There's an instant connection for anyone who has brought home a puppy. It's akin to welcoming a human child into your life; a surge of emotion and love overwhelms you, and you solemnly vow to safeguard your furry companion with every fibre of your being. 

This was precisely the experience my partner and I shared when we brought home our eight-week-old bundle of joy, "Patsy," from Worrigee in the Shoalhaven. Patsy, a spirited Dalmador, stole our hearts from the moment we saw her.

Like many new puppy parents, we had grand plans for Patsy. We envisioned enrolling her in puppy training classes and strolling proudly down streets like Kiama’s Terralong Street, with Patsy trotting beside us, the essence of canine obedience. We even imagined it all in slow motion, with a cinematic

soundtrack to boot.

But as life often does, it had other plans in store for us.

Within months, we found ourselves relocating to Tasmania, faced with the heart-wrenching decision of entrusting Patsy's care to my brother, who happened to have Patsy's brother. It was a tough adjustment, marked by endless video calls that never quite filled the void of her absence. Who knew we'd miss the chaos of her constant licking and signature bed launches, as precise as a military operation?

Eventually, our fences were erected on our new property just outside Hobart. The missing piece to complete our home was the pitter-patter of Patsy's paws echoing through the hallway. After much preparation and navigating the intricacies of the BioSecurity Tasmania website, Patsy was finally set to embark on her journey aboard the Spirit of Tasmania.

During my lunch breaks at The Bugle office, I would often stroll along Black Beach, marvelling at the serene ocean. Fast-forward to May 2024, and I found myself drawing upon all my low-level nautical skills to bring that same sense of tranquillity to the Bass Strait.

Boarding Patsy in the kennel on deck five was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences we've had during our mainland crossings, surpassing the tumultuous swells that once tossed me out of my cabin bed. Our priorities and perspectives had shifted. While previous crossings were marked by excitement over the buffet offerings, this time, our minds were preoccupied with concern for Patsy amidst the ship's vibrations and noise.

From top clockwise: Patsy enjoys the fire on her first night in Tasmania, disembarking the Spirit of Tasmania, the early morning crisp air of Devenport greets all passengers, Patsy snoozes during her trip to Hobart.

As the vessel departed Geelong, its familiar rumblings filled the air. While other passengers chatted excitedly about the voyage, we remained sombre, our thoughts consumed by Patsy's well-being two levels below, perhaps wondering why we'd left her there.

The crossing felt endless, alleviated only by the illicit indulgence of mini-doughnuts, cheese and crackers. Upon arrival in Devonport, amidst the usual bleary-eyed passengers recounting their experiences, we made a beeline for the kennel, eager to reunite with Patsy and relieve her of the dim, dreary accommodations.

The subsequent three-hour drive back to Hobart was peaceful. Patsy was mostly asleep in my lap, occasionally rousing to peer out the window in search of the mythical Tassie Tiger.

The once pristine mudroom now resembles a Dalmation motif thanks to Patsy's muddy paws

A week into our new life in Tasmania, constant rain transformed our yard into a muddy wasteland reminiscent of scenes from Mad Max. Our once pristine mudroom tiles now bore the imprint of dark pawprints, resembling a Dalmatian motif. Mud adorned our walls, couches were draped with protective coverings, and our new carpets bore the marks of countless clay deposits.

The first day, we gave up mopping every few hours and accepted the fact that our home resembled the London workhouse from Oliver Twist, which coincidentally was set in the fictional town of Mudfog. We’re now waiting for the sun to return.

Would we change it? No. Nothing beats the love of cuddling our Patsy by the fire, looking out towards Kunanyi/Mt Wellington and planning our return trip to a certain seaside town, discussing what soundtrack to strut down Terralong Street with as we flash our pearly whites, all with the most well-behaved Dalmador ever in tow.