Book Report: How to Be a Good Creature

47. Sy Montgomery, How to Be a Good Creature: A Memoir in Thirteen Animals (2018) (1/21/19)

This is an enchanting book by a longtime natural history writer, for both adults and children (her The Soul of the Octopus is on my to-read shelf, and after reading this book, I think I'll move it higher in the stack). As the subtitle says, it's a memoir of sorts, taking us from Sy's childhood with her Scottish terrier Molly—who taught her, in no uncertain terms, that there's a lot more to the world than exists within ordinary human sensory range—to the present, represented by another dog, the border collie Thurber, who has taught her this: "You never know, even when life looks hopeless, what might happen next. It could be that something wonderful is right around the corner."

Other border collies, Tess and Sally; a pig named Chris; and a half dozen chickens figure in as well, each with their own lessons. But we also learn how more exotic animals have impacted Sy's life and career: three emu named Bald Throat, Black Head, and Knackered Leg, who usher her onto the naturalist path she would (and still does) follow for thirty-plus years; a tarantula known as Clarabelle, who teaches about the enchantment of even the smallest corners of the world; a weasel that kills one of Sy's first chickens—doing exactly what comes naturally and teaching the balm of forgiveness; and Octavia, the octopus, who showed Sy "that our world, and the worlds around and within it, is aflame with shades of brilliance we cannot fathom—and is far more vibrant, far more holy, than we could ever imagine."

Or maybe we can. Sy does a pretty good job of helping us in our imaginings.

As she mourns the deaths of Tess and Chris, she finds escape from a deep depression on an expedition to the cloud forest of New Guinea to seek out rare Matschie's tree kangaroos. Those they did find, and more—and here we get a sample of her more descriptive prose:

At every turn, it seemed, we encountered evidence of rare, unlikely animals with incredible bodies, fantastic abilities, and delightful names. Echidnas are egg-laying animals, one of only two kinds on Earth (the platypus is the other). Mountain cuscus are the largest possums in the world, weighing up to thirteen pounds, nocturnal and secretive. Other animals we didn't actually see, but we found their nests, hides, and holes. We encountered a mound where a chicken-size brush fowl had dug a nest as big as a Volkswagen in the dirt, using the heat generated by compost to incubate his eggs. (Yes, the male tends them, adjusting the temperature as needed, cooling by digging ventilation holes.) We found holes in the grassy areas near camp that had been dug by pademelons—fat, furry kangaroo-like characters with alert, swiveling ears and stubby tails. The tracker reported they spotted a dorcopsis, a tiny wallaby with the face of a gazelle, near camp.
  This cloud forest world was vividly alive in a way I had not observed in any other habitat. Unlike in the Amazon and other rainforests I had visited, there were no mosquitoes (too cold), no biting ants, no poisonous snakes, spiders, or scorpions. Though Wasaunon was teeming with lives, all of them seemed not only benign but benevolent. . . .
  [About two tree kangaroos she helps to radio-collar and examine—whom the researcher dubs Tess and Chris—she writes:] They were their own complex, individual selves, who loved their unique lives. But also, they were, to me, wildness itself. These two animals carried within them the wild heart that beats inside all creatures—the wildness we honor in our breath and our blood, that wildness that keeps us on this spinning planet. Here in the cloud forest, I found again the wildness that keeps us sane and whole, the wild, delicious hunger for life.

That is the spirit that buoys the whole book, whether she's writing about animals very different from us, like Clarabelle and Octavia, or about her beloved family pets. She is curious, and appreciative of the holiness that infuses all life.