Hi, I’m Jenni. Here’s a little bit about how I got here. It’s a long and winding road – buckle in. I’ll try not to ramble.
I grew up in Washington, Missouri. Population: small enough that leaving felt like the only logical next step.
I left the day after graduation. No plan, no hesitation, just a suitcase and the absolute certainty that there was something else out there and I was going to go find it.
Myrtle Beach
From 22 to 29 I lived in Myrtle Beach, and I want to be very clear about this: those were some of the best years of my life. I made lifelong friends. I laughed constantly. I lived fully and freely and without apology. I have zero regrets about any of it.
That’s also where I got Daphne.
Daphne was some kind of herding mix — probably part Australian Shepherd — and she was, without question, smarter than me. We lived right across the street from the beach, and she used to herd small children out of the water if their parents weren’t paying close enough attention. Nobody asked her to do this. She just decided it was her job and she was going to do it.
We took so many road trips together. Mustang convertible, top down, Daphne in my lap. I was young and a little dumb, and she was the most reliable thing in my life. She moved with me to Colorado. She moved with me to North Carolina. She was with me through all of it — eighteen years of all of it. I lost her about fourteen years ago and I still feel it.
Dogs have always been my constant. Daphne was the first one who really showed me that.
Eventually I decided it was time to grow up. So I closed my eyes and picked a spot on the map. Colorado. Okay. Let’s go! (God – to have that level of trust in the universe again – I miss it!)
The Winding Road
I went to vet tech school in Colorado. Made the Dean’s List. Worked as a vet tech for seven years, then shifted into cancer research while finishing by Bachelor’s degree. I was building something. It felt good.
Then, at 34, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Shattered doesn’t quite cover it, but it’s the closest word I have. What I can tell you is what that time showed me: people are good. genuinely, surprisingly, overwhelmingly good. I learned how loved I was. I learned that when people say “let me know if you need anything,” a lot of them actually mean it. I learned that the right people will show up for you in ways you didn’t know to ask for.
I have to say something here about my best friend Liz Neil, who was with me every second — before, during, and after. She had my back completely, unconditionally, without being asked. Everyone needs a Liz. I am forever grateful for her. I wish I had been better about keeping in touch, because I will always love her. Always. Keeping in touch with people has never been my strong suit. Not because I don’t care. I care very deeply. I think some of it is time blindness, some of it is busy-ness, some of it is ADHD. I spend a lot of time pondering, lost in thoughts and ideas – an internal landscape that feels difficult to escape. I suck at keeping in touch, but I want to be better. If any neuro-spicy people out there have ideas, please let me know. I need the help!
Anyways – I finished school through multiple surgeries and rounds of chemo. Moved to North Carolina the next day.
That’s who I am. I keep moving. Or, at least that’s how I used to be. These days I’m much more grounded, not afraid to plant roots and dig in. Growth feels good.
Jenni Makes Things
During treatment, my friend Jenny came to visit. Before the trip, she called my best friend Rikki, nervous about how to show up for me, what to say, how to help.
Rikki told her: “Jenni makes things. Bring her some crafts. You’ll be fine.”
She did. We made photo albums and other things I can’t fully remember but completely cherish, and it was exactly right at the time.
Here’s the thing — Rikki wasn’t wrong, and she wasn’t just talking about that visit. I have always been a maker. In my twenties I’d have groups of friends over and we’d make group art projects together. I stayed up late doing puzzles. I made incense burners that looked like turntables. I made hemp necklaces for myself, my friends, my dogs. I made candles. I made baby blankets. If there was something to make, I was making it.
My ex-boyfriend used to call it “flavor of the week.” He was right. I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, which explained basically everything about my entire life up to that point. I’m a hobby hoe — ADHD edition. I’d dive in completely, ride the dopamine wave, get bored when it leveled off, and move on to the next thing. Nothing ever really stuck.
Until this.
I have never been bored with making collars for a single second. Not when I was teaching myself. Not when I was failing. Not now. It has all the right ingredients — creativity, problem-solving, dogs, pretty colors, the specific satisfaction of making something beautiful with my hands, and the excitement my clients express when something arrives that was made specifically for their dog.
That feeling never gets old. And it grounds me in a way that nothing else ever has. If you’re interested, you can learn more about how I started making collars here.
Fostering
After I lost my sweet little loves JiJi and Dalai, I started fostering. It was the right thing to do with the love I had to give and the space I had to give it in.
Loki, it turns out, is an extraordinary foster brother. He loves puppies with his whole heart — which, if you know anything about his personality, makes complete sense. He goes all in on everything. Why would puppies be any different?
I fostered for a couple of years, until CCC started taking shape. At some point I had to be honest with myself about balance — about what my dogs needed from me, and what I needed to be able to show up for them and for this business. Fostering will always be part of who I am. It’s just not where I am right now.
How I Got Here
I’ve been in North Carolina ever since I moved here. I just completed my MBA in January — something I started because I knew I had a real business on my hands and I wanted to understand it properly. Leadership, strategy, operations. It turns out making beautiful things and running a sustainable business are two different skill sets, and I wanted both.
There’s more to that story — how a pittie puppy named Loki inspired my first Biothane® collar, how a rescue dog named Delilah demanded rhinestones, how a foster fail named Cora became the name on the door. Those stories are coming when I tell you more about my pack.
But first I wanted you to know me. The whole, winding, chaotic, craft-covered version of me.
I’m really glad you’re here. 🐾 Thank you for listening to my story, and thank you for supporting my small business. I hope you know how much it means to me.
