When Animals are Characters

and not the usual ones

Animals, particularly cats and dogs, often appear in mysteries. Some of them help solve crimes like the Cat in the Stacks mysteries by Miranda James (last month, the 16th book in the series, Requiem for a Mouse was released) and Mrs. Murphy Mysteries co-authored by Rita Mae Brown and feline Sneaky Pie Brown.

In my book, Murder at Twin Beeches, I also have animals, though they’re a bit unusual — a herd of goats and a squirrel named Florence. They live at Louise Jenkins’s ancestral estate, Twin Beeches. They are not as domesticated as cats and dogs, although Florence does periodically visit Louise in her study.

The goats live at the estate and are part of my memories of visiting my maternal grandparents, both German immigrants. Their farm was the real Twin Beeches and, like the estate in my book, was named after conjoined beech trees at the base of the driveway.

My grandfather owned a 1940 Cadillac. When I was about seven, he drove my sister and me to the train station to pick up goats. I have a recollection of the train arriving and a smiling conductor carrying two baby goats to my grandfather.

The reality is that my sister Chris and I probably waited in the car while my grandfather retrieved the goats, who were likely in a crate. Perhaps my memory has a bit of fiction mixed in regarding the goat delivery, but I am certain that Chris and I held them on our laps on the way home. 

My grandfather named his goats, and my favorite was Rosewood. Chris and I taught her to turn in a circle on a tree stump. Her reward was a carrot. (Life was simpler back then.) 

Rosewood the goat at Twin Beeches

In Murder at Twin Beeches, Louise introduces a character, Carol Anne Jackson, to her herd of goats. Carol Anne is at a very low point in her life, but her spirits are lifted when she sees them:

“Goats!” squealed Carol Anne. She jumped up from the table and ran to them. “They’re LaMancha goats, aren’t they?”

“You know goats?” asked Louise.

 “My grandfather raised them. LaMancha and Saanens.” She scratched behind the ears of the first goat she reached. “I played with them as a child.”

“Well, meet my gang. That’s Freesia or maybe Hyacinth,” said Louise. “I’m still learning who’s who.”

Carol Anne laughed. “You’ll be able to tell them apart in no time. They have their own personalities and usually very nice dispositions.”

“As long as they’re not so nice that they let my son Elliott land his helicopter in the field.”

“He has a helicopter?”

“Yes, but I’m trying to convince him to take the train from New York like everyone else on the weekends. That helicopter is a ridiculous waste of money and not very ecologically friendly. The goats should work. He’s a softy at heart, so he won’t risk landing with goats in the field.”

Fiction isn’t necessarily completely fictitious. The goats in Louise’s field and some of the names and personalities of characters in my book are based on my happy memories.

My grandfather’s name was Karl Fritz Riess. He went by Fritz. I named Louise Jenkins’s late husband Karl Fritz Keller. He preferred Fritz as well.

Louise has a quirky way of dealing with things. So did my grandfather. While some people have watchdogs, he had watch-geese. They roamed the property.

My mother’s middle name was Louise. Her whimsy is evident in Louise Jenkins, who wears my mother’s gold charm bracelet.

And then there’s Rosewood and the other goats.

My characters. My family. And the unusual pets we share.