As a kid growing up my dad, a big looming guy, was very expressive in how he spoke. Big arm gestures, animated stories, but no swearing.  He made up his own words for expletives. Or said things like ‘oh marong’ which of course, we knew to mean something along the lines of ‘oh no, that’s terrible’.

And so it wasn’t until I was practically thirty that I learned words like pfosticated weren’t real. I mean, not real as in not in the dictionary. They were real to us and now my kids and even some of my friends use them.

It was only natural that I would come to do the same as a parent, and What the Dingo was born. Instead of the expletive, somehow I thought dingo was a good choice. Still is.