When I was growing up, my family had an energetic red kelpie named Uri.
Uri means dog in Tahitian, so it wasn’t the most imaginative name.
He was a very intelligent dog. Once we’d left him on the coast, and he deadset turned up at our house in Sydney three weeks later.
I want to tell you a story about Uri, but first!
A fun announcement…
The doors to Run with Turia, my running program for Mums, open in two weeks!
Run is a flexible, fun and no BS running program for Mums (of teens, toddlers, grandkids, furbabies or plants!) who want to get from the couch to the finish line (or you know at least to the end of the street and back).
Working with the women inside Run – teaching them how to carve out some small windows of time for themselves, and build confidence and belief in themselves – well, it’s been just the most enormous privilege. So far, I’ve helped more than 2,000 women learn how to run through this program …. and almost all of them all felt like they could never be “a runner” until they joined us.
If there’s even the tiniest voice in your head saying “maybe this is for me”, pop your name on the waitlist! I’ll keep you in the loop with all the details.
Right, back to Uri….
When I was about seven, Uri had an operation to get, well I’m not sure how to say this delicately, but he’d had his balls chopped off.
We thought it might make him less intense, but so far, he remained the same hyperactive kelpie that we’d had for three years.
I’d taken the role of walking my beloved Uri while he recovered.
So, one Sunday morning, I got the surf leg rope that we used as a dog lead, used the velcro cuff to gently make a circle around his neck, and set out for a walk.
I was always proud when I walked Uri. Like, hey, I might look like I’m just a seven year old girl, but I can handle this kelpie real good.
Except on that morning’s walk, Uri pulled and strained on the leg rope, and the little rail saver part that I used as a handle slipped out of my hand, and before I knew it, Uri was off, pelting over the grass like a greyhound chasing an electronic rabbit.
He was excited, and he was barking, and it was 6am on a Sunday.
And while I get how that would’ve been annoying for people sleeping, as a seven year old I wasn’t prepared for what would happen next…..
A giant man stepped out of his house swinging a cricket bat.
“GET YOUR BLOODY DOG AWAY FROM MY PROPERTY, OTHERWISE I’M GOING TO HIT HIM AND YOU WITH THIS CRICKET BAT!!!! I SWEAR TO GOD, GET HIM AND BOTH OF YA RACK OFF NOW”.
He was swinging the bat at Uri, and his language choice included a few words I’ve refrained from repeating here.
Uri quickly bolted in the direction of home and I wasn’t far behind him, fat hot tears dripping down my chin.
We got home and I ran upstairs into Mum and Dad’s room crying.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Mum said.
In between gasping sobs I told her about the large man and his cricket bat.
“That’s it!” she said. “We’re going there. Right now. You tell me which house it was and I will scream at them for making my daughter cry”.
I walked outside with Mum and Uri and pointed the house to her.
She pulled her hair back in a top knot and made her way to the front door.
Now, what happened next?
I’d love to say there was some big apology from the man, a scene with him reduced to tears himself by this fierce and vibrant Tahitian woman.
But alas, not much happened.
The man was unwell, his family apologised and we went home.
That was all.
But for me, knowing that my Mum had my back, seeing her prepared to step into battle for me, it made the world feel safe. Secure.
It feels really good to have someone in your corner.
And I hope you know that you’ve got me in yours.
Writing these letters to you is the highlight of my week – I hope you find support and comfort in them.
Failing that, maybe get a kelpie and train it more than we did 😂😂
With much love,
PS – Not on the list to receive my weekly letters? You can fix that right here.