Salt + Soul Adventures

Getting salty, smiling, and chasing experiences

Category: Uncategorized

  • 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, 2nd 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, 2nd 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 😊**

  • Be a failure

    In the spirit of having just finished marking my university students’ first of three assessments, this blog seemed fitting.  When I first started as an academic, everyone warned me that marking is one of the worst parts.  You spend your evenings, weekends, and what feels like half your year grading things, and then once you release these grades back into the wild the other half of the year is spent dealing with disgruntled emails opposing said grades.  What they don’t mention is, marking is often something you can do anywhere!  In the ‘good ol days’ of hand-written assignments, I’d load up those boxes of chicken scratch, find myself a beautiful beach, and return many a submission with grains of sand sprinkled between the pages.  As we moved to digital submissions for many things, after learning the hard way laptop keyboards and sand aren’t friends, I discovered the cafes that won’t kick you out after an hour and parks with comfy grass and minimal biting ant or screaming children life make a delightful marking office as well.  Not sure what my colleagues are on about, but marking is one of my highlights!

    Now that we’ve set the scene about the importance of perspective (see, there was a point), let us chat about a word that instils anxiety and fear in far too many students, and people in general: FAILURE.  Firstly, I was hoping using ‘Gothic’ font would help make that a bit more chilling, looked better in my head than in Word unfortunately.  Anyway, it is almost inevitable some students will fail an assessment, and also that all of us (yes reader even you!) will fail at hopefully multiple things throughout our life.  Failing at least means you have tried…maybe not very hard or well, or maybe it was your all and just not in the right direction or way (side note, technically students can fail by not submitting something at all, but I classify that as a ‘null submission’ so its not relevant to this rambling!).

    When we fail something at school, we’re most likely given feedback and encouraged to reflect on what we could have done differently, and hopefully what we can change in approaching the next assessment.  Heck, we might even get some tutoring, personal extra chats with the teacher, or if we’re lucky a resubmission attempt!  Noooot always the case when we fail at something in the ‘real world’ though (gag whoever started the notion that university isn’t part of the real world…as much as it often feels like I’m in a movie with the strange things that happen).  I mean, we might have those super ‘helpful’ friends or family members who are VERY ready to give us feedback, potentially in the form of ‘I told you so.’  We’ll also have the other kind of ‘helpful’ friends or fam (guilty at being this person…) who shower us with unwelcome optimism about how ‘it wasn’t meant to be’ but we’ll get it the next time or find something else just as great!  JUST LET ME EAT CHOCOLATE AND FEEL SORRY FOR MYSELF IN PEACE PEOPLE.

    Either way, what comes next is our move.  I mean, I’m not saying retreating to a cave for a few days with baked goods and self-pity isn’t okay in some situations.  However, it’s also unlikely to serve much purpose beyond possibly having us end up in the news as a potential yeti spotting or something (I’ve got the hair for it).  Failure can leave us disheartened, disappointed in ourselves, angry, unmotivated, and a range of other less than enjoyable emotions.  One of my shining examples was very confidently going for promotion last year at work (after taking a demotion to get the job in the first place, I knew I was a shoe-in)…and then being denied.  Ouuuuuuch.  While I did have a little rant to the dogs for a few days (my partner during that time was smart and learned to just smile, nod, and where possible schedule volleyball coaching), I then realised that wasn’t really getting me anywhere.  Funny that.  Serendipitously, I’d also just started a research project around self-compassion.  Damn.  Guess I can’t keep being hard on myself either.

    Instead, it was time to pick myself up by my invisible bootstraps (I hardly wear shoes, nevermind boots), realise this was an opportunity to reexamine the situation, and make a decision: keep seeing myself as a failure, or instead reflect on how my approach was the fail and consider options.  I recommend the second one, its way more fun for everyone, including yourself, and life’s got enough challenges as it is without us making it tougher being mean to ourselves.  Don’t get me wrong, failing sucks.  Whether it’s something we worked towards for hours, months, or years, its hard for it not to hurt somehow, or to take personal.  And yes, it may very well be 110% your fault, but it’s also 110% your opportunity to view it as a learning and life experience (once that cave time and baked good wallowing is finished).  Failure lets us work out what doesn’t work, just like succeeding lets us work out what does.  It’s then up to us to experiment with other approaches or even change direction all together…or heaven forbid maybe even ask for help.  While there’s a quote attributed to Julian Michaels that, “If you’re not failing, you’re not trying hard enough” that isn’t always the case.  Maybe we’re just not trying the right way, or trying for the right outcome.  Time to get out there, screw up, learn something, and enjoy the messiness of life.  And if all else fails, there’s always a cave and brownies.