Animal Magic

by Carolyn Press-McKenzie

  The petition was quite the read. The two points that really stood out were the claims that our new monkey enclosures were an eyesore and we should not have been allowed to build them, and that there was a real risk that monkey faeces would contaminate the river and render valuable farm stock sick. Pretty ironic, we thought, when farming has been implicated as the main polluter of New Zealand waterways for years. The real kicker was that the river closest to us was over 600 metres away from the enclosures, and even the monkeys, as clever as they were, couldn’t throw that far.

  But 35 locals had decided that we were a concern and signed the petition to get the council to take action against us. We ended up at a council hearing where we had to defend the sanctuary, our animals and ourselves. Luckily, the council saw sense, and made it official by awarding us a resource consent to carry on doing what we were doing. I guess that didn’t make us any more popular with some of our neighbours and aside from the ever supportive Steve and Tracey and their Brady Bunch of kids, we felt very much alone.

  Well, we thought we were alone, but that’s when things started to change some more.

  I had decided that sponsorship should be a top priority for HUHA, to try to bring in some much-needed money on a regular and reliable basis. We already had a few sponsors who donated $5 a week or up to $40 a month for a particular animal they had chosen, and in return we would send them thank-you letters, an invitation to visit the animal and a tax receipt so they could claim for a charitable donation. Sponsorship, even today, is our lifeblood; it’s what helps us pay the bills and keep the animals cared for.

  And way back in the beginning it is also what brought us Vari and Taylor. Vari and Taylor are mother and daughter, and for months they had been sponsoring Pixie the pony. They were really hands-on and the two of them would visit every few weeks to brush Pixie and take her for walks. They loved it, Pixie loved it and we loved it. Their support helped on every level.

  Soon after Vari and Taylor came Shaz and Val who also started to sponsor and visit Yogi the kune kune, and then there was Issi and Anne, two sisters from the Kapiti Coast who signed up to volunteer picking up horse poo and pulling ragwort. Although the latter four didn’t visit regularly, when they did we really valued their contribution. That’s what I love about HUHA; people can start with simple curiosity and dip their toe in the water. There is no pressure, just a grateful and welcoming attitude for any sort of help or attention given to the animals. And as the HUHA magic starts to take hold it is not uncommon for casual visits to turn into more, and soon people find themselves addicted.

  But there was something different about all of these ladies. They seemed to be somehow more in tune with our vision and were drawn to our ideas and values, and most of all there was no denying that they were drawn to the animals. Little did we know at the time, but over the next few years these special ladies, together with Sam and a few more HUHArians we were yet to meet, were to be our segue into the next and most exciting phase of HUHA. It was my dream to grow and change our way of thinking to ‘we’ not ‘me’, to be sustainable and a true force to be reckoned with. My instincts told me that letting go, sharing and welcoming newcomers was the key.

  They would be our future.

  CHAPTER 30

  Community Max

  Still handling the day-to-day running of the shelter on our own, Jim and I were a tight team.

  Not everyone got to see the soft side of him though. At first glance he was a bit like Henry the heron, but without the movie-star strutting. With Jim you had to earn his respect. Lately, we had been struggling. We were out of money and still as overwhelmed as ever. I was locum nursing and bringing in a few hundred dollars every week to supplement Jim’s wages, but I seemed to have more and more work at home and less time for the paying job. In turn Jim was having to take on more and more overtime to make up for my shortfall. But no matter how many hours Jim put in we still seemed to be going backwards and he was becoming understandably depressed and exhausted.

  Despite our best efforts to get out into the community and educate folk, we were still being used as a dump-and-run station. Although some donations trickled through and our sponsorship programme was starting to take shape, we had to cope with most of the costs on our own. And the pressure of keeping both our family and the sanctuary afloat was slowly tipping Jim over the edge. My mum and Vari had started to take turns dropping off care packages to keep us fed.

  Then one phone call changed everything.

  The caller was asking if we would be interested in becoming involved in a government initiative called Community Max. Essentially we would have a group of young unemployed people working for us full-time for six months. We would have to apply for a grant from Work and Income New Zealand (WINZ) which would cover their wages as well as the wages of one supervisor for every four youths. All applicants would be put forward by WINZ and we would hire the workers via the usual interview process. The young people would be aged between 16 and 24 years, and have a history of not successfully finding work.

  As I listened to what the caller had to say, I pondered the possibilities, then I called Jim and ran the idea past him. ‘What do you think? Should we do it?’ I tend to have a cup-half-full approach when pitching an idea to Jim, who is less trusting of change.

  Jim had just built the monkey enclosures all on his own, every steel pole and every link of chain mesh hauled up a steep hill and pieced together using nothing but his own strength and determination. Jim’s work ethic is tireless, and he is also a bit of a perfectionist. We had held several working bees in the past, but usually attracted the peace and love, nuts and berries type of folk, who liked to cuddle animals but were not quite the handy types we so desperately needed. So at the end of each working bee, as we waved goodbye to the visitors, I’d see Jim dash back into the paddocks to rework or repair their efforts. He was in a constant state of frustration and held the very strong opinion that it was better if he just did everything properly himself.

  ‘We can have twelve of them,’ I marvelled. ‘And I will be paid as one of the three supervisors!’

  It was a dream to think that for six months I would be able to work full-time rescuing and rehabilitating with no interruptions, and to bring in my share of the money we needed to survive. But Jim worried about the calibre of the employees, worried that the animals would be safe and worried that I would be safe.

  ‘You know what, Jim?’ I put my practical hat on. ‘We work so hard because of the folk in the community who are in a constant state of ignorance when it comes to animals and their care . . . this is our chance to teach them. Every kid we teach will go home and teach their family and friends.’

  I paused for effect and to let my sage words sink in, then closed the deal with a take-no-prisoners, ‘Let’s do it.’

  Who knew what we were getting ourselves into . . . we certainly didn’t. And although it was quite an eye-opening and rocky journey, it was probably one of the most rewarding phases of our lives and our work. Taking on the scheme was a bit like a being in a reality TV show crossed with a soap opera. A huge dose of teenage-style drugs, sex and scandal were all heading our way, but we had big gumboots and had no problem stomping on anything that looked like trouble. Better still, we soon had them stomping out trouble too, because we gave them many more important productive things to think about and do. By involving these young people in saving animals’ lives, they were ultimately saving their own.

  The WINZ case officers had asked me to write up job descriptions and then set me up in an interview room. First step was to hire the supervisors who could help me wrangle the young ones. I needed one admin supervisor, one building supervisor and I would supervise the animal care as well as oversee the whole operation. The second step was to hire the workers. I had shown the WINZ people the three job category descriptions, each requiring a different set of skills: admin, building and animal care. The plan was to hire four people for each job area.

  The interviews were interesting, and
each applicant came with a different set of dramas.

  ‘I can’t drive because I’ve just come out of prison.’

  ‘I can’t touch animals because I’m allergic, but I really like them.’

  ‘I can’t work in mud because I only wear high heels.’

  ‘Are your animals dirty?’

  ‘Do youse have any pitbulls?’

  It became very apparent very quickly that these kids did not know how to put their best foot forward in an interview, with most of them having a ‘me me me’ line of thinking. I didn’t know who they had been using as role models, but it was very clear why they didn’t yet have a job. But we managed to pick our twelve, a hugely diverse bunch of characters, most of whom came coupled with drug, alcohol and driving convictions. There was also one prison parolee and one convicted computer hacker who had been too young at the time to be charged.

  I was in heaven. I had wonky kids to rehabilitate with the wonky animals, and I could see the good in them all.

  I had asked a newbie to the neighbourhood to come on board as the admin supervisor. She was a godsend and helped to make sense of the truckload of paperwork that came with having so many employees. She also cracked the admin team into shape and got them started on improving our IT system, initiatives and sponsorship programme.

  I really had no idea what they were talking about when I walked into the makeshift office in our spare room and the team asked for my permission to set up a HUHA Facebook page.

  ‘I guess so . . . Can you explain to me what it is again?’ This social networking thing was a completely foreign concept to me.

  Their first attempt to set up HUHA on Facebook was unsuccessful. They had put us in the wrong category or something, so when they told me that they needed to start again and we needed a new name I just stared blankly at them.

  ‘We can’t have a new name—HUHA is our name.’

  The debate went back and forth for a while and eventually we compromised. To this day we are known on Facebook not as HUHA but HUHANZ.

  I decided that now we were social-media savvy I would get the team to organise an event to raise our profile. I wanted to it to be something for the wider community, to give them a chance to see who we were and what we were about. I also wanted to give the kids a project to focus on and learn from—maybe I enjoy watching The Vicar of Dibley too much and have a sad longing for that sort of community spirit in Kaitoke. Whatever the reason I was completely romanced with the idea of organising a giant pumpkin-growing competition. My mother wrote children’s books and one of her stories was about a country fair with a pumpkin harvest. I loved this story and having a pumpkin-growing competition had long been a dream of mine.

  I got on the phone and did a ring around, ordering in 300 giant pumpkin seeds . . . oh, it was just too exciting! It was November and there was plenty of time to get those seeds dispersed throughout the community and growing into giant pumpkins.

  The admin team busied themselves putting together a plan of attack. They needed to develop a way to engage the community and rally a healthy competitive spirit. With our website and Facebook page they were able to promote to the masses and they also took posters and envelopes containing three seeds each to sell for $2 at the local supermarket checkouts in Upper Hutt. All the packets of pumpkin seeds sold, and the buzz of the up-and-coming competition began to gather momentum. The workers had also dropped packets of seeds off to the primary schools, who set about planting them with great delight.

  In between scrub cutting and constructing fences at the sanctuary, the building team had the task of making signposts and display stands; they even made some carnival-type games that they could set up on the day of the competition.

  As well as doing their routine animal care chores, the animal team were kept busy growing pumpkins—gigantic pumpkins—which was just so rewarding and exciting.

  As summer emerged orphaned baby animals started to find their way into our care. Sadly, baby animal season is our busiest time of year, and soon the team was rushed off their feet, bordering on overloaded. A baby goat whose mother had been shot by a hunter followed the building team around when it wasn’t being bottle fed by its new and attentive caregivers. Litters of kittens, puppies and even bunnies were set up in collapsible crates in the admin room and baby birds were on an hourly feeding roster.

  The team doted on the newcomers with the precision of skilled professionals. The rest of the animal crew, including the monkeys, the remaining and now elderly motley crew, Pixie’s wee family and Henry and his harem of kereru and turtles, was loving the attention. And Jim was quietly impressed . . . even with the building work.

  One of the extra special babies to arrive that summer was a little fussy yellow pom-pom of a duckling we called Cecil. He came to us on his own, which is never a good thing for ducklings as by themselves they often get depressed and fade away. So some quick thinking out of the square saw him snuggled up in the admin room with his new brothers and sisters: four warm, soft and fluffy baby bunnies. He happily cuddled into them and with their heartbeats close he was content and a sure survivor.

  When the building boys came in for lunch and puzzled at the strange combination of Muscovy duckling and baby bunnies, I smiled and suggested they look around. There on the lawn just outside the window the kid goat was sunbathing with the dogs. In the next paddock Weemu the Emu was hanging with her best friend Bernie the Sheep. Piggy Sue was leaned up against Mabel the cow and Henry, of course, was having a lovely day wading among the turtles in his pond. I told the kids to cast a wider eye and to study the farm land that surrounded us.

  ‘What do you see?’ I asked.

  ‘Cows?’ one replied

  I pointed at another paddock. ‘And there?’

  ‘Sheep?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘People have separated them for farming purposes and now that is our perceived normal, but given the chance all animals are social creatures . . . it’s we humans who keep them in their categories and boxes.’

  I watched the kids as they went back to work, each of them stopping for a moment to pat or tickle an animal on the way. They were surrounded by the magic of animals and as I watched them start to think and soften, I knew it was having an effect. These kids were starting to realise that there was more to the world than just their little bubble. They were starting to consider and think about others.

  The end of March rolled around, and the day of the competition was horribly cold. But we had organised so much fun and we would not let a bit of bad weather rain on our parade. The building team set up trestle tables and signs, as well as the stands for the giant pumpkins to be displayed on and judged. We had been given permission to use the local Kaitoke Country Gardens, which came complete with a mock manor-style wedding venue and café; it was a very flash faux brick building with elegant arched windows and extensive gardens.

  We were so excited when the locals started wheeling in their giant specimens. Some of the team manned the large scales that we had borrowed for the day and there would be loud whoop-whoops as each pumpkin was weighed and then placed in the judging line-up.

  For those who had not grown a pumpkin, we had face painting, an animal corner containing Cecil the duckling and his fluffy bunny siblings, a pumpkin pie competition and a pumpkin-carving competition. We had spent months collecting prizes donated by local businesses. One local company had made very fancy ribbons for the prize winners. The place looked amazing—my Vicar of Dibley dream made real!

  The community came in droves: mums and dads with their kids, grandmas and granddads and even teachers bringing their pupils. I looked at my team. They had achieved something truly special and memorable and I knew they would never forget what they had done.

  The fun didn’t stop when we waved the last of the visitors goodbye. Now it was time to take all of the donated pumpkins—and boy, were there a lot of pumpkins—back to the sanctuary for the animals to enjoy. And none more so than Piggy Sue who wore an orange smile for days to come.r />
  Outside in the building department, I was sure that the supervisor was higher than the employees—and I don’t mean in rank. He spent a lot of time grinning, was always ping-ponging from exceptionally cruisy and laid back to uptight and intolerant, and seemed to have permanently bloodshot watery eyes. The kids, though, were on fire, and we set about picking some projects for them to get into. There were shelters to build, old manuka and gorse to clear and more fences to build. Among their haphazard styles and talents they were really getting into it and taking pride in their work. The animals were in on everything, up on everyone’s business and making it all about them. This kept them and their needs forefront of everyone’s minds, which I believe is what made it work. And the supervisor? Well, in the end we accepted his resignation.

  We did, however, have regular mishaps as some aspects of the Community Maxers’ personal lives came with them to work. One poor chap was often found in the bush with a bottle of something strong. After the third time he was asked to leave and we ensured that he received the ongoing help he needed. There were a couple of romances that took place in the bush also, so we separated the hormoned-up offenders and kept them busy, advising them to wait until they got home!

  I was excited to give the animal team the opportunity to go on a road trip to rescue some battery hens. On this occasion the kids got a rare glimpse inside a battery barn because the owner was too lazy to catch the hens we had ordered. The chicken man had looked the kids up and down and seemed to judge them as his kind of people. He probably assumed that the state of the chooks would mean nothing to them and that like him they were the sort of human beings who put money and food before welfare. As a result he didn’t hide the reality of what lay behind the barn doors. So, as each ‘spent and useless’ sixteen-month-old chicken was dragged upside down by its leg from its overcrowded prison cell, pecked bald and bullied for its entire existence, the sombre kids stood by with a cat box to transport it back to the ute.