The story of Peanut

Eight years ago, I got permanent residency for Australia.  As any logical person would then do, I decided it was immediately time to get a second dog.  I mean, the country wasn’t kicking me out now, so why not take on another super needy creature to celebrate.  At this point, I already had one, whom I acquired when a mate went on holidays for a few weeks…and then never took him back (we’re still friends).  In all honesty I didn’t really fight it, Koby the dog basically raised himself.  He’d go for self-walks to the local café and scheme food as he sat out front with his penis out (turns out it’s a thing for some dogs when they sit a certain way…however the creepy grin he’d have on his face while it was didn’t help).  He would also walk himself to the beach and visit the lifeguards, who luckily found him enjoyable instead of worthy of a $350+ fine every time for swimming between the flags, encouraged for humans but illegal for dogs here on the Gold Coast.  Oh yeah, the beach was also across a 4-lane highway.  It was time to move. 

This eventually led us to sharing a house with a mate and his large female American Staffy, who chose to be besties with Koby instead of eatting him thankfully.  During this time, my residency came through.  Somehow I persuaded my current housemate a third dog would be a grand idea, and also Rob, the fella I’d just started dating (as in, 2^nd date) that he should come to the pound and help me choose.  That one didn’t take too much persuading, though Rob may also have thought at the time he wouldn’t be around to have to share the dog raising adventure (sucker, we’re still together).  So, 2^nd date pound visit here we come!  As I wander down the row of cages looking for ‘the one’ amongst all of these adorable abandoned furballs and contemplating just how many we could get away with having until Council caught on, I realise I’ve lost Rob.  I turn around, and about 20 metres back here’s this 6’6” man sitting in front of a cage, looking spellbound.  As I stroll back, I’m thinking to myself, ‘Well, here’s my dog whether I like it or not.’  Her identity card reads ‘Peanut’ and says she’s a four-month-old Vizsla cross, whatever that is.  Apparently it’s Vizsla crossed with horse, as this ‘puppy’ towers over the others.  As Rob stares on in pure adoration, Peanut meanwhile is lying on the cage floor, only bothering to open one eye and look completely unimpressed.  I’ll give it to her, gal had sass.  I was intrigued.

As one of the staff brings her and us to the meet and greet area, we hear how she’s grown up in the pound and probably needs to get out soon or she may go into even deeper depression and be really hard to train.  Oh geez lady, just give me the paperwork and invoice now!  Then, we get into the fenced area and all hell breaks loose.  This calm, placid dog launches herself on Rob, taking a chunk of his beard with her as she tries to cover him with as many licks as she can.  After untangling himself, she spends some time going AWOL around the compound amidst throwing herself back at him.  Looks like if I want to keep this man, I’ve just got myself a dog (and some competition!).

To ensure everyone is one big happy family, you have to bring any other animals who live in the house for a meet and greet.  So, a few days later I load up Koby and my housemate’s dog (who’s about 50kg of pure muscle) and off we go.  The poor pound worker leading the meeting looked terrified as I bring in this manically grinning Staffy (Koby) and his giant friend.  Somehow, they both decided Peanut was alright, and we got the all clear to adopt and take her home that day!  Paperwork done and a small, very very worth it adoption fee paid, into the back of the truck they go, with strict instructions from the pound to not leave them all alone together the first few days juuust in case.  Then, I reach into my pocket for my car keys…and find nothing.  Uh-oh.  Surely I can just run back inside quick and leave them all tied up together!  ‘Quick’ turns into a 45-minute hunt through the place for my keys, which were finally discovered hidden under one of the dog leash racks in the little shop area.  I mean, if you’re going to lose things, go big!  Frantically I run back to the truck, scared to look (as I assume there’s no return option if your new adopted dog gets eaten by one of your others in the carpark…).  Phew!!!  Apparently the panic they’d all been abandoned bonded them, and they were huddled together and very eager to see me.

Finally, we make it home.  Rob comes rushing over the second he finishes work, to see his new girlfriend (Peanut not me), who proceeds to lap up the attention.  Eight years later, she still loves him best, but at least I feel relatively on par with her now.  It’s definitely not been an easy eight years with Peanut, but those are tales for another post.  However, even with all of the madness she’s brought, the simple joy and fantastic body heat she provides when Rob’s away for months over winter makes it all worth it. 

**If you have always wanted a pet and understand the years of responsibility it requires, I can’t recommend adopting from a shelter enough!  Even if you can foster, you’ll quickly realise what a lifechanging impact you can so easily and quickly make in an animal’s life 😊**