Arthur consulted with his mother - who felt that the operation was well beyond her capabilities. His sister, who had been excellent at needlework at school a few years earlier, also felt unable to help. I needed a major operation to rebuild not one, but both feet, and nobody knew if it could be done - or how. Thankfully my owner is smart - and came up with a method of solving the problem.

The solution was simple in theory - and worked brilliantly in practice! Rather than replace my original feet, he planned to build new feet over the top of the old ones! With some nice soft black fleece material, and a needle and cotton, he was able to carry out the surgery.

One day I'd been facing life in a wheelchair, the next I had a pair of lovely new feet - the nicest, softest, bestest feet that any plushie has ever had. They were just the sort of feet that a travelling plushie should have.

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