Real Aussie Blokes tells real life stories of what it is to be an Aussie man. It is part of "Man Up", a 3 x 1 hr documentary series principally funded by Movember, about masculinity and men's mental health. Watch it now at www.ManUp.org.au
“The reason I used to take drugs was I had no care for myself. I didn't see myself as important, and it's easy to abuse drugs or alcohol if you're not feeling great about yourself.
I broke up with my first long term girlfriend when I was twenty-two and I’d been a heavy pot smoker since I was fourteen. So I went to Perth with two mates and within two months they came back and I was left hurting because my mates had left me. So I took it up a level and got hooked on ice.
I had very little contact with my family because I was ashamed. I eventually got off it and came home but some of my mates had got into ice. So I jumped straight back on the wagon and got back onto it heavier than ever. It just goes to show you can't run away from your problems.
I was scared if I went off it, I was gonna be alone. Because I knew if I cut off the drugs then I couldn't socialise with these guys. Finally it came to a time when the drugs weren't doing it for me anymore and I was sick when I was using. So I stopped. Stopped everything. The pot, the ice. Alcohol, cigarettes. Everything.
It's been a gradual progression, but I hold myself with regard now. And, because I care about myself, that has a ripple effect on all aspects of my life.
And I think that's what helps the guys at work feel safe around me. They come to me for advice and they know I'm not gonna judge them. Because as a society we do that a lot. We judge people for what they are and where they've been. I was the same. If you saw a drug addict, you would look down on them, you wouldn't give them the time of day.
A big theme in my life is I always felt alone. That's why I first started smoking pot. I wanted to fit in. I used to hang around bikers a lot because I thought that they're like a family. They look out for each other; they've got each other's back. But I don't feel lonely anymore. It's because I've got myself. I've got friends. Not a million, but a heap of friends. And I feel good within myself.”
“I was in an accident serving in Afghanistan in 2012 and I had a spinal cord injury that paralysed me temporarily. So I had to relearn how to walk again, but I also came home to a partner that was ex-air force and dealing with her own post traumatic stress disorder and depression, anxiety. So, I came home injured with my own issues to someone in an already terrible state.
It was a couple of years of really miserable relationship where we kind of imploded, and it was sad because all we wanted to do was help each other but we ended up just dragging each other down. And you isolate yourself from the people that you love because you have nothing good to say. If people ask you how you're doing: well, I'm doing fucking shit.
Then my ex-partner tried committing suicide and within a few days, the mental health hospital gave her unescorted leave and she ran away, and I was chasing her, looking for her till I found her at 5.00 in the morning.
And then I had to go to work that day and do a security interview, which are hard enough at the best of times, and I just went in and told them, "Look, this is what's been happening for the last nine months. I've been drunk and coming to work and keeping you guys happy, and my boys happy, but I can't do it anymore; I need some help.”
I was lucky enough that my chain of command immediately got me involved with the alcohol dependence program and the PTSD program and Mates 4 Mates. I know I've got a long way to go, but I have all this cool support, which I am so very grateful for and yeah, I'm not afraid to ask for help anymore.
I'm going to use this horrible experience to try and do something good with it. Take this shitty painful stuff I've been through, and help other people. And if I could just get through to one person and maybe save one life, then I'd go through it all again in a heartbeat.”
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To read another amazing veteran’s story, click here.
Read the rest of our Real Aussie Blokes portrait series.
“I was born in the Philippines as a little girl. I went to see a psychologist, when I was about twenty or twenty-one and basically poured my heart out. The first two sessions were just me crying my heart out. I wasn't having suicidal thoughts, but it's really hard to look at yourself in the mirror and think, this is not you. Like, something's wrong with the person that's looking back at you.
The doctor identified me as transgender. Some days were a real struggle, when you're not on your hormone treatment and you’re itching to get on that prescription. But when the drugs did kick in it was easier, because your voice changes and the fat on your chest reduces to more muscle.
Being topless at the beach, that's the best thing. It sounds stupid, but I told my psychologist, I just want to be free. I feel more like myself now. Now that everything's gone there. It's a manly thing, just like beating on your chest. It sounds stupid, but it's exactly right.
The hardest part of my journey was dealing with my family. My sister wanted me to be the Maid of Honour for her wedding and I said no. We had a massive fight and I was so upset and everything just came out that day. I said, I can't be your Maid of Honour because I'm a man. And she said, it's just one day, just dress up, do it for me. It’s my wedding day.
And then it turned around. My Dad was like, 'you do what you need to do to make yourself happy. And I ended up becoming the Man of Honour for my sister. And on the invitation it said, 'Man of Honour and I was just like, I can't believe this. My sister was happy. I was happy. It was a success, yeah, for me, myself, the whole family. After that my sister said she misses her little sister, but she's happy to gain a little brother.”
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If you enjoyed this story, you might also like the story of another Female to Male transition.
Read the rest of our Real Aussie Blokes portraits here.
“My Dad comes from a strict family, with a big focus on education. As a teenager I found it quite difficult to deal with authority. As I've gotten older I’ve realised Dad wasn't doing anything to hinder me, it was just to help me. Now we're good mates.
Dad’s a straight shooter who would always encourage us to talk to him. To express what we were thinking and not to be afraid to talk about it. I don't think I’m as emotionally open as my Dad is. I just think it's out of my comfort level.
I also think it's a bloke trait. But it varies. I’ve travelled a fair bit and if you look at some of the sub-continent areas, men are very, very effeminate. They're comfortable kissing each other on the cheek, holding hands walking down the street. It’s not the same in Australia. I think we're getting more comfortable but here you've gotta be the man.
When is it tough being an Aussie bloke? When we lose to England in anything.
Probably the toughest time to be an Aussie bloke was when a close friend of mine passed away. I could see for the group of friends I had around me, it was hard to talk about it. It was easy to show emotion and cry but to talk about it was hard.
It sounds stupid, but I think its vulnerability. You're expressing that you're vulnerable or that you feel a certain way when you shouldn't. Or, at least the social norm is not to. I mean males are traditionally meant to be the strong protectors, right?
I’d like to not be afraid of expressing myself. If I feel something, if I believe something strongly, I should be able to express and promote discussion. Or hear other points of view. I think that's the only way we can grow. And that's the only way blokes can start to have a better dialogue about various things. I have noticed over the last ten years it’s becoming a lot more prevalent. It's becoming a lot easier to do.”
“My father died when I was fourteen. So my mother became my mother and father rolled into one. And, in a funny way, if anyone taught me how to be a man, it was my mother.
I went to the local all boys school, which had a huge emphasis on all things masculine. As a kid, I was overweight and not the slightest bit sporty. I learned very quickly that if I was going to survive I had to become very academic and make my mark that way. And somehow I managed to rise up through the ranks in this incredibly male dominated, macho world, even though I was not like the other guys.
Being a gay man also gives me permission to act differently. Does that sound odd? I don't have any problem showing my emotions, I don't have any problems being honest and open.
The best advice I ever had was from a dear friend who told me that I had an absence of joy in my life. I dismissed it at the time and said that sounds like something you'd read in a greeting card. But he was absolutely right. He said, you can't get through life without some kind of joy and you've got to try and find yours.
In the past I tried all sorts of things, like transcendental meditation, Buddhist meditation, chanting. It sounds banal but the thing I do now is go to the gym every morning. It kick-starts my brain in a way that nothing else does.
And I have two beautiful dogs. It's amazing how therapeutic animals can be. When I'm feeling my most stressed, all I have to do is spend a few minutes with them and I find that it has an incredible effect. It sounds corny, but it's true.”
“I’m a photographer and I used to take sunrise photos down at Bondi. One morning there was an epic storm just off the coast and I saw this guy walking past, and I asked him to stop and stand there. And to this day, it's still one of the best photos I've ever taken.
We got to talking and turns out that he's the founder of One Wave. And I've been going to One Wave almost every single week since, for the past 2 years. We’re basically a bunch of people dressed in colourful clothing surfing and doing yoga and talking about mental health.
When I first wore the pink suit, I got really self-conscious. And then I thought, you know what, this is a really good expression of my personality. It's who I am and it's helped me open up. I've been suffering from depression and anxiety now for quite some time, and I was ashamed of it.
So many people these days are intimidated by something they don't understand. And a lot of people don't talk about their problems, or they don't seek help, or they feel ashamed to feel the way they do. And I thought, well, I've never been one to shy away like that.
And, it's funny how people drop their guard when they see you. They just walk up to me and go, "Dude, what’s up with the suit, I love it." And then I tell them my story, and all of a sudden this complete stranger opens up to me and tells me their story.
It's just a really great way to break the ice and smash the stigma of society being so judgmental. And from a photographer's point of view, to be able to capture these moments, it renders me speechless every time.”
“This place is 2.5 million acres. When we're not mustering cattle we have a lot of maintenance to do. People are sent out by themselves on their own for a couple of days to fix some bore or a busted trough. They have to know how to cook for themselves, how to fix the car if they break down, how to navigate it if they get lost. We don't have phone range and in a lot of spots we don't get two-way so if they get in a pickle, they've got to stay calm and figure out how to fix it themselves.
Last year, we had a guy who was going along a sandy fence line and ran out of fuel. He waited there for a couple of hours and by that time it was dark. We found his four-wheeler but we couldn't find him, so we kept driving thinking he might have walked back up to camp. We found him in a sandy creek with a bit of grass, trying to suck water out of the creek, 'cause he watched Bear Grylls.
My job is to keep everybody happy. If someone has a problem I want to sort it out but some of those other fellas would be like, 'he's a whinging bastard.' I think it's the mentality of blokes. They want to come up here and be tough ringers. They don't want people see them as a bit of a girl full of emotions. If I notice they're feeling down, I take them aside and ask them what's wrong, or if they don't want to talk about it, I send them out to check a fence line I know is fixed so they're out driving, thinking a bit for themselves.
I think there's two types of toughness: there's a physical toughness and a mental toughness. I think the mental toughness sometimes is more important than the physical. I have rough days sometimes. When I do, I hop in the car and drive out in the middle of nowhere and scream. Yell at a tree or something. I figure it's better me screaming at a tree than someone else.”
“Boxing saved my life. Because it's taught me how to live. I've had mental illness problems my entire life and in rugby league in my early days, I wasn't mentally strong. Boxing taught me to be mentally strong.
Outside in the real world I've had to fight for every inch, because I had suicidal thoughts daily. If I give up in the ring I get knocked out; if I give up out there in the real world, it's every chance that I'll be dead.
My Dad was a sporty dad. He was, and still has, a very stern exterior. If you know him personally, he's not an aggressive man, he's a kind and kind-hearted man but at the flick of a switch, he can turn. I think that's a defence mechanism because he grew up without a father. He grew up in Brundle, a tiny aboriginal community and he grew up during the stolen generation. Later in life he became a boxer and he was a very aggressive rugby league player, but you know the more I converse with dad now, he's a kind, soft-hearted man.
I did have a problem with alcohol and drugs for a long time. When you bottle things up for so long, it’s going to keep filling up and the more you try to push it down, the more it grows, until eventually it bottles over. Now I speak in schools about the enemy within because it’s what it is. It’s an enemy within you, but once you beat that, once you learn to manage that, you live your life a hell of a lot better.
I’m now ten years completely clean and sober. It’s forced me to grow up a hell of a lot, ‘cause now I’ve got a responsibility to myself and my kids to make sure I’m well every day. And the older I get, the more I realise I'm like my dad.”
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If you enjoyed reading this story, you might also like the portrait of the founder of Joe’s Boxing.
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“My brother is super straight, very sporty, very monosyllabic whereas I'm verbose. Having an older brother is like having a police officer for your emotions. He'd always laugh mockingly when I cried. He was awful. He would impersonate me as well, that really wretched, mocking that goes on between siblings. We get along great now but he was the classic older brother.
I wasn't a macho dude by any stretch of the imagination, but I got along with the boys at school because I was really gross. I could say the most outrageous things and I knew about sex and that had currency in the schoolyard. And I got along with the girls because they shared the same interests as me, you know, we'd play jump rope and I'd play with their hair.
To me the whole idea of Australian masculinity is one that's super straight. There’s performance and posture in it as well, which can be a barrier in actual, real communication. Recently, I couldn’t open a jar and this family friend – tough bloke, ex-military dude – opened it for me. Then he was like, “Oh, sorry mate”. Because, for him, there’s this whole notion that if someone is stronger than someone else, it’s showing them up. Whereas I’m like, “I’m obviously not as physically strong as you, thank you for opening the jar”.
I do think I live in a bubble. You know, inner city poof who leans left politically and surrounds myself with people who, as we all do, share my view of the world. Maybe because I'm a writer and all writers are neurotic I find my brain is ticking over constantly. All writing is failure until it isn't. And I'm not moving at all. So I find it’s really important to exercise, as much as for physical health, for my mental health.
This is such a hokey thing, but I've also found that gratitude helps a lot. Like, I'm grateful that I'm living in one of the best cities in the world and for the first time in my life I’m not having to worry about money all the time. I'm constantly comparing myself to previous versions of myself and whether I'm happier than that guy. And most of the time I am.”
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If you enjoyed reading this story, have a look at Comedian Mikey Robins’ Real Aussie Blokes portrait!
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“I’m the youngest of three boys. My oldest brother is a very successful lawyer, like my father. My middle brother, probably best known by his nom de guerre, “Pauline Pantsdown”, is a political satirist. My Dad is not one to show his emotions. I’ve only ever heard him cry once and that was when I told him I had a brain tumour and was probably going to die.
My brothers and I are very different. When the news came through about my brain tumour my oldest brother rang up and the first thing he said was, “Have you written your will?” And my middle brother rang up and he was hysterical in tears. And I had to say to him, “Come on, Simon, calm down. I’m the one that’s gonna die. Pull yourself together. You’re a mess.” My brothers love me equally - they just have different ways of expressing their emotions.
I think my oldest brother is the way he is because after I was born my mother had lymphatic cancer and was in hospital for two years. So he was raised by nannies for the first three years of his life and there were a couple of nasty nannies who used to say, “the reason your mum is sick is because you’re a naughty boy.” I think that had a real effect on him, as far as feeling responsible and having to be stoic.
In my early to mid-twenties. I broke away from the family and from school and my upbringing. I basically became a hippy, hang-gliding, dope-growing free spirit that literally jumped off cliffs and hung out with a bunch of hippies up around Byron.
I had an incredibly bad hang gliding accident and spent almost a year in hospital. And at the time my family and all of my friends said, “You’re never gonna do that again, are you? You’ve wisened up now.” And I was desperately unhappy because I was in hospital with an incredibly badly broken leg and internal injuries, and I’m thinking, “I’m fucked.”
And my beautiful brother Simon gave me an art book and written on the inside cover was, “Dear brother, a good life involves risk.” And I thought, “Yeah. Fuck it. A good life involves risk.” So whenever I’ve reached a fork in the road, where there’s two paths and one’s safe, I’ve always just taken the risky road. And sometimes it’s got me in a lot of trouble and I’ve had a couple of hospital visits as a result of hang-gliding. But I’ve always taken the less safe route. And I’ve lived.”
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To read the story of ad guru Adam Ferrier, click here.
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“I think it's ridiculous that we live in a country where we have seven of the world's most deadliest snakes, we have drop bears, we have jellyfish and blistering UV rays but the thing that kills us more than anything else is ourselves. Suicide, and mental health in general is a huge issue, and for a long time it has been something you just don't talk about.
I have three brothers, two sisters and two step-brothers. Dad remarried when I was about fourteen, and I didn't really see him from 12 to 24. About four years ago I reconnected with him and met my step-brothers and my step-mum, and they're amazing. Reconnecting with Dad was really weird and in some ways, terrifying. I remember when I went to go see him for the first time I had in my head he was going to be a mixture of Harrison Ford and Tom Hanks. And he's not like either of them.
Dad’s a really smart guy. Probably one of the smartest people I've ever met. When I was kid, he was a very different person. He was going through a lot and there was a lot of change in the family. But he wanted to be better and he went through a lot to improve himself. He didn't let awful things make him into an awful person.
The best advice Dad ever gave me, is that there's never a good time for anything, you just have to do it. Which is a really good touchstone for me as I tend to think about things a lot. Whether I should do it or shouldn't do it, or how am I gonna do it, what happens if I do it? Dad’s advice for me was it doesn't matter, just give it a crack.
So we started a grass roots campaign to help guys talk about suicide, talk about mental health and get them thinking that it’s okay to talk. Fuck up night is probably one of the most fun campaigns that we do. It’s a way for us to help people to not feel like they have to be perfect, that it's okay to fuck up, and if that means you can say to somebody ‘I'm not perfect right now, I need some support’ then that's mission accomplished.”
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To read the story of the founder of Batyr, Sebastian Robertson, click here.
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“I lost a nephew to suicide. He was only forty-three or forty-five when he suicided. No one knows what happened. He worked at the post office delivering mail and I’d be out the front and he’d come past delivering mail and he’d say, ‘I’ll come talk to you one day.’ He kept saying that and he never, ever talked to me. Perhaps if he did I might’ve been able to help him because I’ve been in the same situation. But I never saw the signs.
I know a few blokes who have done it. Another young chap a few years ago, in his twenties or thirties. It does cross my mind occasionally but I just wipe it straight away because that’s not what it’s all about. You need to go and get help.
My wife and I met at church and she was my lifesaver because I was hitting the grog and not worrying about life much at all. I was working for an earth moving guy and I just walked off the job and left because I was having a real bad time.
I’d had a marriage break up, my mother was ill and I gave the job away and I didn’t know what to do and I was unemployed for a while. And I’ve had depression for, gosh, we’ve have been married seventeen or eighteen years, and I had it before that.
My wife’s still working a bit so she’s away working. I don’t live by myself but I’m in the house by myself. It is a battle all right. My doctor upped my medication a few weeks ago but it doesn’t seem to be working so I need to go and get it increased again or go and talk to somebody that can really help.
I came down to the Men’s Shed when I retired. I try to encourage people to come along because as a person who’s suffered from depression I need a bit of a chat, it gets things going again. It’s really great to come down and offload your problems, talk and share your thinkings and they always have a positive word to you.”
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“Mum was the matriarch of our family and she called the shots. Dad cooked and cleaned, he did more domestic duties than Mum. Dad taught me an immense amount that I didn’t realise at the time. He taught me how to love with vulnerability and that is so much more courageous than closing yourself off.
I think a lot of guys are given mixed messages. One person tells them to be strong and not to be weak and cry, and another person says ‘talk about your feelings’. It's not easy for a teenager to know when it's okay to do either. ‘If I do that, who's going to like me, my parents might be happy but my mates might pay me out’. So it's important to have a discussion where they can explore all of what it is to be a man today.
I think the trap is if you're stuck with a stereotype that says no emotion, what happens when things go badly and you can't express that in any way but how you've been told how guys solve problems? They sort it out with a fist, they don't talk about it. They go down to the pub for a beer. We know where those things end up.
We need to change the dialogue to be ‘you can be tough but if things are going really badly and you can't find a way out of it on your own, then have a conversation with your best mate and shed some tears and release the valve and get some help with it’. There's nothing unmasculine about that. If you can do that then you're the most courageous man in the room because, for 99% of guys, that terrifies them.
I was an island for the first sixteen, seventeen years of my life. I didn't need anybody, I wasn't vulnerable to anybody and I wasn't in a relationship. I've had to learn how to be vulnerable. It's not a weakness, it's actually a gift, because if you are vulnerable to somebody, it means that they've got a ticket to you.”
“One of the first symptoms of depression is lethargy. I’d go ‘what’s the point of putting that paddock in?’ I had a neighbour, a seventy-two year old, shearing his own sheep and I was forty-seven and I couldn’t get out of my damn seat.
A shearer, when he gets low in sugar, whacks the sugar in. Coke, tea with lots of sugar. So I was sitting out here for eight hours a day, my brain telling me, ‘you’re not low, you just need some energy’. So I’d drink slabs of coke. And it impacted my health, I was packing on the beef.
My wife was at me like most wives, ‘go to the doctor because there’s something wrong with you’. And me being like most blokes, took a gutful of it and didn’t do anything. And then I decided, I’ll go to the doctor just to shut her up for five minutes.
So I went to the doctor in town, he’s a friend and he suggested I go to counselling. Well I didn’t believe that I had depression, but after I talked to the wife I decided I would go. Not because I had depression, because the doctor was a mate, and a mate wouldn’t give you bum advice.
It turned out that the straw that broke me was that I had this image that a big, tough bloke like me should be able to shear all day and drive a tractor all night, which isn’t possible. And the counsellor said, the best thing you can do is go talk with your peers, talk with your mates. Tell ‘em how you feel. And that’s exactly what I did.
One of the things that came out of my depression is that now I’m more of a sook than I ever was. It doesn’t take much to tear up. It’s a bit embarrassing when people see it, but it feels good to get it out. When I’m old, I’ve got a vision of me and my wife sitting here, with a cuppa tea, with our daughters and grandchildren down there. That was the vision that saved me.”
“I loved being in infantry. When I was young, I wanted to do the job that was the toughest and the hardest. My dad served in Vietnam, my granddad in WW2 and my great granddad in WW1. It's a family tradition to serve.
Going out field was where I could escape everything while challenging myself. But coming back, that's where the problems would start to rise up. I’d notice it with family and friends, being agitated for no reason, aggressive for no reason and down almost all the time.
I've had a major depressive disorder for years and I just suffered in silence. It got really bad to the point where I was struggling with suicide and I got sent to hospital for a while. I was fortunate that I served with mates who always showed me support, and the rehabilitation platoon run by my unit gave me a fighting chance.
Then I was given the opportunity to do the Mates 4 Mates adventure challenge, which was the Sydney to Brisbane kayak. I met people with the same attitude, sense of humour and mentality. They were other veterans and other guys from different parts of defence going through similar stuff.
And that's the thing. You experience all these hard times and you experience going overseas and these moments that you have with people – that other people aren't going to understand. Having this community, having this group of people that you can get that, family feeling, is everything.
I would have liked to join the Navy as a “retirement” job. Being able to travel doing menial jobs like painting the boat and being on the ocean. I'm sure guys would be complaining but I'd be happy just to be cruising along and stopping from port to port.
For me, being in the ocean is therapeutic 'cause I grew up near the ocean and surfed my whole life. There's a real calm and sense of mindfulness, I recommend it to anyone. I'm happy if I'm anywhere near the water.”
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If you enjoyed reading this story, you might also want to check out this story from someone working to save the lives of Aussie men in the construction industry.
Read the rest of our Real Aussie Blokes portraits here.
“I used to walk my son to school when he was five and we lived on a farm. And there was a point on the walk where his voice would change to a deeper register and I'd go, 'what's going on here?’ One minute he's all, ‘look at the butterflies’ and then ‘right, we're off to school, dad’. And of course he was putting on his masculine armour for the playground.
Every boy's got a ‘dream dad’, a dad that he'd like his dad to be and he measures you against his dream. And every dad has a ‘dream son’ who we think ‘my son's supposed to be like this’. And what happens around 14 is if boys start sensing you thinking ‘I expected him to be different to this’, your son can feel that he's not good enough.
So we have to let go of the dream son in order to let the real son blossom. We need every different kind of man in this world, we don't want clones of one kind of guy. And if a dad can step back and say "I love him for who he is", then the son calms right down and steadies and he's able to make good choices.
With my Dad, we hardly spoke. For ten, fifteen years we just occasionally said hello. It wasn't hostile, it just no connection. I was wanting to get to a better place and in the end it was really sweet between us. I just felt like he was this peaceful, loving person in my world. He wasn't a real conversation person but I knew he was on my side and proud of me and happy that I was his son and that's a really nice feeling.
Being a grandfather, it's amazing. I really recommend it. Because it doesn't have the anxiety of when you have your own kids, you love them but there's this huge responsibility, whereas with grandkids it's like you know, it's joy. Just total joy.”
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If you enjoyed this story, you might also want to check out Associate Professor Michael Flood’s Real Aussie Blokes portrait.
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“Being an only child is good because you can relax. Brothers might be annoying. If I had a brother, I would want him to be the same age as me because younger brothers always snitch on you and big brothers don't really have time for you.
My friend Max is like a brother. Since I was really young, he'd always hang out with me and we still hang out. I used to see him every couple of days 'cause he lived near my house, but then we moved. Now I see him twice a month. We skate and go to the park, walk the dogs.
A real friend is someone that hangs around and you can just sit down and talk with them or play sport with them. Your Dad can’t be your friend because he's your Dad. You can be nice to him, you can play with him, you can hang around with him. Well, yeah, he can be your friend. But not your best friend.
My Dad likes having barbecues and catching up with friends and playing guitars around a campfire. And hanging around with me and playing football. He has taught me that being a kid isn't all bad. You might hate school, or hate a lot of stuff, but he says that you've got to enjoy life when you're young, when you're older there's lots more responsibilities.
When I get stressed I play with my dog, Peach. And I sometimes take her for a walk. It helps ‘cause she's always happy. She just jumps around and she doesn't ever seem to be angry. We got her when we moved into my new house. We found her on the Internet and when we were there, all the other dogs were eating and we were patting them and then when we left, Peach came to the gate to say goodbye. And the lady said, you don't pick the dog, the dog picks you. And Peach picked us.”
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To read portraits of other young legends, click here or here.
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