Tag: Knotes by Kobe

When I started making dog coats out of recycled floof years ago, I never dreamt that one day my little business would end up publishing a cookbook for dogs. On the face of it, fashion and food seem worlds apart, with nary an opportunity for where the twain could meet. Yet one of the key reasons I embarked on both endeavours was to reduce waste – of floof and of food, two of my favourite things – and I’ve realised maybe the two aren’t so disconnected after all.

If the spare floof brushed off my back over the years (and the backs of all the other kind pups who have donated their spare hair to my business) had not been turned into clothing for other dogs, it would have gone into landfill. Instead, having done its job keeping me warm, it moves on to a new life, providing warmth and comfort to another dog. Rather than be discarded once it’s of no more use to me, we find a way for it to be useful to others, helping not only the environment but also our fellow dog.

The same is true for food! Food waste makes me so sad – “food” and “waste” are two words that should never be used in close proximity to one another! Eating is one of my favourite activities, and it pains me that there are many people in Australia and around the world who do not have the means to enjoy this activity like I do – especially when obscene amounts of perfectly good food are thrown away.

The same sentiment behind turning spare floof into clothing for new dogs is why we chose to support OzHarvest through the sale of my cookbook, How To Eat Like A Kobe: Recipes For Dogs. As Australia’s leading food rescue organisation, OzHarvest collects quality surplus food from a network of donors and delivers it at no cost to more than 1,800 charities that feed those in need. For every cookbook sold, we donate 10% of the sale price to OzHarvest to support their important work connecting surplus food with those in need.

As we navigate through financially challenging times for much of the world, it feels more important than ever to consider how a surplus of anything – floof, food or anything in between – can be used to help those who do not have enough. Waste is a luxury we collectively cannot afford.

Most of you know that I started Kotes by Kobe because I wanted to use my spare hair to keep other pups warm, but until now I haven’t given much thought to what ‘spare’ really means. I’m thinking about it now in the midst of coronavirus-induced panic buying, as people hoard everything from food to toilet paper to medicines. The idea of ‘getting a spare’ no longer seems to denote getting one or two extra items in case of emergency, but rather the wanton procurement of everything one can possibly get their hands on.

What exactly does spare mean to you? Merriam-Webster defines it as “being over and above what is needed” – exactly how I would describe the hair donated by many kind pups to my business. Having either fallen off of us, or been brushed or clipped off during grooming, this hair is clearly of no further use to the dogs whom it once adorned. If something is no longer needed or useful, why hold onto it? Why not make it available to someone who does need it?

Of course there’s merit in having something backups in case of emergency, much like the proverbial spare tyre, but how many spare tyres does a car come with? There’s no set definition of what constitutes a reasonable amount of backup, and the line between sensible and moronic can be blurry at times, but surely everyone should reach a point where they recognise that they have too much, and that what they have would be better utilised elsewhere. Shouldn’t they?

Though it’s hard now to think of anything outside the context of the coronavirus right now, this applies broadly across all of life. So many of the world’s problems stem from the inequity of a small number of people having more than they’ll ever know what to do with and a much larger number clamouring for what’s left. Whether this is money, property, food, toilet paper, or any other commodity, society seems set up to encourage those who have means to keep acquiring more, while those who do not struggle and struggle. Did greed evolve from modern economics or were the rules of economics set by those predisposed to building personal wealth?

Of course, stories also abound of those who give generously, so the spirit of benevolence still flows through the world. From donations of money and resources, to sharing of precious toilet paper rolls, and yes even to hair that can make more Kotes to keep other pups warm, what connects these highly diverse benefactors is the recognition that someone else would benefit from what they have and the willingness to give it up.

The world needs more of that compassion. We need more widespread conviction that it’s unacceptable not to give to others when we have more than enough for ourselves. The world’s a happier place when we take care of each other. There’s nothing wrong with having a little extra for ourselves, but let’s all remember that the very definition of spare means it is not something we need.

Unless, of course, you’re talking about spare ribs. That’s a whole different story.

Kotes by Kobe was built on the idea of sharing oneself, and I used to think there was nothing more personal than sharing one’s own floof to keep a fellow pup warm. Now, having spent a couple of years on social media, I’m not so sure that’s true. With technology enabling us to share every detail down to the last crumb we ate, personal has never been so public.

Sometimes there’s sharing on a superficial level, like what was in the breakfast bowl that morning, and there’s gossipy sharing, like who just humped who at the dog park. But there’s also sharing of a more meaningful kind, the kind that tells a story from deep within us and is more than the sum of its literal events. When a story is not just about what has occurred, but rather more about how the soul of the storyteller has changed as a result, it lays them bare in a way that goes beyond shedding a layer of floof.

In these kinds of stories, the magic of self shines through. It is life’s biggest stroke of magic that we get to be who we are, for each of us is the fragile sum of all the pieces of our past falling just a certain way. If even one piece had landed in a different place, we could’ve been someone else entirely. Our stories, made up of our experience and opinion and feeling and soul, become our way of sharing our me-ness – the one thing that nobody else can ever have or take away.

Despite this, many of us never take the opportunity to find or use our voice, apart perhaps from barking at the neighbours. Maybe there’s something we can teach others from our own experiences. Maybe we can entertain instead. Whatever the case may be, this is our way of contributing something to the world that no one else can. Stories are unique to the individual, like DNA or fingerprints (well, so I hear. I don’t have fingerprints, as I don’t have fingers), and the world is richer when we add to it what is uniquely ours.

What’s your story?

Yesterday was the first day of the Lunar New Year, and despite not being of Asian persuasion (clearly I’ve got the French thing happening) why pass up any opportunity to acknowledge a holiday?

Apart from a day to feast to excess (as befitting the Year of the Pig), New Years Day is also when the promise of the year ahead feels the ripest and when we pledge to change all we need to change so we can reach the new goals we’ve set ourselves. And yet in our eagerness for change, I wonder if we sometimes risk losing the very essence of our me-ness.

Here is my confession. You see, I’ve long had a wish for opposable thumbs. Thumbs that can open pantry and fridge doors, grip and twist peanut butter jar lids, and unzip bags of snacks. This longstanding wish, brought to front of mind every so often by a tasty food item just out of reach, culminated in an incident involving 12 freshly-baked berry muffins packed into plastic Ziploc bags, cooling on the kitchen benchtop. Oh how I cursed my lack of opposable thumbs, for which I would’ve gladly traded my double dew claws that day. Pyrs are one of the few breeds of dog that have double dew claws on their hind legs. It’s sort of like having a spare toe, useful for navigating the mountainous terrain of our ancestors in the Pyrenees Mountains, rather less so for opening Ziploc bags containing berry muffins.

The memory left me pondering how often we rue the way we are and wish for an easy fix that we think would make our lives better. We might wish we were skinnier, or had different hair, or came from a different background. What we forget in those moments, or don’t acknowledge as often as we should in general, is that we are exactly what we are for a reason. We fit into a bigger picture. If Pyrs did have opposable thumbs instead of double dew claws, they might’ve snagged a few more muffins in life, but more likely would’ve been too busy falling down mountains and getting eaten by wolves. If I had different hair, I might not have been able to make clothing out of it for other dogs.

The start of a new year, even a symbolic one, is a time for us to be grateful for what we have and not to yearn for what we are not meant to have. However you believe the world and all that’s in it was created, trust that we are right just the way we are.

For the record, I did not let simple anatomy stand in the way of those muffins. I mauled every Ziploc bag with my teeth and extracted every single crumb. It took a herculean effort, primarily to avoid eating the plastic along with the muffins, but as the gloriously buttery cake crumbled in my mouth with its tangy bursts of berry and the shell of sprinkled sugar crystals cracked with a satisfying crunch between my teeth, I wondered whether the real lesson is that whatever we lack in opposable thumbs may yet be possible to overcome by willpower.

May your new year be rich with opportunity to celebrate all that you are.

If I had to pick a favourite time of year, I reckon it would be Christmas. Not because of the parties and feasts and presents that change paws this time of year (well, not just because of that). I like the spirit of Christmas, a time of thinking of others and of giving, whether to one’s own loved ones or to the broader community. It’s a time when those who are fortunate enough to be able to give make a more conscious effort to think about those who are not.

The Christmas spirit reminds me of why I started Kotes by Kobe, promoting a philosophy where puppers who are blessed with long shaggy coats can help to keep their shorter-haired brethren warm. So often you hear about what is lacking in the world – not enough money, not enough to eat or drink, possibly not enough squeaky toys. If what one lacks is enough fur to stay warm, then surely those who have more than enough should share their abundance.

There’s another part of Christmas that reflects why I have my business. Many of us live in wasteful societies where things are discarded long before they’ve outlasted their utility. I try to reduce the impact of this by picking food scraps up from the ground that others have dropped, but strangely this makes mum cross. By reusing discarded dog fur to make clothing for other dogs, we’re just doing our small part to reduce waste in the world.

Compassion and sustainability shouldn’t be seasonal – it’s what we should practice year-round. But if it takes a special occasion such as Christmas to nudge us in the right direction, I’m not complaining.