Animal Castles
For these pampered chickens and horses and one spoiled pot-bellied pig, living with humans means home, sweet home.
By Vivian Savitt
The habitats described here coalesce around a desire to provide the best environment possible for the creatures with whom we share our lives. Whether fashioned on a grand or modest scale, the "structures" we create for our animal companions reveal anthropomorphized feelings regarding security, beyond the guidelines offered in animal-care manuals. No matter how disparate the lifestyle or income of the owners may be, their animal castles stand as expressions of the human capacity to care.
Coop de Ville
"Most of us need the eggs."
—Woody Allen's final
line in Annie
Hall
At age 74, Walter Leveen readily says what's on his mind, which includes the joy of retirement in Silver City and his fondness for gardening and animals.
"Chickens are dumb, and cannibalistic if they smell blood on other fowl, but their eggs are outstanding, and they're inexpensive and easy to keep. I eat one fresh egg a day preceding my dose of Crestor," Leveen announces as he strides briskly along the landscaped trails of the property that he shares with his wife, Penny. Looking tan and fit, no one would believe that Leveen must watch his cholesterol.
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Walter Leveen's landscaped chicken
coop. |
His tour is interspersed with wildlife anecdotes—the bobcat spied lounging in clover next to the house; elk on the ridge returning to Fort Bayard; nearly constant sightings of quail and deer; javelina caught digging for grubs.
A vegetable garden entirely protected by screening grows near the main residence. In its summer prime, the garden boasts towering runner beans budding with scarlet flowers, a tangle of squash blossoms, and assorted herbs growing in a euphoric hodgepodge. "Chicken fertilizer really works," Leveen exclaims.
Then suddenly, to the side of the garden, your eye catches a flowing, curvilinear fusion of igloo and egg: Leveen's chicken coop, home to the donors of his golden-hued eggs—11 Buff Orpington laying hens.
The odd and witty form is the design of Doug Lacy/Spiritpath Designs. Working sporadically, construction took Lacy, with some help from Leveen, about four weeks to complete. Lacy used lightweight insulating ferro cement, the "parabolic stress skin construction process for artistic homes" (see the June 2006 Desert Exposure). The coop's walls are seven inches thick; a window tops the roof for ventilation.
"I want my chickens to enjoy life," says Leveen, "and I felt that they would need a substantial structure for the winter in Silver City. At my insistence we added electricity, but I've never used it.
"I prefer that the chickens have free range, but they got into the garden and ate everything," he laments. "Now they have 350 square feet of run on the side of the coop, in an area enclosed by cedar posts and chicken wire. Wire mesh sunk into the base of the enclosure, then covered with rocks, keeps predators away. The hens can go outside in winter unless the weather is too active."
None of the flock appears skittish when humans approach. Their thick golden plumage is truly striking. Buff Orpingtons were introduced into the US from England in the 1880s. The breed is considered friendly and "of quiet disposition."
"They have to be watched so they don't eat each other's eggs or their own, " Leveen warns. Apple vinegar in water helps prevent egg eating among the brood. Setting wooden eggs in the nests also helps manage the problem.
If trouble does occur, the coop has one door for Leveen and another for the hens. Inside are a series of raised roosting niches that can be viewed through the larger door's oval glass openings and from a side wall. Perhaps the ovate shapes subliminally motivate the hens toward egg perfection.
This aspiration is aided by friends who contribute grass clippings that the chickens eat along with alfalfa and kitchen scraps. Leveen says it's alfalfa that gives the egg yolks a special orangey-red coloration often seen in organic eggs.
Good producers, his Buff Orpingtons lay six to seven eggs daily. In the spring and fall, the yield increases to nine or 10. Leveen gives away a lot of eggs and also uses them for bartering. The aesthetics of the chicken coop, plus Leveen's conscientiousness, apparently make his Orpingtons cluck with glee.
A Kingdom for My Horses
"Horse, thou are truly a creature without equal, for thou flyeth without wings and conquereth without sword."
—saying from the Koran framed
in Leslie Millner's home
Leslie Millner's 10 acres in the Burro Mountains are a shimmering spread of blue gramma pastures that provide natural fodder for her five horses. The horse barn, a 3,000-square-foot equine hacienda constructed of adobe and pine, stands among juniper, pinon and scrub oak. Millner designed and built most of the barn by herself, a hugely ambitious project based upon a dream germinated in childhood.
This idyllic melding of stables and land makes up LSM Equines, a one-woman enterprise focused on raising and selling thoroughbred race horses, as well Arabians for endurance and show riding.
Growing up in the posh Maryland horse country of northern Baltimore County, Millner was taught to ride by her mother. As young children, she and her sister rode their own ponies. Eventually, Millner took on hunters and jumpers as a professional rider. But until she became a psychiatric registered nurse, Millner worked in other people's barns, breaking and training horses in top farms across the country.
"I thought about the design of my barn for a long time and read everything I could on the subject," she says. "I had never built anything before in my life and conceived of the project as a piece of art on a huge scale."
With a shovel in hand, Millner started digging the barn's foundation. The timber frames were notched, pegged and chiseled together by a skilled craftsman. They were then hoisted into place with the generous help of a neighbor's crane.
Millner recalls, "It was a blustery, cold day and we drank mugs of cocoa to stay warm. The whole experience reminded me of an old-fashioned barn raising."
The next step was laying 3,000 adobe bricks made by Mule Creek Adobe; she also mixed the mortar herself on site.
The metal roof went up with Millner working solo to get the under-layer of particle board in place. This particular challenge included jostling ropes and accelerating her truck to the breakdown point in order to catapult the boards onto the roof.
Next, solar windows were installed on the southern side of the barn. Today, they do a fine job of warming the barn and preventing the water troughs from freezing. The stall doors were hung last fall. Millner fashioned stall pulls out of deer horns found on her property. And in the tack room, she designed juniper-wood pegs for bridle hangers.
Other features simply make the horses more comfortable and secure—plastic water bags hang from the ceiling creating a prismatic light show that helps keep flies away, a mirror in each stall that helps avert loneliness. Flower baskets hang outside the stalls. An Internet camera system allows Millner to observe her charges whenever she's away.
"If we are going to keep them fenced in," Millner says, "we have to provide for their comfort. Being so open and airy, this barn allows my horses to watch each other, an important consideration for herd animals. Like most horses, mine prefer the secure shelter of the barn to being outside in the pasture."
The foaling stall, designed for maximum privacy, was used nine months ago when Millner's thoroughbred brood mare, Apadana, gave birth to Pretty Princess. Once mother and foal had an opportunity to bond, Millner entered the stall to begin "imprint training."
Imprinting includes several techniques to prepare foals for a smoother transition into domestication and human handling. With repetitive manipulation of the foal's ears, mouth and hooves, the foal learns more easily to be handled without resistance.
"It's amazing how intensely mother horses dote on their foals," she says. "Even now, with Princess on the verge of being weaned, Apadana appears steadfast about her whereabouts and safety."
Princess, a graceful dark bay, boasts a charming, asymmetrical white blaze on her face that resembles a turkey. Already, Princess displays the thoroughbred's instinct of wanting to lead, to be first. Millner admits, "This characteristic gives me chills because it's not taught—it's an innate desire that Princess has inherited through her bloodline.
"My breeding focus," she continues, "is on horses that can run fast for a mile and a half. Princess possesses the bloodline to accomplish this. Horse racing is huge in New Mexico now. Sunland Park, with its one-mile track, is a preparatory race for the Kentucky Derby. Zia Park in Hobbs is the newest track in the country and awards a one-day purse of a million dollars."
Until then, Princess happily awaits her future while throwing basketballs over the corral fence, eating carrot candy called "pony pops," and watching deer—a pastime that all of Millner's horses find totally engrossing.
For Millner, whose horses are the focus of her life, hours of operation at LSM Equine begin at 5 a.m., following her requisite cup of coffee before feeding and grooming duties. Next, the stalls are cleaned, followed by intervals of training or exercising the horses in the round pen or larger arena.
This schedule is rarely flexible since horses thrive on routine and structure. Nonetheless, the unexpected does happen. Last month, Millner learned that Finneila, her Arabian race horse, was pregnant—after a planned roll in the hay with "Fred Astaire" of Foothills Arabians. And Box Office Appeal, a granddaughter of Secretariat, continues to heal slowly after an unfortunate back injury that happened the same day Princess was born. The injury, in fact, caused "Boxy" to lose her own foal 10 days later.
Under a rule in thoroughbred horse breeding called "live coverage," mares must be taken to the site where the stallion is for conception to occur. This is an elitist, old-school, jockey-club dictum that prohibits artificial insemination.
On the days that Millner works 12-hour shifts in the mental-health unit at Gila Regional Medical Center, her day starts at 4 a.m. This necessitates that a neighbor come in to babysit her brood and ensure they're fed lunch.
Relentlessly energetic, Millner takes her schedule in stride. "I'm happy and know now that dreams do come true," she says. "I've achieved what is right for me and my horses. Selling them is really hard, but I make sure that they'll have big pastures to run in and a nice, cozy barn."
My Home Is My Castle
". . . and this little piggy stayed home."
—children's nursery rhyme
Cupid, a male Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, resides in Silver City's fashionable Historic District, where he cohabitates with Janet and Thew Wright, their son Max Baymiller, six cats and two dogs. The family wouldn't dream of raising Cupid in a sty.
The coddled swine often awakens to the sound of a commode flushing, upon which he eases out of a sleeping bag on the living-room sofa and begins his day. As long as someone is at home, Cupid enjoys the run of the house. This is fine with the Wrights, now that he's house trained.
Any healthy sow would think Cupid's a hunk, measuring 14 inches from floor to shoulder and weighing a buff 70 pounds. Albrecht Durer might have commemorated his features in a woodcut: tasseled tail, deep folds at the knees, creases encircling his ribcage, delicate hooves, and hair bristles that shine silver in the sun. Cupid's flat snout dominates his face, balanced by patrician jowls, upright ears and expressive black eyes. To be sure, Cupid's heraldic profile is fit for a Roman coin.
Life as a pig is unabashedly foodcentric. Until breakfast is served, Cupid scours the household, room to room, grunting for discarded snacks: an apple core ineptly hidden in a napkin, raisins left scattered on the TV table, and the highly prized open trash bin. At the master bedroom, he snorts a demand for sustenance and rouses Janet Wright from sleep. Nudging is also in order.
Cupid is allowed one-fourth cup of pig food per day, as well as garden weeds, fruits and vegetables. Obesity among pot-bellied pigs is considered dangerous, so pigging-out is discouraged. Table food is a no-no, but popcorn or dog biscuits are often used as behavioral bribes. And the Wrights' neighbors applaud Cupid's ability to denude Siberian elms.
After breakfast, Janet plays Cupid's favorite CD, "Lady Soul." Aretha Franklin and Cupid really connect. He not only swings hips and tail to the beat, but also sings. This sight occurs with a tad less enthusiasm when Thew Wright plays the piano. But after listening to Aretha, Cupid's prepared to carpe diem.
Cupid is clean, intelligent, communicative, sociable, bossy, moody and, well, pigheaded. On top of this, his sun sign is Leo. When he's feeling vengeful—which happens when food is desired, but denied—Cupid's squeals soar into the higher octave range. In fact, the Wrights are amazed not only by the pig's wide vocabulary of squeals, grunts, snorts, whines and coos, but also by how perfectly his sounds suit the situation.
When the little porker unexpectedly gnaws at this reporter's note pad, the Wrights assure me that Cupid has deemed my writing food for thought. (That's better than hogwash, I tell myself.)
Afternoon brings opportunities for Cupid to stroll to Penny Park, splash in his wading pool, or wallow in the mud. He has several play toys including a skateboard, rubber piano and a rolling cylinder. Although the Wrights' dogs are pig phobic, the cats adore their swinely roommate.
By evening, Cupid winds down, appears more contemplative and likes to cuddle. "He loves to be loved," Janet says. "His sweetest sounds come after I kiss him goodnight, a trill of coos that say Cupid's my valentine."
For more information on Doug Lacy/Spiritpath Designs,
email douglacy77@ hotmail.com.
Silver City writer Vivian Savitt has written for publications including The Walking Magazine and Texas Monthly, and worked as a researcher for the CBS News TV program "60 Minutes."