Animal Magic

by Carolyn Press-McKenzie

  One day before filming I popped into the BBC’s preproduction office in Wellington and was called into one of the producers’ offices.

  ‘Carolyn, I just thought I’d let you know that I have had a call from a very angry woman.’

  My heart sank; this was sounding all too familiar.

  ‘She claims that you are an impostor and are trying to pass yourself off as her.’

  ‘Oooh,’ I said slowly as I tried to read the producer’s face. She had worked with my old boss before and I didn’t know if their relationship was a good one or if she was wise to her pattern of behaviour. This producer was also a very serious, but kind, lady.

  She let out an amused laugh. ‘All I can say is that I am thrilled it is you who I employed and who is sitting in front of me right now!’

  Thank goodness! Sabotage attempt number two failed. Crikey, I was going to have to grow a thick skin to be in this business.

  Finally we started filming. I had hired a few locals to assist me, who were family of the horse trainer. They were most definitely interesting characters, not at all what I expected or was used to. Halfway through the project I had already begun to suspect them of stealing from me. Then they conspired to walk out if I didn’t up the thousands of dollars that they were already being paid, and the worst part was they would take the horses with them. It was decided between me and the producer that blackmail was not acceptable and we let them walk. Luckily I had a dear friend up my sleeve who had just finished as a Ringwraith in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He was on set and being his usual capable and lovely self within a day. New horses were sourced and we quickly brought them up to speed. Problem solved.

  After that most of the shoot went to plan. The Basenjis’ performance as marauding camp dogs was marvellous; the hours I had put in the month before had been carefully followed through by the breeder, and the dogs were flawless. These former bird-killing dogs didn’t even look at the chooks pecking around their paws. On the day of his cameo, the tuatara was driven to the location, bodyguard in tow, and insured to the hilt—no different to a Hollywood star. He sat nicely on the rock I had so carefully chilled with an ice pack in an attempt to keep him and his metabolism slow and steady. As an extra precaution, I eyeballed all the producers and told them to lock down the set—we could not afford to lose this guy.

  The tarantula arrived in her click-clack container with her guardian from the university and was a great hit among the actors and crew, and little Gerber the parrot, who I named after the pocket knife that all the cool gaffers had on set, was loving all of the interaction and attention behind the scenes.

  But overall this big-budget and high-pressure movie did not come without its problems. I remember arriving on set one morning to hear that the prosthetics trailer had caught on fire and a lot of the valuable ape costumes had been destroyed. It was a devastating blow for the film, and the production team quickly went into damage control in a professional and calm manner.

  But that was not all they had to deal with. At about the same time, we had gone into the Nile River valley to film a cutaway, a one- to two-second transition shot, of the monkey I had hired . . . and would you believe it, he ran away!

  We set up the shot, with Tuku’s handler standing by to release him into a tree branch overhanging a creek. I had briefed the crew to be quiet and considerate while the handler communicated with her monkey. I stood back on the bank watching, unable to help as I didn’t have a relationship with the gorgeous little creature. And as little Tuku was let go and the filming commenced he chattered and played in the branch as though he had not a care in the world. But when the scene was over and the handler asked Tuku to return to her shoulder, he ignored her. The crew stood by patiently at first and waited for the cue to move on to the next scene. But the monkey remained in the tree, and the director got impatient, calling for the next scene to be shot despite the little primate not yet being secured. I felt helpless as I saw Tuku jump into the boughs of another tree and then out of our sight. The handler and I made a desperate dash to follow, but he was gone.

  Oh God, it was my worst nightmare. I was beside myself with guilt, worry and panic. This was definitely a career low. The thing that struck me the most was that I seemed to be the only one who was really and truly rocked by the missing monkey. For the others it was inconvenient and obviously not a desirable outcome but as it didn’t slow production, no real harm was done. The joke on set was that they were going to change the name of the movie to The Lost Monkey. I wasn’t in trouble legally because I had not trained the monkey myself and had no relationship with him. And in the weeks that preceded the filming I had been smart enough to ask the monkey’s trainer to sign a waiver assuming all responsibility for the monkey’s safety. But morally I felt awful. I was head of the animal department and ultimately I felt the buck did stop with me.

  The trainer was quickly given a nice payout for her troubles after she pointed out rather forcefully that when the monkey took for the bushes the crew did not stop rolling, but continued to film the next scene and a rather noisy one at that. And I think she was right; we had a small window to coax Tuku back, but the focused director pushed on without a moment’s hesitation. So, cashed up and monkeyless, the trainer headed back home to the little zoo she already had for sale. I couldn’t help wondering if releasing a monkey into the stunning wilds of the Nile Valley, although definitely by accident, wasn’t a nice resolution to her pending retirement.

  It was at least four days before I was needed back on set and I had stayed up all night writing a long-winded step-by-step account of what led up to the monkey breach for the powers-that-be at MAF. So as soon as the sun started to rise, with the blessing of the producer, I set about hiring a tracker. Jack was the real deal, an amazing cross between an Aussie Outbacker and an authentic Kiwi West Coaster. He had spent years abroad in Australia learning the art of tracking from Aboriginal tribesmen, and he just happened to be in the area and available for hire.

  With Gerber settled as usual on my shoulder, I set off with Jack into the bush. Putting aside my anguish and concern for Tuku, I stopped for a moment to take in the environment. It was breathtaking. The bush was so plush; layer upon layer of native vines draped and fell among the tall, strong magnificent trees with dense shrubs and ferns nestled at their feet guiding us along the leaf-littered paths. It was heaven on earth, and I could only hope that Tuku felt the same and that he had adventure not fear on his mind. As we worked our way into the bush the tracker looked at every branch and stone with expert precision. He would stop every once in a while to show me the tricks he’d learnt in the Outback. He’d snap a sweet nut from the centre of a ponga fern to assure me that there would be abundant food here for Tuku, and Gerber would happily accept the find as her own.

  Jack was right; there were plenty of nuts and berries, and small animals and insects for Tuku to feed on and I was confident that his natural instincts would have most certainly kicked into action. What did worry me though was the cold; the night air was so crisp and Tuku was used to sharing his bed with the other monkeys at his zoo. As we walked some more the tracker explained that we were getting close to a river and that open beaches of sand can be ideal in showing up telltale footprints. As we reached the clearing I could hardly believe my eyes. There in the soft sand on the banks of the river was a little set of footprints weaving in a zigzag to the water’s edge. I just stood there in amazed silence for a while, feeling just a little of the pressure that had built inside me release.

  I wondered out loud, ‘Why is he zigzagging?’

  Jack, who had one knee in the sand by the little prints and his arm resting on the other, turned and looked up at me, his eyes smiling from under his wide-brimmed hat.

  ‘Because he’s been playing,’ he said simply.

  I looked closer at the small tracks in the sand, searching for some sense, and there, intermingling with the first, was a second set of tracks, but these ones were the tiny imprints of a cloven hoof. The tracker n
odded as he saw the recognition on my face and in his Aussie-Kiwi twang confirmed my excitement. Tuku had found a kid goat to play with. The monkey had spent a cold night in the wild but he was alive and he had a friend.

  After searching the area extensively and not finding any more clues the tracker made his apologies and went back to his business. However, I was determined to cover all the bases. The sound department had done me a huge favour, and while I was in the bush they found the time to drive to the zoo and make a recording of Tuku’s monkey troop calling that evening. So with Gerber on my shoulder again and a battery-powered amplifier under one arm and a cat-trap under the other, I headed back into the rain forest to try again.

  It was a very surreal experience sitting in the most dense and lush bush, playing with a beautiful little parrot and listening to the haunting call of a monkey troop blasting from an amplifier. I must have sat and waited for hours. In my mind I hadn’t quite planned it all out. My mission was clear enough but there were some tricky aspects, such as how I was going to actually convince Tuku to go into the trap and how I was going to keep Gerber from becoming a monkey snack if Tuku did indeed turn up. Well, first things first. Just seeing or hearing him would at least be a good starting point and the rest I was sure I would work out.

  Several more hours passed and nothing, just the roaring of cicadas under the rich green light-speckled canopy. I thought it was probably time I should call it a day and be getting back. As I bent to pick up Gerber from a little twig, leaf and apple climbing frame I had built her, I heard a noise behind me. As I spun around in fright I saw a figure appear from the bushes. It was a man. He was just standing and staring, completely transfixed. He didn’t look right, in fact he looked disturbingly not normal. I stood rigid, not really knowing what to do. ‘Hello,’ I said, going with the if-in-doubt-be-polite philosophy that my mum had taught me. He didn’t respond, just continued to stare. I could feel myself starting to panic; I was deep in the bush, literally no one for miles and this man was really starting to seem more than a little sinister. My mind was racing through several scenarios when I was suddenly jolted back into the present.

  ‘Carolyn, how are you getting on?’ a voice boomed from the other side of me.

  The scary man turned in one swift movement and was gone, while out of the shadows stepped the tracker.

  ‘I was a little worried about you out here all alone, so I just thought I’d check in.’

  I seriously have never been so relieved to see a familiar face in all my life.

  It turned out the man in the bush was familiar to the locals. He was mentally disabled and would often wander off on his own. Although he was known to act oddly he had never harmed anyone. I turned down the tracker’s offer to take me to dinner as I got the feeling that wives were hard to come by in his part of town. And as kind and helpful as he was, that was taking my gratitude a little too far.

  To this day I am still devastated that I couldn’t find Tuku. But despite the opinions of many who say he would have died from the cold, I remember the bounty of the bush, the food and the companionship available to Tuku and I still hold out hope that he had his happy ever after, living the life of a wild animal without the confines of a chainlink enclosure, just the way a monkey is meant to.

  Back at the bus, things had not quite gone to plan. My sitter had broken up with the boyfriend I never knew she had, and had bailed on her agreement to stay and care for my animals after just the first week. Despite my checking in with my mum and best friend Vicky the vet while I was on the road, they had never let on that between them they were taking turns at feeding and caring for my crew. And when I returned it was clear that they had done such a selfless and amazing job.

  Unfortunately at that time Leroy Brown, one of the rats, disappeared. I looked for him high and low but to no avail, and I accepted with remorse the fact that as so much time had passed he would be long gone.

  A few weeks after I had arrived back from my travels I needed to get something out of the old dark and dirty shed that I had stacked with the bits and pieces that didn’t fit in my bus. As I pulled up the rickety roller door, what transpired was like a scene from a horror movie. I casually stood in the doorway of the shed with the sun on my back, allowing my eyes time to adjust to the darkness. Suddenly a small object came flying towards me, projectiling at a rate of knots. As it hit my chest I braced myself, waiting for the pain that I thought was inevitable. But instead the object scurried up onto my shoulder and burrowed into my hair. I was on the verge of screaming and launching into a full-blown arm-flapping fit, when I suddenly realised who my attacker was. It was Leroy Brown the rat, who had somehow found his way into the shed. He was in absolute raptures to see me. It was such an unbelievable moment. A little one-year-old rat who I had rescued as a youngster had such a strong connection with me that even after seven weeks living it hard he knew my voice, my shape and my form. He knew he was safe in my hair and it would seem he had desperately missed me. Once again I was speechless and bewildered. I knew my feelings for Leroy were strong. But until that moment I had never truly understood what an amazing, loving, intelligent and completely underestimated creature a rat is.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jim, and a new home

  I was loving life. I worked hard and, although I have never been a drinker or done drugs, I played hard, mostly dancing all night with my single friends.

  But my married friends, who barely ever saw me any more, were starting to worry that I was turning into one of those self-important stuck-up movie types, spoilt and self-indulgent. Thinking they had the right single man to save me from myself they introduced me to Jim.

  Our first date went okay. Jim was nice enough but it was really clear to me that he was still rocked after his first and only love, his schoolteacher wife, had run off with a parent of a student just a year earlier. She initially left him in sole charge of their two-year-old and six-year-old but they were now working with a week on, week off custody arrangement.

  On the second date he was bringing his kids to visit the animals and have lunch on my bus. Leah was cute as a button. The forthright three-year-old strode straight up to me in her shiny new red gumboots and in a big booming voice asked, ‘What’s for me?’ Slightly taken aback I offered her the bunch of flowers sitting on my kitchen bench and she nodded with approval. Seven-year-old Shaun seemed less demanding, but he transfixed me with his laid-back cheeky smile the moment he leapt up the clunky big steps. I had never entertained a man and his young children before and I really wasn’t sure what would be considered cool.

  There was an air of desperation about Jim, not desperate as in wanting to impress me, but more like he was desperate to make his family whole, or happy, or maybe both. So I decided to put my own terror and inexperience with children to one side and try even harder to give them a special day. The naughtiness in me wanted to give Shaun and Leah a special memory with Dad that their mum couldn’t beat. Jim looked like he needed a win.

  So I went to my bench and placed a box down in front of the kids.

  ‘This just arrived in the mail. It has come special delivery for my work,’ I said.

  They looked puzzled as I carefully opened the box and lifted out a Chinese takeaway container.

  ‘Can you guess what’s in here?’

  Leah and Shaun shook their heads with anticipation—they could tell it was going to be something good. Their eyes widened when I explained to them that I needed this special item for a scene we were filming the next day, but then I would have to post the package straight back to scientists in Auckland so the special item could go back to its family in a laboratory.

  I slowly lifted the lid and inside was the hugest Avondale spider you could ever imagine.

  ‘Woooooow’ was the reaction from Shaun, Leah wiggled with squeals of horror and delight, and Jim just looked happy.

  We all took turns holding the spider carefully and I told them how you can’t really train a spider like an animal, but there are ways you
can manoeuvre them during a scene. For instance, by gently blowing through a straw from behind them you can get them to walk forward and by smearing Vaseline across an actor’s arm, a barrier they won’t cross over, you can get them to stop where you want.

  The spider was a hit and the gorgeous little family seemed to forget their troubles for a while. We went outside to groom the motley crew and have pony rides on Drum, the world’s biggest horse. Then we sat down to lunch, chatted and laughed. We talked about what the kids loved to do and how much they loved their Grandma Carly. But there was still a sadness bearing down on them. It seemed to me there was a piece missing and I wasn’t sure I was ready or even the one to fill the gap. I gave them all a hug and waved them on their way.

  My parting words to Jim were: ‘Go and experience life, have some fun, then call me.’

  One morning Felix didn’t fly down to help me with my chores; he just sat on a branch of the biggest macrocapa tree and watched me. He also didn’t come to bed that night. I could hear his cheeky song and could sense that he was happy, so I decided not to panic, just to breathe and wait and see if my special boy was finally submitting to the call of the wild. I had had Felix in my life for more than the expected year and had been bracing myself for this up-and-coming reality, as by nature’s clock it would surely soon be time for him to fly the coop. Other magpies had started to visit and swoop around the property, and while there was never any animosity between them and Felix, he had always remained close at my side and watched them with wide eyes.