Amy in the Garden

I look forward to enlarging my life through animals. I once actively planned to raise alpacas, but the economy took care of that dream. I have scaled back my ambitions, and will attend a workshop this Sunday on raising goats, chickens, and honeybees in my backyard. My husband is enthusiastic about raising goats, and my children are not enthusiastic about any of the three prospects. My neighbor is enthusiastic about raising chickens, and his wife? Not so much. Could my neighbor and I manage to raise clandestine chickens? Now there’s a thought.

E.B. White did not include chickens, goats, or honeybees in “Charlotte’s Web.” The book is perfect and certainly doesn’t need additional characters, but I suspect he made his choices because he found geese more personable than chickens, and a sheep’s personality more convenient to storytelling than a goat’s. (Can you imagine a sour goat? Naaaah, that part is perfect for an elderly ewe.)

I’m interested in raising honeybees because I am concerned about their decline. In the years I have been gardening, I’ve noticed an alarming drop-off in their population in my flower beds. I have plenty of bumblebees and wasps, but this year, I literally counted only three honeybees.

I would love to raise goats because they strike me as cheerful, and I cannot get enough cheer. I also would welcome the challenge they present: I understand that goats are intelligent and regularly “challenge” their enclosures, finding all kinds of clever ways to break free. I admire that. My late-beagle was much smarter than I, regularly confounding me in her relentless search for food. She climbed a step-stool to eat NINE just-cooked boneless chicken thighs from the dish on the counter, and opened cupboards. She defeated the trashcan marketed as “wolf-proof” by pulling the lock off with her teeth, and she stole plastic sleeves of Girl Scout cookies and hid them underneath my daughter’s pillow reasoning, correctly, that it would be the LAST place I’d look for stolen cookies. I always suspected that the moment we walked out of the house, her paws turned into a pick-pocket’s nimble fingers, and I regret not having installed a beagle-cam.

I love smart animals. I think they make life so much more interesting. So yes, I’d love to have goats, and figure out how to keep them where I want them.

Most people are unkind when they talk about raising chickens. Chickens are described to me, by people who have raised them, as dirty and dumb. And yet, the wonderful Kathy Stevens, Director of the Catskill Animal Sanctuary in Saugerties, NY (and this is a place truly worth knowing about), describes interactions with her rescued chickens that I find fascinating. She wrote about her encounter with Paulie, a rooster that was surrendered to her because he was violent and so was unwanted. She brought him to her sanctuary, and approached him quietly, as she does all abused and frightened animals. In her book “Where the Blind Horse Sings,” she writes:

“Beneath the fluff of shiny feathers, Paulie was a thin little thing. I hugged him to my belly with my left hand over his wing. How relaxed he was! I slid the thumb and index finger of my right hand under his feathers until I found his tiny neck, which I massaged until, about a minute later, the killer rooster was sound asleep, his tiny head resting in the palm of my hand.”

Now, have you ever considered giving a chicken a neck massage?! And yet, the idea of cradling a small feathered body, and caressing the little neck until the bird relaxes and sleeps is, to me, charming.

I’d like to raise Buff Orpingtons, because their color is described as “the color of a gold watch,” and their thick feathers allow them to weather bitter winters. That’s my kind of bird, and one I’d like to welcome up on my lap for a cuddle.

I will report back on my experience at Ryder Farm in Brewster, NY, this weekend, as I learn in 2 hours if any of these creatures will be a part of my life someday. I cannot wait to learn.

WORDS FROM OTHERS

Wilbur burst into tears. “I don’t want to die,” he moaned. “I want to stay alive, right here in my comfortable manure pile with all my friends. I want to breathe the beautiful air and lie in the beautiful sun.”

“You’re certainly making a beautiful noise,” snapped the old sheep.

— E.B. White, “Charlotte’s Web”