Returning from holiday, I was flicking through the back copies of the paper I had missed, when I came upon a page featuring cats and dogs which are looking for a home. I always read these, even though I know we don't have a need for another pet, having already got a spare one in reserve (see previous columns) but they're irresistible. Animal shelters are always on the look out for homes for stray or abandoned pets, and advertising, especially with poignant pictures of little hopeful pussy or doggy faces peering out of the page, seems to work well. This one was from Gables Farm dogs and cats home and featured 12 animals in need of new homes. What struck me was the absolutely honest description of each pet which accompanied his or her photograph. No punches were pulled. If Fido had a tendency to eat kittens for breakfast, it was down there in black and white. It hasn't always been so in my experience. Many years ago, before I moved to Cornwall, I lived in Sussex and had quite a lot to do with a newly- opened animal shelter, or cat and dog home as it was more generally known then. The paper I was working for at the time did a couple of features and we then ran a regular monthly column with pictures of pets needing homes. And quite successful it was too. I got to know the two ladies who ran the place well. They put a huge amount of their time, effort and money into the venture and were both, if slightly dotty, totally dedicated to finding homes and looking after abandoned animals. They didn't just have cats and dogs, there were rabbits, guinea pigs, the odd exotic reptile, lots of birds and once, even a small crocodile. This had been left on the doorstep in a box with a note saying 'sorry, he bit the missus'. The ladies, realising they might have a slight difficulty in re-homing a wife-biting croc, passed him on to the nearest zoo! This was possibly the only time they admitted defeat because they both had the absolute belief in the inherent goodness of all animals who, in their opinion, could do no wrong. They were a bit like mothers of dreadful children who absolutely refuse to believe that their little darling could ever do anything remotely anti-social. Their Jason wouldn't hurt a fly, they say, failing to recognise that Jason has now moved on from flies to terrorising every other child in the playgroup and is now starting on the teachers. It was a same with the ladies. Every pussy and doggie who came under their care was, as far as they were concerned, sweet, gentle, good with children, wouldn't hurt a fly and had never been known to sink their molars into anything other than dog or cat food. When we came to writing the descriptions of the animals which needed a home they would produce glowing references for the paragons of virtue we were to feature that week, even if one was called Fang and had already attempted to eat the photographer's camera and another was a furious bundle of spit and hiss who was obviously not going to be 'good with children'. A friend of mine, on my recommendation, went to view the place with her husband and daughters, in order to find a dog. They fell for a lovely collie cross who seemed ideal, and was, according to the ladies, 'a splendid handsome fellow who loved children, other pets and had a sweet, loving nature'. Flies, it went without saying, were his bosom buddies. And so it seemed, until the husband tried to usher the animal into the back of the car and the sweet handsome old thing suddenly turned into snarling monster who aimed low and hard, and had to be pulled off his hapless new daddy. Returning to the office with the dog, they told the ladies what had happened and one of them said: 'Oh, he hates men, he's probably had some bad experiences with them.' The other one said: 'I expect he'll get used to you in the end.' My friend's husband, thinking no doubt that he'd have to wear asbestos underpants and a flak jacket for the foreseeable future, told the ladies that sadly they would have to re-home their short-lived pet again. The dear ladies probably went on to re-home the man hater, hopefully to a nunnery, but were oblivious to the faults of any of their residents. During the time we ran these features I never once heard them saying anything off-putting about any of the animals, they loved every slavering creature in their care. Don't get me wrong. I had a huge admiration for the ladies, who did so much good and re-homed so many pets. But I did think it was a mistake not to tell people the truth about their charges, because it often meant that animals were returned or worse, abandoned again. That's why it was refreshing to read Gables Farm's little biographies of their animals. Vegas, a mongrel, is intolerant of young children but likes other dogs and bigger people. Sally, a collie cross, is anxious and not suitable for children. Fizz guards her food and toys and would need an outside kennel and experienced owners. Clogs, a collie, grew up in kennels so is very stressed and needs a patient owner. He growls and bares his teeth when scared. It's fairly obvious that the staff take time to get to know their charges and find out their little foibles before handing them over. Much better than taking a lovely cuddly little animal home and finding it turns into a Tasmanian devil when confronted with a toddler or bites the hand which is about to feed it. I'm sure other animal rescue centres do the same too nowadays. If you want to get in touch with Gables call 01752 331602.