We were already on our way to the church about three years before we even knew it existed. It started, as these things do, with a dog.
A very sweet, slightly ridiculous little greyhound girl.
She became Chelsea — and she is, without question, the best dog I’ve ever known (and if you’ve ever met a rescue greyhound, you’ll know they are all the best dog you’ve ever known).
It didn’t take long to realise she was missing something though. Not food — never food — but company. Other dogs. Her people.
Our place in Sydney wasn’t exactly built for a rotating cast of long-legged house horses, so I did what any normal person does and put a post up in a greyhound Facebook group:
Hi, I work from home, my dog is lonely, does anyone need one free day of greyhound daycare a week?
And someone said yes.
A few weeks later, Suzie started coming over on Mondays.
Chelsea and Suzie fell in love immediately. Proper, no-notes, this-is-my-person energy. And through Suzie came her humans — who, somewhere along the way, decided to move to Robertson. (They picked up a brindle boy en route, as one does.)
We went down to visit.
And that was it.
You know those moments where something just quietly locks into place without asking your permission? That. The town, the people, the rhythm of it — the markets, the events, the slightly magical feeling that something interesting is always happening just under the surface.
We started looking for our forever home not long after.
It took a year.
And then the church appeared.
And the rest — genuinely, annoyingly — is history.
And i’m pretty sure Suzie’s parents probably feel quite stalked, now.
