Rugby union for puppies

I've recently added value to my life by getting a puppy. Ellie is easily excitable, often overstimulated, bubbly, bouncy, unrelenting when I’ve relented; a textbook case of puppy.

Every morning – before, throughout and after I’m getting organised for work – we play chase the ball, which mainly involves her making forward passes, consistently knocking the ball on, deliberately obstructing me when I don’t have the ball, making a late tackle after I’ve already kicked the ball away, or some other type of illegal tackle like a head-high tackle around my neck or jaw violently at high speed, which is often my fault because my head is on the floor.

But her tackles are potentially very dangerous and are not sanctioned by the rules of the game, so at this point I blow my whistle to give her a yellow card, but she just bites me. It’s like she doesn’t know or care about the rules of rugby union.

Sometimes she plays fairly, but more often than not she plays the man and not the ball. Like any puppy heading towards the teething development milestone, she loves her chew toys - among her favourite ones being my hands - which often sends me to the blood bin to stop the flow before I can return to the pitch to continue playing.

I kick off from the 22m line, just off the try line, but I’m not going to make any ground because she charges it down when I try to clear the ball. I get it back and box kick over the top of her clear into undefended territory and then try to play the advantage but she ankle taps me with her milk teeth and it really hurts.

I won’t accept it so I call a free kick for myself and stand with my back to her as per the ‘How to stop your puppy from biting you” Youtube videos, but she barks at me for holding up the game, so instead I call a line-out, and she barks at me for holding up the game.

She’s lucky I don’t pull her up on all her impatient puppy barks, let alone all the infringements and technical offences. I’ve got no-one to throw it to in the line-out, but I throw it right down the middle, which is completely missed by Ellie because her hand-eye coordination is not a thing yet.

She prances off to get the ball and does a grubber kick, her favourite, which makes the ball tumble and roll along the ground, making it bounce all over the place. It’s literally the only bit of this game she’s good at. She runs down the blind side straight past me, dummy passes the ball, and goes on to score a try in the corner of the lounge room. Well, there go the blinds.

Instead of taking a kick to convert the try for extra points she runs up the field of play with her bed, shaking it furiously in some weird post-try celebration, which is not in the rule book so I’m not entirely sure what the infraction is.

I decide to have a scrum, because that’s always a great idea with a puppy. We crouch, bind, set and then she tries to scalp me because she sees my hair dangling in her face.

I call a red card on her and she sits and looks at me with puppy dog eyes, which are the only eyes she has admittedly, but still doesn’t get her out of the penalty.

And then just for funsies we have another scrum, because I hadn’t learnt my lesson, which collapses, but then we have a rolling maul, because if the ACT Brumbies can do it, so can we.

I grab her by the head in an illegal spear tackle, and she rolls around on her back trying to be cute as we both scrap for the ball. She wins obviously because teeth but I award myself a penalty try because I believe she illegally prevented me from probably getting over the try line. So many professional fouls.

We’ve been playing 30 minutes – not even half time – and it looks like she’s going to take a kick from the centre line but then she lies down and goes to sleep.

I Bought a Zoo

Well I may have misrepresented myself when I said I bought a zoo, because I didn't sort of do that at all.  But I did buy a zoo pen, because a zoo pen is mightier than a zoo sword.  And I'm a writer, not a fighter.  Please keep reading - I know it doesn't look promising right now, but I assure you that this post might possibly improve.  No guarantees though.

Canberrans! And other people who might randomly come to Canberra for reasons I cannot fathom!  Make hay and raw meat while the sun shines and get your collective bottoms to the National Zoo and Aquarium to take part in their Zooventure Experience.

Why? Because how often do you get to willingly give licence to a white lion to completely scare your pants off and stare you down like the contemptible, collectible human trophy that you are, and where you can have your boa constricted by a cute little reptilian creature called Betty? Go do it. Do it right now. Or maybe tomorrow, during the day, when the zoo is actually open.  Probably best.

Speaking of nighttime at the zoo, it really is a spooky, enlightening, trippy little experience. The Zooventure affair finished after nightfall, and all the animals were engaged, excitable, and roaring or *insert random, intriguing, scary wild animal sound* their little lungs out. Carry on a treat, they did, for some inexplicable animal kingdom reason.  Just because they can, I imagine. 

According to the zoo's website, the Zooventure is a 2 hour behind the scenes guided tour that offers participants the opportunity to feed a variety of amazing animals, and experience a bounty of rare and close-up encounters. Yes, I quite concur, Zoo.

I am a massive animal lover and a massively big lover of big cats. I'm actually quite average in size, but my love for animals is somewhat immense, and far surpasses any concern I may show on the odd occasion for your run-of-the-mill members of the human race.

Over the two hour experience you get to feed the white lions, a Bengal tiger, otters, a Big Friggin' Bear, giraffes, antelopes, cougars, and a boa constrictor called Betty, who gracefully wraps herself around your chest in a fairly tightly-knit fashion.  Maybe she's just an immensely big human lover.  She was very beautiful, and surprisingly comforting, although my picture seems to tell a different story.

One lad was asked by our guide to make eye contact with one of the white lions (a boy lion, a very dominant boy lion) while holding empty tongs - sans raw meat - to demonstrate how Mr Crankypants likes to assert his dominance over everything and everyone.

The lion found this empty gesture fairly annoying and stamped his basketball-sized paw while barely subduing a roar which sounded something like this; "screw you humans with your twisted little food games. Don't toy with me; don't you know I am a goddamn lion." 

The poor kid, along with the rest of us, nearly peed his pants, and then everyone spent the next five minutes trying not to make eye contact with His Majesty, who was justifiably cranky, but very pretty. But I don't think they are ever that congenial.

I know that some people whinge about zoos and cages and captivity and et cetera, but it seems to me that man, man and more man (I'm looking at you Africa and most of Asia in utter disgust) is killing off all the scary, dangerous, cool animals, so it appears captivity is the safest and wisest place for these beautiful endangered creatures. 

Some of the stories I heard today of how animals suffer in the wild, and in captivity, in these countries at the hands of man make me sick to the stomach.  After the Zooventure, I know the animals in Canberra are completely pampered, spoilt rotten and really don't care to eat meat that has dropped into a spot of dirt, so all is well for these lucky ones.

Wikipedia and other Wild Animals

I'm always looking for interesting things to write about, so it's always an excellent plan to not divulge too much information when engrossed in a juicy but trivial conversation with me. Think of me as the antithesis of a clinical psychologist, and nearly exactly like a Wikipedia.  That's just a handy tip, you know, between cyber friends.

Tarongo Zoo's Jumilah

What other variety of friends are there in this daring new world of the interweb? I'm not sure, but I imagine my soul mate Wikipedia could tell me the definition of friend, with or without disamiguation. I recall some of my lecturers' disdain of Wikipedia when I was at university.  Like or hate Wikipedia, you can argue with it, and that's kind of the point.

It rather confused me until I realised that academics were so distrustful of the Wiki medium because it rudely offered other arguments on a particular issue, which counteracted their delusional, one-sided, left wing opinion and delusional, one-sided, left wing textbooks.  And, more importantly, they had to undergo some scrutiny from a source that hadn't passed their stamp of approval, which meant they weren’t able to freely indoctrinate us poor sods.

You think I'm exaggerating? My Political Science lecturer refused to even acknowledge the existence of Ronald Reagan when we studied the Cold War, let alone the fact that he ended it, which involved me storming out of the lecture in disgust.  DISGUST!  I was TOTES CAPSLOCK ANGRY.  Unbelievable little sheltered world these academics reside in. Often crazy smart, but usually crazy delusional.

I remember one occasion when I went to my PolSci tute and counteracted a different but typically left wing tutor with, "well, Wikipedia mentions other arguments too", knowing full well the glare and indignation I would receive from the sanctimonious twat. The horror on his face. Ah, memories. They were good times indeed.

Hm, I didn't want to write about Wikipedia or academic brainwashers.  *sigh* I'm still working on that going-off-on-tangents disorder that so afflicts me. Anyway, so last Christmas I was blessed with a gift voucher to attend a Feed the Animals thingy at Canberra's National Zoo and Aquarium, and I am taking up the kind offer next weekend. Should be amazing, unless of course I have my arm mutilated by a wild animal.

I've been completely besotted with big cats since a very young age, particularly tigers, because they are just so darn terrifying, yet so photogenic. It disheartens me that they are so endangered that they need to be protected from man via cages, but it is for the best, and they lead extremely pampered lives in the zoo clink, so all is well with that in my mind. I just hope the lions and tigers and bears will get off Wikipedia for long enough to say hello.

Never smile at a ladybug

Sometimes I want to write, but nothing of interest feeds through my little pea brain, so I'm left bereft with little more than useless, time-wasting, blog-cluttering sentences (which turn into paragraphs), a little like the one you're currently being subjected to.  And sometimes a tiny, inconsequential ladybug can trigger an avalanche of amazing, mind-blowing, mind-boggling blog content.  Alas, I'm afraid that's not going to happen today.

It turns out that I did actually see an itty bitty ladybug today, as opposed to those mammoth ones you see stomping loudly and violently through Amazonian rainforests via David Attenborough.  If you haven't seen them then you really need to sign up for the National Geographic channel and enlighten yourself to the world of these scary, polka-dotted savages.

Whilst viewing said ladybug today, I wondered to myself - as one naturally does - if the ladybug is non-threatening to me because it is polka-dotted, thus fairly comical, or if it's scarylessness has evolved from the fact that we call it a LADYBUG.  And then it occurred to me (very slow traffic lights) that maybe this is the root of the huntsman's unpopularity; the darn things have a PR crisis. 

So I was thinking that if perhaps we renamed the huntsman 'Mr Scarylegs', they wouldn't be so terrifying to me.  Hmm, or perhap that wouldn't help much at all.  I still remember thousands of years ago, when the little arachnids used to terrify me as I drove out of my cave's garage for a hard day of hunting and gathering at Costco, so it's pretty hard-wired in there.

I have had arachnophobia - huntsman specific - for a fairly long time.  I am fucking petrified of them.  Yes, I know I can fix it by systemic desensitisation, and yes I know that my fear is irrational, and yes I know that it is absolutely not rational to keep tongs by your mailbox to fetch the post, and yes I know that it's a little weird, if not completely screwed up, to not allow furniture to touch your walls.  It seems the one thing I do having going for me in phobialand is self-awareness.  

I know what you're thinking, that a huntsman wouldn't hurt a fly, but we both know that's not strictly true, don't we?  They friggin' devour flies.  And, yes, I know they keep away other wall-dwelling bugs, burglars and probably extraterrestrial life from mars, but I have a phobia, fool, so shush.

Zoo versus the wild

Today’s blog is pondering the pros and cons of the welfare of animals in captivity, compared to those that are born into the wild wilds of African countries and the like. I’ve always adored animals. All of them; indiscriminately. Even the ones that hiss in my face, smell bad, or have a less than benevolent personality. If I was going to get all finicky, then a lot of people I’ve met in my lifetime would meet this criteria as well; and I would preferably give them the flick out of my life than an animal.

When it comes to our feathered and furry friends, my concern is for their welfare, and I think that their welfare is pretty darn good living in the local city zoo, at least in Western countries.  While some are confined within a space that they wouldn’t be subjected to out in the wild, and they have to deal with the high-pitched screams of excited kids, they don’t have to hunt for their food, fight for their survival or spend every waking minute protecting their young so the big bad wolf doesn’t eat their babies during the night. And their future is clear in captivity - they will live their lives and breed and lie around all day watching Fox News.

Life in captivity means the survival of a species can be prolonged, as they are often involved in breeding programs run by experts who are steadfast on ensuring their continued existence. But let’s be honest; endangered animals will become extinct no matter what we do. Apart from the fact that humans couldn’t survive for the most part without eating certain species, I don’t see that we have any right to kill any animal for fun, profit, pride, culture, status or tradition, or any other idiotic reason, as occurs in many regions around the world.

I don’t agree with, and am sickened by, the way individuals in many countries mistreat, abuse and disrespect animals. But are we empowered to do anything about it? There isn’t a not-for-profit in the world that has the balls to fight this fight; not on any level.  I, at least, like to fight on the individual level.  If I ever see someone abusing an animal in Australia, where we have (weak and pathetic) animal cruelty laws in place, I would likely implement my eye-for-an-eye policy and go to jail for a long time on a charge that I would view as a community service.  To avoid possible long-term detention, I have often thought about heading into politics just so I can strengthen Australia’s minimalist animal cruelty penalties, but I don’t think Australia would ever be ready for the justice measures I would like to introduce; what with our ridiculous anti-capital punishment law.

One of my favourite animals is the tiger. I simply adore them. I have visited them many times at the zoo, and I feel that I have always had a special bond with each and every one of them. Perhaps it may also be due to the fact that I stare at them for so long they are really longing to rip my head off, and serve me up as a tasty afternoon snack served with a side of grass and goat meat. Hmm, I prefer my more romantic Born Free-esque, tiger whisperer fantasy.

This is the last post in my A – Z Writing Challenge, which is a little sad. The end has come so soon and I have very much enjoyed this creative process each day and feel immeasurably satisfied that it is complete. Rediscovering my passion for creative writing has been more of a stimulating journey than a challenge, and I’ll never stop writing again.  For the past 25 days, I have written 25 blogs (today being the 26th), on 25 topics that start with the letters of the alphabet. Ultimately, my purpose was to get back into the habit of writing on a daily basis, which I lost when I began uni seven years ago amongst endless politics essays and psychology presentations. And I have found that I have began to really enjoy writing again, and my writer’s block has put itself on hold. At least for the time being.

Cats

Ah yes, the big ten hour round-trip to Moggy (Mogo) Zoo down the South Coast, where you pay 23 dollars to watch lions, tigers, and servals sleep all day. Cats invented lazy. When cats aren’t sleeping they are just obscenely lazy. Maybe we should take a leaf out of their book. ‘The Lazy cat’s guide to happiness’ by Deepak Chopra.


















Speaking of spiritual journeys, years ago I was blessed by a Sumatran tiger at Moggy Zoo. It truly was an awakening for everyone involved. I didn’t wash my hair for hours to allow the holy gift to infuse. You can only imagine the looks of worship and adoration I received from all those around me. I discovered that people can’t stand to be around such wonderment and started to scatter like flies. The flies also scattered, obviously overwhelmed by the greatness in their midst. Not everyone can handle the responsibility of being the chosen one, but at least I got to see most of the animals without marauding crowds.

I love Mogo Zoo. It’s one of the few places you can take your binoculars and zoom lens and focus on one thing for hours and hours without getting arrested. I must confess that I have a big crush on big cats. I took a couple of pics. It may have been around the 200+ mark, but who's counting.


Nail care is important to any self-respecting tiger. What's a little striped baby fluff to do while waiting for his siblings to wake up? File his nailguns of course by ripping apart a tree stump. Bless.




This little fella is 4-months-old, has a brother and a sister (I think) and it's really hard to take a photo of him not being cute. Bare your fangs you wild animal!! The three Sumatran tiger cubs are an integral part of a breeding program that hopes to prolong the survival of the critically endangered species. Tiger cubs seem to have a pretty fixed routine throughout the day. Sleep, play, destroy stuff, be cute, play, eat, play, destroy stuff, pester mum, play, sleep, sleep, be cute, sleep, destroy, pester mum, and so on…




A stupid, stupid man woke up this lion. Does the lion look particularly happy to you? He’s not, he’s highly displeased. He seems to be saying ‘fuck off’ with his eyes. He stared at his human alarm clock until he could no longer see him and then fixed his feline gaze on me. When they stare they STARE...But look how beautiful he is




Meerkat lying around being awesome.