Animal Magic

by Carolyn Press-McKenzie

  CHAPTER 36

  A sad end

  Jim was working inside the monkey enclosure, out of sight, when he heard some men talking in the trees behind our boundary fence.

  ‘That’s the one there, check him out.’

  Jim thought nothing of it, and it wasn’t until we saw Colonel Stinky strung dead from a pole in a hunting competition that we understood who the men were talking about that day.

  Every Sunday for years, Jim and I have routinely driven to the fruit and vege markets in Wellington and loaded up on all the leftover produce of the day. The outing is quite fun, and we’ve been doing it for so long that we know everyone and they know us. We’d even managed to do a trade with the market manager, our ute for his old 6-tonne curtain-side truck.

  So as usual, one Labour Weekend Sunday, we were gone from our property for four hours. When we returned home, we set about feeding out our loot and that’s when we noticed that Colonel Stinky was missing.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Jim, scratching his head. ‘He can’t have gotten out from behind the deer fencing. And he would never leave Munchkin.’

  But he was most definitely gone. So we set about scouring the hills and gullies, calling him. Stinky had become a firm favourite. He was a lovable character, especially since his hormones had settled after being neutered, and so surprisingly gentle even with the world’s longest horns. In fact, now he could have been aptly named Colonel Cuddly. Munchkin, his dear friend, searched with us. She was beside herself and all we could do was talk to her and be there for her. But we were starting to feel very sick about the situation.

  As the night settled and it became too dark to look we went back to the house for dinner and bed. It was about 2 a.m. when I shot bolt upright in bed.

  ‘The hunting competition . . . was that this weekend?’

  Jim turned the light on and sat up next to me. We were silent; there was no need to discuss what had happened to the ever-so-handsome Colonel. At that moment it all suddenly made perfect and horrific sense.

  We were numb for the next day or so. We knew in our hearts what had happened, but we hadn’t really processed how we would go about proving it. And then I remembered our friend Skin—Jane the pig’s owner. I was sure he was one of the organisers of the hunting competition. When he picked up the phone I began to tell him our fears.

  ‘So did anyone shoot a large white goat with horns that spread about 1.5 metres?’

  He barely paused before saying he was pretty darn sure someone had, and the goat had won first prize for the best horns of the day. I asked him who entered the goat and he confirmed it was the scary neighbour’s grandson.

  ‘I’ll get the photos in and run you off a copy,’ he kindly offered.

  I felt sick.

  A few days later the photos arrived and there, hanging upside down from a rack, slit from chest to groin and gutted, was our big handsome man. Words couldn’t begin to describe our grief as the reality of the situation sunk in.

  Jim and I went outside and sat on our front doorstep with Munchkin who was, despite all the other gorgeous goats on the property, seeking human company again. We were in shock.

  I talk to my family a lot. We are close and often run things past each other so as I was relaying our shock and distress to my eldest brother Stephen he simply said, ‘Hey, do you want me to tell the guys at work? They may be able to tell your story.’ Stephen is a news cameraman.

  Soon after the police left, the TV news arrived, then the newspapers and finally, to make the situation even worse, the parasites of reality television came sniffing around. We had a call from the producers of Neighbours at War, who tried to sweet talk me into doing their show. I laughed and said no thanks; I thought it was really trashy TV.

  As the weeks passed by the Neighbours at War folk really started to get nasty. They told me that our scary neighbours were prepared to be on the show and if we didn’t appear then they would show us in a poor light. And that’s just what they did.

  Cherie and I saw the Neighbours at War film crew prowling our fence line, settling on a muddy spot where the cows had stood during the winter and puckered up the grass turning it into mud. We hid inside the house and peeked from behind the curtains. It was clear from the angle of the shot that they were going to present the muddy corner as the general condition of our property. Cherie was a rock as I paced up and down, reeling from the stress of feeling victimised and violated. She snuck out the front door and took some pictures of the crew that summed up the whole programme. I felt reprieved as I looked at the screen of the camera. The photo showed the crew filming a tight shot of the neighbours standing and pointing at a muddy paddock but from the elevated position the truth was clear. The mud they were passing off as our standard was just a corner of the paddock and in the wide photo you could see it was surrounded by acres of lush green grass and beautiful valleys full of native plants. Neighbours at War and my neighbours were the perfect match.

  Months later as we sat and watched the show when it aired for the first time, we felt sick all over again. I had tried everything I could think of to cancel the show, and I had told the producers repeatedly that they were siding with the man who stole and killed our goat and lied to the police. But as we sat through what we believed to be drivel and lies about how the scary neighbours had been so wrongly accused and how awful it was to live by us, there was a surprising twist at the end. The voiceover announced that after further investigation the police had found that the neighbour had in fact stolen and killed our goat. Well, what a complete waste of time and stress that was.

  The sad thing was that the TV show just added fuel to our neighbour’s fire. We had won again and so they lashed out by starting a HUHA Haters page on Facebook for everyone to see.

  Despite their efforts HUHA likers seem to grow at a rate of 100 likers to one hater. It’s funny because although it should be all about the likers, it’s always the one negative comment that gets under our skin. It is really frustrating that these hater folk seem to be allowed to just make things up. The things they say about us are just absurd. But in situations like this, Taylor Swift is right: it’s best just to shake it off.

  We’ve learnt to follow the advice ‘Don’t engage with the nutters’. In the past if we ever tried to defend ourselves or pacify these types of people it always made things worse, or it made us look defensive. And the other advice we take is ‘Don’t poke the bear’. Sometimes it is very hard to resist doing this when we have a sneaky peek at the comments made by our serial haters on social media. Gosh, it can be hard to read so much rubbish and just sit on our hands, but engaging with the nutters or poking the bear just heightens the drama and creates an audience. It gives them our time and our consideration, two things that they just do not deserve. We are better off directing our attention to rescuing animals. And so we just ignore them as more and more twisted lies about us or photos of skinny animals that we have never met appear on social media. We politely smile, keep our chins up and focus on what is important—the animals that are in our care.

  CHAPTER 37

  In the nude

  Through the thick sea of animal rescues, at-risk youth and neighbourhood drama, we realised that we needed to be smart about being sustainable.

  I had started a small business with a friend called Stephanie, with the aim of securing a future for her kids and mine and for Jim and HUHA. Our plan was to grow an ethical skincare business, one that, like HUHA, walked the walk. The first product I presented to Steph was an animal healing balm. I’d been using it for years and having carefully extracted compounds from many of the herbs myself I knew what it was capable of. But together we decided to turn our attention to people products.

  The brief we gave ourselves was to develop a skin care range that was scientifically proven to work while being cruelty free, natural and vegan—oh, and we would work towards palm-oil free products too. Both parties put in capital to pay for branding and product development, which meant another mortgage commi
tment from Jim and me. But we knew we had the talent, the drive and the skill to make something big happen.

  It took just a few days to come up with the name: Nude Natural Skin Care. Although that is quite a popular name nowadays, back then we were the first and naively we thought we would be the only. We did manage to register a trademark for Nude in New Zealand, but were advised that because nude was a descriptive colour in skin care the offshore trademark authorities would not grant us protection. But undaunted we plunged on developing our brand presence and started to get it into the shops.

  Stephanie has a saying: ‘You don’t know what you don’t know’, and what we didn’t know was that we were about to enter the world of quite an unexpected and unbelievable bout of what felt like industrial sabotage. We tell this story today with a sense of humour, first because we survived and second because it was just so bizarre.

  One day when Googling our name—as you do—we stumbled across a website-holding page. A new product line called Nude Skincare was about to be launched in the UK. Thinking that that wouldn’t do, we gave them a friendly heads up that we already existed and fully intended to sell in the UK market and that thanks to our trademark they would never be allowed to sell in New Zealand. We assumed that the matter would be over and hoped they’d learn to do their research before encroaching on someone else’s brand.

  And that’s when things got interesting. Steph started getting calls from England and Europe at 2 a.m., people asking where they could buy our Nude Natural Skin Care. Then Steph’s wheelie bin was stolen. Her home address had been listed with the Companies Office and as far as anyone was aware it was the HQ for Nude. There were several other strange events that all happened at the same time, and when we checked in with our trademark attorney, he smiled and said, ‘Oh, that’s pretty standard; they haven’t done anything to you that any of us in this business wouldn’t do.’ He explained further that this other Nude skin care company was just fact-collecting and it would seem that they were getting ready to fight us. Our brand, our investment and our futures were under attack and we wanted to know who these people were.

  They had alluded in a reply to our letter that they were worth millions and we had better get out of their way. Their Nude products had now landed in New Zealand and were visible as full shop window advertising, and it was revealed who owned the company that had become our Goliath. It was Ali Hewson, the wife of Bono from U2. So the letter had been right—their client was worth millions.

  Did I mention that the UK business turned things around and said that because they were bigger and could have a stronger brand presence then they would look into suing us if we didn’t go away? After getting over the shock of having invested our hard-earned money in a brand we could only sell on our own website or to friends and family, we turned a corner and took our business in another direction. (We do still sell Nude Natural Skin Care on our website . . . it just seemed wrong to cave in to bullying.)

  I was fixated on the idea of using a New Zealand native resin in a product we were developing; it had amazing antimicrobial properties and recent research had proven its healing benefits. The problem was that the resin would not break down in aqueous products—products that could dissolve in water—which would limit its use. I spoke to the supplier and he told me that he did have a water-soluble version but that it was formulated using petrochemicals. He said if there was a way to break the resin down naturally he’d be rich and that a scientist at the industrial research labs had been working on it for the past five years.

  Well, that was it. Game on. I may not be a scientist, but I am the sort of person who never says never. There had to be a way and, thanks to my grandfather Bill, I had inherited the most oddly inventive mind. It didn’t take long to ponder a solution; in fact it was back in the shower as I was conditioning my hair that I was struck by an idea. I rushed to our lab and set about formulating. My solution was easy, it was cost effective and it worked. I sent a sample to the resin supplier who said my invention was significant and a game changer.

  Stephanie set about patenting the idea and I was soon enlisted to problem-solve for other companies. We had renamed our company Innate, ‘instinctively natural’, and as the weeks turned into months it was apparent that we were now in the business of being formulators of natural ingredients. If anyone was told that a certain type of natural product was not possible, then we were the go-to place to prove it was. From health products to environmentally friendly bilge-pump cleaners, we could do it. Even the top manufacturing plants in the country called upon our services. Maybe it’s because I’m not a scientist that I can see things differently. But whatever it was, it worked. And with Steph’s organisational skills we were confident we would go far.

  The only thing was we were still in a lot of debt and unable to pay ourselves. But we were building the future and we knew that one day our pay day would come; we just had to work hard and be patient. So at nights I continued to work on Innate projects in my funny little lab and rescue and rehabilitate during the day. And Jim continued to support all my efforts, putting all his trust in the fact that one day the pressure would lift.

  I was and am determined that HUHA should be a voluntary-led charity. I love the idea that workers are with us due to passion, not for a pay cheque. I have seen before the complacency a 9 to 5 attitude brings to a shelter. My ultimate dream is to one day be able to award food vouchers to volunteers; I want to support those who support HUHA, but I want it to be smart support. So I hold fast to the idea that by making Innate a success, then I can infuse some of that success into HUHA. And as the years pass we are getting closer to that goal. Through innovation and thinking outside the square (I’m referring to both Innate and HUHA) we will make the biggest change!

  CHAPTER 38

  Christchurch

  If there is one thing that Facebook has taught us it’s that New Zealand is a village.

  Through this site we can all access each other at the touch of a keyboard, no matter where we are. And we are all connected by our pride for our country and our people.

  When the news came through that Christchurch had been rocked by a second and deathly earthquake, New Zealand was in shock. I distinctly remember pacing up and down anxiously; it was such a hopeless feeling knowing that there was nothing we could do. And then I wondered if maybe that wasn’t true.

  I called all the big animal agencies to see what I could do to help but they thanked me and said they were leaving things to the experts to deal with. I rang my friends at the SPCA Rescue Unit and asked them what they needed. Soft collapsible cat cages was their response. So I rang around until I found a company willing to donate some. Next I looked at the social media pages to see if I could find something else to help with. I read about 50 horses cut off from a water supply just out of Christchurch, whose owners were distressed and didn’t know what to do. So I called them and asked them if I could help. I then called around rural and farm supply stores and found a large tank that just might be a solution. I organised a truck to deliver it and spoke to a woman about getting a tanker of water to be delivered. It was surprisingly easy as everyone I spoke to was feeling like me; they just wanted to help.

  And this is how I did it, as reported in The Dominion Post, a Wellington newspaper:

  WELLINGTON WOMAN’S HORSE MERCY MISSION

  A Wellington woman has arranged for a tanker to deliver much-needed water to 50 thirsty horses in Heathcote today.

  The horses at the Heathcote Valley Riding School were in desperate need of water in ‘forgotten’ Heathcote Valley, resident Kathryn Byfield said.

  ‘A lot of people have been talking about Lyttelton and Redcliffs and Sumner, but Heathcote has been forgotten,’ she said. ‘We’ve lost everything—the coffee shop, pub, the dairy.’

  Today, Byfield said a woman from Wellington had heard her call for help and had arranged for a 5000 litre tanker from Ashburton to deliver water to the horses.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ she said.

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p; Bridle Path Road was still cordoned off, with workers removing loose rocks from the area, but they would ‘find a way’ to get the water right to the horses.

  Byfield, who owns three of the horses, stayed in her damaged Heathcote home for two nights, before staying with relatives in Brooklands and Riccarton.

  ‘I’ve basically had my life in my car,’ she said.

  Water was turned back on at her house on Monday, but was still not available at the riding school.

  Power had been restored, but portaloos had not been delivered to the suburb. ‘It’s a waiting game,’ she said.

  Volunteers, many of whom have been displaced from their homes, had been carting water to the horses every day.

  Twenty horses, belonging to individuals, had been transported to other areas, but it was too difficult to move the 50 belonging to the riding school, she said.

  ‘How do you ship out 50 horses? I don’t know when things are going to come back on.’

  Moving the horses was a concern, with many roads ‘stuffed’, and some horses too young to put in floats.

  However, with the arrival of the water tanker the horses would not need to be moved from their home, she said.

  It was great to help, but it didn’t feel like enough. I called some friends in Christchurch to get their take on things. The problem was that when the quake hit all of the shelters were already full, and there was nowhere to put the hundreds of lost and displaced animals. I called Jim.

  ‘Hey, what if we took our truck to Christchurch to help?’ I said, crystallising my thoughts. ‘We could bring back shelter animals and that would leave a place for lost animals to wait safely until they were reunited with their owners.’

  ‘Yip, let’s do it,’ said Jim without a second’s pause.

  So we set about planning the most effective trip we could. Sam worked at Kiwi Rail and organised us free passage on the ferry. I sent Cherie down first in our people mover to scout things out and help where she could while I organised pallets of food and cat litter from local suppliers who were happy to help. The organisation that had accepted our help first was a cat rescue. They were overwhelmed and extremely grateful for any support. We drove through the night in the truck and as the sun rose in the sky we saw firsthand the complete devastation and reality of what had transpired. As we made deliveries and picked up animals, the ground kept shaking.