Jen at Peanut Pet Shelter

Happy Easter!

2010-04-03T23:47:00.000-07:00

Life is like a carousel, with it's ups and downs, highs and lows, excitement at the speed and sometimes a sick feeling when it all gets too much and you need to stop for awhile and set your feet back on the ground.

As we ride the carousel of life, sometimes we want to go faster, sometimes we want to shout 'Stop! I want to get off!' and sometimes we just want to feel the wind in our hair.

May the ride on your own particular carousel be gentle and sweet with a little excitement thrown in for good measure.

I wish peace, love, harmony and joy to all my friends and loved ones on this Easter Day.

The Glory Days

2010-01-08T17:59:00.000-08:00

When I was a child there was just one thing I wanted.....well, no, of course that's not strictly true.....I was a child, therefore there were lots of things I wanted and like most children, the objects of my desire changed from week to week, from season to season. However, one thing stayed consistent . I wanted a Knickerbocker Glory. A Knickerbocker Glory...what's that?....I hear you ask. Take a look at the photo and you will see. It was a towering confection of luridly colored ice cream, whipped cream, nuts, multi-colored sprinkles, a few bits of fruit thrown in for good measure and a wafer on top - and it was HUGE! If I saw one now it would probably be a most unimpressive sight, but in the eyes of my infant self, it was ENORMOUS.

My mother would never let me have one. Why? (I'm sure you're wondering). Surely it must have been because it was unhealthy - nothing more than a trembling mass of fat, sugar and E numbers - or maybe because she feared it's rich sugariness would make me sick..... but no, the answer to my unchanging request was always the same: 'You can't have one because you won't finish it'. Maybe she was right, but, you know Ma, it would have been so nice to try!

Every Saturday morning my mother would go and have her hair done. Do you remember the days of the 'hair do'? You do? Wow, I didn't realize you were that old!
For those that aren't so old or whose memories are fading, the hairdo was better known as a 'shampoo and set'. Hordes of women all over the civilized world trooped valiently to their local hair salon to have their weekly 'do'. They all seemed to emerge with the same (seriously unflattering) hairstyle - yes, you know the one I mean. Short, kinda curly and rock hard from a copious spraying of 'laquer'.

One salon in our hometown used to proudly boast 'A style for every face! Yes, whatever your face shape or features, our talented stylists can create an individual style to suit you!' Hmm.....it seems a lot of women in our town had the same face. But I digress.....

My father and I would meet my mother in a cafe just around the corner from the hair salon, for a post 'shampoo and set' lunch. Every week the question would be asked:'What would you like to eat?' Why did they ask when they knew the answer? I...want...a...Knickerbocker Glory! My mother would sigh, roll her eyes, open her mouth and say.....well, you already know what she said. I would point at the other children, manically scraping at the bottom of their sundae glasses so as not to miss the tiniest blob of creamy deliciousness and say: 'He finished his and she finished hers!' But no, my mother would not be moved, her decision was final.

So now I have been an adult for many a long year, but I have still never had a Knickbocker Glory. Of course, now I could buy my own. In fact, I could even make one myself, I'm sure. However, now I don't want one. In fact, to my mature eye they actually look pretty unappealing. This thought leaves me just a little uncomfortable. I have a sneaky feeling that my mother could be proved right....if I have one...I won't finish it!

New Year Resolution....or not

2010-01-02T15:57:00.000-08:00

Have you made your New Year Resolution yet? Well, have you? What is it? Do tell! Have you vowed to give up smoking or alcohol? Have you pledged to limit your chocolate intake, to lose weight, or to exercise more frequently? Have you promised to become a better wife, husband, parent or to be more discerning in your choice of sexual partners or friends? Or, like me, have you not bothered, as you know that New Year Resolutions are made to be broken and will inevitably lead to a year of mentally berating yourself because you failed to keep a promise made by you to you? Doesn't it seem a rather pointless exercise unless of course you are one of those rare, tremendously strong individuals for whom failure is simply not an option.

Why not make 2010 the year when you try to simply be a better, more whole, more rounded version of you? The complete you that deep inside, you have always wanted to be. There can be no failure.... for each baby step, each kind word uttered or good deed performed will be an achievement of the highest order. Doing something that makes you feel good, when done with love, will inevitably make you feel better about yourself.

The dawning of a new year once again presents you with the opportunity to enhance your own true greatness. Love yourself, for you are the perfection of life.

2010, the year to simply Be

Tell me a story......

2009-12-14T15:51:00.000-08:00

Tell me a story.....for who amongst us doesn't have a tale to tell? A tale of life and death; of laughter and tears; of love found and love lost; of shattered dreams and dreams come true; of loss of hope and hope that rises again like the phoenix from the ashes.

Yes, we all have our own tales, each one as individual and unique as we are ourselves.Each life with layer upon layer of stories, interwoven and as complex as the steps in the most intricate of dances.

Some of us will travel and our minds will record amazing and wondrous sights from far off lands, while others will go nowhere and live out their whole lives in the same small community. For them perhaps, the most wondrous sight of their lives will be when they first look into another's eyes and recognize love, or when they gaze at the face of their newborn child for the very first time.

Whose life is the most enriched? Who can say? Certainly not I.

I wonder too....do we come into this world as blank slates upon which life will write our fates, or do we arrive carrying with us the memories of our ancestors, generation upon generation, buried deep within our subconscious?

What of the walls of our houses? Do our struggles and fights, our tragedies and laughter seep into the very framework of our homes and create a record for all time that will in some way affect the generations to come? A haunting thought.....or just a haunting perhaps?

I believe our life experiences are what makes us.....molds us.....for would we be the same had our paths through life taken very different twists and turns?

So why not, if you can, find the time in your busy, busy lives to sit with a friend, or two, or three and tell your stories, one to another? I promise you they will all be different and each day, each week, will breathe life into yet another new tale.

For our stories, you see, will survive far longer than these bodies of ours and maybe....just maybe, the air and the walls around us will hold the memory of who we were and what we aspired to be and a part of us will live forever.

THE PURSUIT OF FULFILLMENT

2009-11-20T09:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was my birthday and a time for a little reflection. Do you remember how as children, we were often asked the question 'What do you want to be when you grow up?'

Note: what do you want to be, as if your chosen career will somehow define the very essence of you. Would any parent, teacher, career advisor, accept the simple answer 'Fulfilled'? Surely that's all any of us want to be - the fulfilled, complete version of ME. Alas, no, the acceptable answer can only be - doctor, lawyer, brain surgeon etc., for you would surely be viewed as a failure before you ever set out on your chosen career path, were you to be aware from the get go, that in reality, you were going to end up spending 8 mind and ass numbing hours per day typing...filing...dealing with people's petty problems...or chewing gum laconically while waiting to serve someone in a store selling the most tedious of items.

I knew what I wanted to be...oh yes! The problem was, I couldn't own up to it. I would be mocked, jeered! Important people in my life would be aghast! Without a doubt it would be viewed as a shameful waste of my extremely expensive, private, convent school education. The nuns themselves would have had to expend their energy, time and knee-skin on extra prayers, novenas etc in an attempt to persuade God to show this wayward child the error of her ways

For you see, I wanted to be a bingo caller. A proper British bingo caller ( North American readers possibly don't quite understand). I wanted to stand up there, proudly, on the stage, in the spotlight, with microphone in hand, with all eyes on me, while 200 people collectively held their breath ...just waiting for me to say...

Me and you, number 2

Cup of tea, number 3

Doctors orders, number 9 (Why? Because number 9 was a laxative pill given out by British doctors during World War II)

Sweet 16 (To which the players all shout: 'and never been kissed!')

Two little ducks, 22 (players shout: 'quack, quack quack')

Clickety-click, 66

Was she worth it? 76 (Why? The pre-decimal price of a British marriage licence was 7/6d - 7 shillings and 6 pence)Players shout: 'Every penny!'

Two fat ladies, 88

....and other such timeless, eloquent gems.

I feel sure I would have been an amazing bingo caller, one of the all-time greats in fact, but, alas, my dreams fell into dust as life set my feet firmly on other paths - actually a lot of other paths. I have had many different jobs - some great, some not so great, some challenging and some of the previously mentioned mind and ass numbing variety.

How do we find fulfillment? How do we measure it? For some it will be by the accumulation of an enviably large bank balance. For others, it will be how famous, how well-known and instantly recognizable they are. But what about that unmistakably feeling that, yes...they have found their own route through life. The one that is right for them. Not necessarily something noble, world-changing or that would make a single person gasp and say 'Wow', but that path that from the first tentative step, makes their heart beat a little faster and fills them with passion, zest and excitement.

I am fortunate that after so many false starts, I have finally found that path. It is called Peanut Pet Shelter and it fills me with an excitement and drive I have never experienced before.

You too will know when you have found your right route through life. If you haven't yet found it, please don't give up. Hope is what keeps us alive.

It's taken me a long, long, time to find the answer to that question: 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' It finally makes sense because it's not just do-ing, it's be-ing.

Having reached this great age (that's great as in big numbers!) I can now with surety say , I am where I want to be, doing what I want to do, doing what's right for me to do and being what I want to be. This then leaves me with just one more thought:

Does this mean I've finally grown up?

The Gift

2009-09-26T14:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we met with the landlord at our soon-to-be new home so he could hand over the keys. While we were there a neighbor arrived with a welcome gift. What a sweet and thoughtful gesture! What was the gift? A cake....a bottle of wine....flowers....a box of chocolates perhaps? No.
A small black cat gave birth to 4 precious kittens in a raised plant bed right by the front door.

The Gift of Life.

What could be more perfect?

Why? When? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??

2009-09-25T14:13:00.000-07:00

To those of you hoping to read an entirely animal-based blog - I apologize profusely. I'll get there (I promise), but I'm new to all this and there are some things I just have to get off my chest first. So please be patient, I'm doing my best.

I have an enquiring mind. Annoyingly so, I've been told on many an occassion. Sometimes I ponder on the great mysteries of life - how did they build the pyramids in Egypt....is there life after death....and other thought and discussion provoking topics. However, like a persistant child just learning about how the world works, I really want to know Why? When? and more importantly, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??

Have you seen those stage performers that eat strange things....like lightbulbs and razor blades....in the name of entertainment? I'm sure you have. Some of them are so talented they can even regurgitate them back up again. But why? And when? At what point in his life did that guy look at a lightbulb, razor blade or stainless steel fork and think 'My, that looks yummy!
For sure he didn't discover this 'gift' as a child or undoubtably his distraught parents would have dragged him forthwith to a well-meaning child psychologist.
Or was it perhaps hereditary? Was his father a secret midnight snacker? Did he wait until his poor, unsuspecting wife was sound asleep, before creeping oh, so quietly, into the kitchen to fix himself a tasty treat of silverware?

I need to know.

There are many other things I don't understand. For instance:

Enormous breast implants. There's nothing wrong with breast implants and if you want great big boobies - then you go girl! However if you look like you are permanently sporting your own buoyancy aids or like you have a pair of scud missiles strapped to your chest, then clearly either you or your surgeon got it wrong.

Balding guys with comb-overs. Bald guys with ponytails (Francis Rossi excepted). Let me say this, loud and clear: BALD IS SEXY. Wave goodbye to that last bit of fluff guys. Shave it off and the girls will love you for it. Trust me. I know.

Speedos on any guy that isn't training for an Olympic swimming event. They are just plain wrong, wrong, wrong. This comes under the heading of Dude, what are you thinking? and also 'Have you looked in the mirror?

Tofu. Now there's nothing wrong with tofu per se - just don't tell me I should eat it. No. I shouldn't. Really I shouldn't.

There is a popular stage show touring the western world called 'Puppetry of the Penis' a.k.a. 'Origami of the Penis'. Now we all know what Origami is (no, it's not a martial art) and we all know what the other thing is (a male body part of the appendage variety). Whoever thought of putting the two together? (Australians actually, which explains a lot) But why? Actually I kind of understand why - we all know those guys that can't keep their hands off their 'best friend'. The only comfortable way for them to watch tv is to sit with their hands down their pants. (I'm proud to say my husband doesn't do this). And girls, don't we just love those guys that feel the need to 'adjust' themselves mid-way through a conversation? So appealing!

What I want to know, what I really want to know is, at what stage in his life did the first guy turn to his friend and say 'Hey, does this look like the Loch Ness monster to you?' And did his friend, there and then, drop his kecks and say 'Ha! That's nothing! Lookee here....a windsurfer!'

Later, one of the guys left the show and they needed to find a replacement. Did they hold auditions? Did some poor guy suffer the humiliation of rejection because his Great Dane looked more like a Chihuahua? (Animal related topic, right?)

So, you can see there's things in life I just have to know. To you this is probably all just mindless trivia and I have no doubt that you are right. But PLEASE, if you get the urge to do something really strange - give me a call - I want....I need to be there the very first time, so I can finally get the answer to those immortal questions - Why? When? and What are you thinking?

Saints or Sinners??

2009-09-24T17:02:00.000-07:00

While to many, our day to day Peanut Pet Shelter life would seem a sometimes harsh way to live - few personal possessions (even fewer since the robbery!), little or no personal space and a 24/7 round of cleaning, feeding, watering and medicating. However, no-one forced this lifestyle on us. This was a choice. A very personal choice. A choice to follow our hearts. A nightmare for some (and in all honesty, very often for us) but basically we are lucky enough to be following our dream. Few get the chance, many more never form a concrete idea of exactly what their dream is.

Peanut Pet Shelter has given us the opportunity to meet many, many people from all walks of life and many different countries, all with one thing in common. Their love of animals. These people enrich our lives and yet, under other circumstances, perhaps following an altogether different dream, our paths would never have crossed.

These wonderful people are so kind, so generous with their compliments -'What saints you are! What angels for the work you do!', we so often hear. Take a look....see Andy's blushes....see my downcast eyes....how delightfully self-effacingly humble we are....but no, it's not that. What they don't know is - we have a secret.

There are others that don't like us. That's ok, after all, they don't really know us and let's face it, no-one likes everyone. They don't like the work that we do. That's ok too. We're fine with that. They seek to bring the shelter down, with a whisper here and a malicious comment there....an oh so subtle, twisting of the truth....and all in the name of love....of animals (they claim).

They seek to persuade that the saints are really sinners!! But we don't mind, because you see we have a secret.

Do you want to know our secret? Do you? Come closer then and let me whisper in your ear....because you see....our secret is...that actually....we are....ordinary. Just that. No more, no less.

Neither saints nor sinners but perhaps something in between. Our secret is....we are just like you.

What of the rest of the Peanut Pet Shelter team? Those sturdy souls that stand shoulder to shoulder with us through good times and bad. Whose true and honest love for both animals and humans shines forth for all to see....all deliciously, delightfully....ordinary. (Please note at this point that I do not use the word 'normal'. This is because I have just the tiniest suspicion that a streak of insanity runs through all us PPS folk).

There are those who love to be called 'Angel' and revel in their 'sainthood'. We hope it brings them happiness. It's not for us however, for the higher you climb, the thinner the air and the colder it becomes. I have a feeling the summit would prove to be a very chilly and lonely place indeed.

Far better we feel, to bask in the warmth and sunshine provided by you other wonderfully, kind, loving, ordinary folks, who are just like us. Doing the best you can with the resources you have.

Neither saint nor sinner but a follower of dreams.

Meeee-ow!!

2009-09-22T13:28:00.000-07:00

Some of us are dog lovers. Some of us are cat lovers. Some of us love both though I have a sneaky feeling we always lean more toward one than the other.
My father was a dog lover. He didn't like cats. He hated cats. He loathed cats. The word 'cat' was never spoken in our house.

I understood his loathing - completely! At the tender age of 5, my best friend's mother took us to the cinema to see 'Lady & The Tramp'. One look into Lady's big brown eyes and I was sold. That day, a true dog lover was born (and this in spite of having been 'run over' by a Great Dane in the park when I was 3)! What of Tramp with his raffish charm? Adorable!! Simply adorable!! But the cats....do you remember those mean Siamese cats??? Do you remember how they wrecked the house and poor little Lady got the blame?!! Do you remember the sly, sneaky way they pretended to be cute and nice when Aunt Sarah was around? Do you remember their names? I do! For me they were the stuff of nightmares. I was 5 years old and those two cats were the scariest things I had ever seen. My life was never going to be the same again. Did I want a cute little kitty cat all of my own? NO WAY JOSE!!

Fast forward now if you will to the 19 year old me - recently married to first husband Robert (1953 - 1981 R.I.P.) a great rescuer of all things furry or feathered. We already had Sam, the rescued G.S. puppy, so what was Robert now cradling so gently in his arms? It was the teeniest, tiniest, tortoiseshell stray kitten. Oh my! Soooo cute!! My cat horrors were forgotten and I was in love! I know....let's go show her to my parents....surely to see her is to love her???
Big mistake. BIG MISTAKE. My father's words were (and I remember them with utmost clarity) 'Bring that thing in here and I will kill it!'

'How mean, how cruel?' I hear you cat lovers cry! Yes! It was time to get to the bottom of this....phobia? Was there a reason for this seemingly illogical hatred of all things feline? Yes. My father as a teenager, still a child, had been a Japanese prisoner of war. Life in a Japanese concentration camp was harsh beyond our comprehension. The cruelty is beyond imagination. With only one small bowl of rice per person, per day, many, many slowly died of starvation....one such was the man that, had he survived, would have been my uncle. From sheer necessity the prisoners turned to the only food/protein source available....Rats. But there was strong competition for this valued food source. Competition that was swifter, stronger and born to hunt. The cats. Worse still was when the rapidly weakening prisoners managed to trap the rats only to have them taken from them by the mocking, jeering, callous, Japanese prison guards and then being forced to watch as they were fed to the cats. An understandable loathing? Perhaps so. You decide.

What about me? Did I manage to fully overcome my own night-time terror caused by those two sneaky, Lady & The Tramp horrors? (Have you remembered their names yet?) Well, Lizzy, Opal, Panda, Tom, Harvey and Squidge are now deceased feline proof that, yes, I became a cat lover.

Today, Andy and I have 4 cats of our own that share our daily lives. Cielo, Sonic, Smoke and Scooter. They all have their own stories to tell.

Cielo and Sonic are gentle souls. They have passed their juvenile stage and are a little wiser for it. Smoke and Scooter are 5 months old and think they are brothers. They are not. They are partners in crime. Smoke bears more than a passing resemblance to a Russian Blue. He came to us after being 'rescued' by a local property manager. Scooter is an ocecat (look it up if you don't know what that is). He appeared by Andy's truck in the middle of a ferocious storm. They are both adorable and yet.......how to describe that feeling that sometimes flashes through me and is gone in an instant?

I arrived home today, hot, sweaty, weary. I entered the kitchen and viewed the scene of destruction. The broken bottle of olive oil slowly leaking it's contents onto the kitchen floor. The chewed and mangled loaf of bread in pieces on the counter top. The roll of kitchen paper shredded and scattered like confetti over every surface. The torn, bright red oven glove - now soggy and minus it's thumb, waving to me gaily from it's new place on the curtain rail.... There's that feeling again.... Ah yes, now I know....now I recognize that shudder, that tremor that usually resides deep in my subconscious....now I know. The Truth.

Si and Am are alive and well.

And living in my house.

Heat and Flies!!!

2009-09-18T15:40:00.000-07:00

So what happens when you own and run the only formal animal shelter in a booming town and you run out of space???

There is only one solution when you are 100% driven, passionate and committed to looking after animals with nowhere to go - you take them home!!!

Before you know it, you wake up to a glorious sunny day in your cute tiny two bedroom house......perhaps your thoughts turn to the delights of lying in the sun on beautiful white sand, gazing at the gorgeous turquoise and aquamarine hues of the stunning Caribbean Sea, sipping a Margarita while the sand gently trickles between your toes and the palm trees gently sway........perhaps first you will lazily stretch, get out of bed and make your loved one a delicious cup of coffee before you start your day. In this hazy mood you open your bedroom door and..........OMG!!!! Your house has been trashed.......what happened????
WHAT HAPPENED????.....You forgot that your cute tiny house is now home to 30 dogs, cats, puppies and kittens / that's what happened!!!

As the heat hits you in a huge blast (yes, you also forgot that only your bedroom is air conditioned!) all your senses are suddenly overwhelmed.

Your favorite books have been ripped to shreds........the pictures on your walls are hanging at very strange angles.........the kitchen has been ransacked ..........the floor has overnight been recovered........in small (and not so small) brown piles of @@@@ and puddles of @@@@ and the flies!!! Dear Lord.....the flies!!! Where have they all come from? Have they been pick-picking at the mosquito netting overnight? Did they creep in and just lie in wait for that bedroom door to open and then in some masterminded united front all flap their wings and dive bomb at your face all at the same time......like some giant Mexican Wave???

The moral of this sorry tale of woe? There isn't one. When you have finished wielding your mop and bucket, when the litter trays have been emptied and refilled, when all are sleepy with their now full bellies and they look up at you with those big puppy dog and knowing kitty cat eyes, you know you would do it all over again. Just as well, because here comes another 'baby' in need!!!

Oh well........shall we go to the beach now? Shall we??? Oh no, for a moment there I forgot........there's another 60 (or more) 'babies' waiting to be seen to at the Shelter and a million more @@@@s to be picked up..........in the heat......the dust........the dirt.......and oh, Dear Lord.......
THE FLIES!!!!