Farm Livin'

The Growing Herd: How I Went from 14 to 19 Animals in One Week

By Emily Esterson , 7-02-06

My husband has been on his usual June jaunt, when he gets in his 6-cylinder Honda sport coupe and hits the highways of the Southwest. I plan to go with him one of these years, but this wasn't it. I had several huge projects and deadlines to meet, so I sat in this very spot looking at my computer screen and looking out on my small farm.

My small farm with its growing population of animals. Scot said on the phone a few nights before he came home that he better get home fast or we'll have more animals. He knows me, and knows that without his voice of reason I could become a hoarder, a collector, one of those little old ladies in a purple hat with 15 dogs (all well cared for). Little did he know that during the time he was away our population increased from 14 to 19.

First, there is the apparently mother-less litter of four, three-week old kittens that appeared mysteriously in one of the horse stalls. The feral cat problem started with my three-legged indoor cat, Tripod, who was, five years ago, a four-legged feral cat. She had a litter of kittens. Then she hurt her leg and I caught her and brought her into the house, now spayed, minus a leg, and very affectionate. Her kittens eluded me, however, and from there the population exploded out of control.

Everyone loves kittens, but I admit that I'm now officially overwhelmed by the cat problem at our house. When I see a kitten (undoubtedly an orange kitten, a whole tribe of orange, blue-eyed kittens) I want to cry. It means a responsibility to catch and spay the cuties, or risk the kitten mulplier effect the following year. So that means Saturday nights in the barn with traps and tuna, and Sunday morning trips to Animal Humane where they do feral spay/neuter. I'd rather read the Sunday New York Times.

In addition to the feral cats, we've added a goat to our herd of one. Because my orphan filly was raised by our goat Petunia, they are bonded in an almost weird way. When I take Belle out of the pasture for training, Petunia trots (or leaps, or whatever it is that goats do) along with us. But now Belle is getting to the age where she needs to be worked and trained, and if she can't see Petunia she freaks out. So we added Hershey, a chocolate brown La Mancha goat so Petunia would (hopefully) trade her equine friend for a fellow caprine. So far it has not been a match made in heaven. Petunia butts Hershey (who's tiny, in comparison), and Hershey runs off. I like Hershey, and I hope after a few weeks they'll establish their herd order and all will be at peace.

I can't help but admit that there are days I curse my animal longings. Perhaps life would be simpler, without so much to care for, so many emotional vulnerabilities grazing in the pasture, if we lived in an apartment in New York or Boston or Denver. But when I say this, my husband reminds me that this is the life I chose, as a keeper of animals of all kinds, and even when I am overwhelmed and fantasize about an animal-free condo, with no fences to fix or hay harvests to worry about, it is only a fleeting fantasy. The only true mission I've had in life is animals, and most times I'm perfectly happy to stand in my barn and breathe in time to the herd.

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