The Wandering Trail: Episode Six

Hello wanderers, and welcome back! As part of our episode notes, we've created this Wandering Trail. In our sixth episode of Beyond the Brandywine, we ventured into territory both cozy and chaotic — a question so practical it borders on absurd, yet so fundamental it reshapes how we see the Shire itself: Are the animals in the Shire hobbit-sized, or are hobbits living in constant danger from full-sized livestock?

What began as a simple question about proportions became a sprawling investigation into agricultural safety, workplace hazards, selective breeding programs, and whether Tolkien ever intended us to worry about hobbits being trampled by cows. The answer, as it turns out, reveals as much about what Tolkien chose not to write as what he did — and raises delightful questions about the daily heroism required to be a farmer in a world built for creatures twice your height.

The Hobbit Size Question: Establishing Scale

Before we can assess whether animals in the Shire are proportionally sized for their keepers, we must establish exactly how small hobbits actually are. The films, with their clever camera angles and scaled sets, sometimes obscure this fundamental fact: hobbits are tiny.

According to Tolkien's own descriptions, the average hobbit stands between three and three-and-a-half feet tall. The tallest hobbit in recorded history prior to Merry and Pippin's Ent-draught transformation was Bullroarer Took, who reached an astounding four feet, five inches — tall enough to actually ride a horse, a feat physically impossible for most hobbits. Their legs simply cannot reach the stirrups on a full-sized mount, which is why hobbits ride ponies when they ride at all.

To put this in perspective: a three-foot hobbit stands roughly at the shoulder height of a large dog. A dairy cow's udders would be at or above a hobbit's eye level. A full-grown pig could easily weigh five to eight times what the hobbit attempting to herd it weighs. Even chickens — generally considered manageable poultry — would come up to a hobbit's mid-thigh, and an aggressive rooster could genuinely threaten injury.

This scale problem only intensifies when we consider wild animals. A fox, already a threat to chicken coops, would be nearly as large as a hobbit child. A barn owl — an apex predator — could theoretically carry off a hobbit toddler. Even household cats, if they existed in the Shire (Tolkien notably avoided writing about them), would be roughly the size of a bobcat relative to a three-foot person.

Where to find it:

• The Lord of the Rings, Prologue "Concerning Hobbits" establishes that hobbits range from "two to four feet" in height

• The Return of the King, Appendix B notes Bullroarer Took's exceptional height of four feet five inches

• The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 12 — hobbits ride ponies, not horses, throughout their journey

What the Text Actually Tells Us

Tolkien, for all his meticulous world-building about languages, lineages, and the types of trees growing in various regions, remains frustratingly silent on the specifics of Shire agriculture. We know hobbits live in an agricultural society — the Shire is explicitly based on the rural England of Tolkien's youth, complete with farms, mills, and market gardens.

But the professor, more interested in linguistics than livestock, left the practical details tantalizingly vague.

What we do know from the text:

Confirmed animals: Pigs, sheep, chickens, dogs, ponies, and possibly cattle are explicitly mentioned. Farmer Maggot keeps three large guard dogs described as "wolf-like." The Shire produces dairy products (milk, butter, cheese, cream), which could come from cows, sheep, or goats. Bacon, ham, and sausages confirm pork production. Eggs indicate chickens.

What's absent: No mention of miniature breeds, dwarf cattle, or specially bred small-scale livestock. Tolkien goes out of his way to describe enlarged creatures elsewhere — the giant bees of Beorn, the great Eagles of Manwë — but never references animals bred smaller for hobbit convenience.

Implied challenges: In The Fellowship of the Ring, we see a hobbit struggling to control a pig in Hobbiton's town square. The difficulty is noted, not explained away by the pig being unusually large. This suggests regular-sized livestock and regular hobbit frustration at managing them.

The Farmer Maggot evidence: His three guard dogs inspire genuine fear in Frodo, which makes sense if they're large enough to tower over a hobbit when standing on their hind legs. Mastiffs, German Shepherds, or similar working breeds could easily look a three-foot person in the eye — and those teeth would be at face level.

Where to find it:

• The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 4 "A Short Cut to Mushrooms" introduces Farmer Maggot's fearsome dogs

• The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 3 describes Hobbiton's agricultural setting

• The Hobbit, Chapter 1 details Bilbo's well-stocked pantry, including a large wheel of cheese

The Dairy Dilemma: Cows, Logistics, and Workplace Safety

If we accept that hobbits keep full-sized dairy cows — and the evidence suggests they might — we must confront some genuinely concerning logistical questions.

A typical dairy cow stands roughly four to five feet at the shoulder and weighs 1,000 to 1,500 pounds. To a three-foot hobbit, this is not livestock; this is a mobile geological feature. The simple act of milking becomes an engineering challenge: Does the hobbit need a ladder? A specially designed stool? How do you prevent a startled cow from kicking you when one hoof could knock you unconscious? How do you lead a cow from pasture to barn when it can drag you across three fields without noticing?

Perhaps hobbits have developed sophisticated animal husbandry techniques over their long history in the Shire. They might breed for exceptional docility, selecting only the calmest, most placid cattle over generations. They might train from calf-hood, ensuring that cows grow accustomed to hobbit-sized handlers. They might employ elaborate systems of ropes, pulleys, and trained herding dogs to manage their oversized charges.

Or — and this is equally plausible — they simply accept that dairy farming is dangerous, skilled work undertaken by specialists. The casual hobbit in Hobbiton might have no idea how Farmer Goodbody manages his herd, just as most of us today don't know the specifics of industrial agriculture.

There's also the possibility that Shire dairy comes primarily from sheep and goats rather than cattle. Both animals produce milk suitable for cheese and butter. Both are smaller and more manageable than cows (though still formidable to a hobbit). The absence of explicit mentions of beef in hobbit meals might support this theory — lots of pork, bacon, and ham, but no roast beef dinners.

Alternative theory: Perhaps the Shire imports its cattle from Bree, receiving only full-grown, pre-trained dairy cows that have been handled by human-sized farmers and are accustomed to working with smaller beings. This would eliminate the most dangerous aspects of cattle-rearing while still allowing hobbits access to dairy products.

The Butchery Question: Processing Full-Sized Livestock

If dairy farming presents challenges, butchery presents outright hazards. A full-grown pig can weigh 200-300 pounds and possesses considerable strength and surprisingly aggressive temperament when threatened. How does a three-foot hobbit safely slaughter, dress, and process an animal five times their weight?

The answer likely involves multiple hobbits working together — a three-to-five-hobbit operation for pigs, possibly more for cattle if they keep them. Specialized equipment, well-honed techniques, and a healthy respect for workplace safety would all be essential. The profession of butcher in the Shire might be among the most skilled and respected, requiring years of training.

We might also speculate about hobbit innovations: hoisting systems for moving carcasses, specialized tools sized for smaller hands but designed for heavy work, or even cooperative butchering traditions where neighbors gather to help with the dangerous work.

The alternative — that hobbits simply don't butcher their own meat but import preserved pork and ham from Bree or other human settlements — seems less likely given the Shire's agricultural self-sufficiency, but can't be entirely ruled out.

Where to find it:

• The Hobbit, Chapter 1 shows Bilbo's pantry stocked with various provisions including "a couple of side-tables laden with food"

• The Fellowship of the Ring mentions bacon, sausages, and other pork products at various meals

The Poultry Predicament and Other Farmyard Hazards

Chickens, while less obviously threatening than cows, present their own challenges. A full-sized rooster stands about two feet tall — two-thirds the height of a hobbit. Roosters are territorial, aggressive, and equipped with spurs that can inflict serious injury. Hens protecting their nests will peck vigorously. A flock of angry chickens could genuinely overwhelm a single hobbit.

Then there's the matter of geese and swans, if they exist in the Shire's ponds. Geese are notoriously aggressive even to full-sized humans. A goose standing three feet tall would be at eye-level with a hobbit, and its powerful wings and biting beak make it a legitimate threat. Swans are worse — territorial, protective of their nests, and strong enough to break bones with their wings. Two adult human males fleeing one angry swan is comedic. One hobbit facing the same swan is genuinely in danger.

Even eggs present a proportional challenge. A chicken egg that fits comfortably in a human hand would be notably large to a hobbit. Gathering them from nests, carrying baskets of them, and working with them in cooking all requires adapted techniques and tools.

The Harfoot Connection: Survival Strategies in a Big World

The portrayal of Harfoots in The Rings of Power — whether or not one considers it canonical — offers interesting perspective on how proto-hobbits might have survived in a world of normally-sized predators. The Harfoots' cultural emphasis on staying together ("nobody walks alone"), moving silently, avoiding notice, and maintaining strict rules about staying on the path all make sense as adaptations for small people in a dangerous world.

Hobbits in the Shire have inherited some of these survival strategies. Their legendary ability to move silently through woods without disturbing a twig or leaf isn't just convenience — it's camouflage against predators. Their preference for living in concentrated villages rather than isolated farmsteads provides safety in numbers. Their general reluctance to leave the Shire might stem partly from a cultural memory that the outside world is genuinely more dangerous at three feet tall.

Even their architecture reflects this: hobbit-holes built into hillsides require no dangerous roof repairs at height. Single-story houses eliminate the need to climb ladders. Fences and gates are built to keep animals in (or out), but the real defensive perimeter is the Shire-bounds themselves, patrolled by the Shirriffs and protected by the Rangers who keep larger threats at bay.

Where to find it:

• The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapter 3 notes that hobbits "can move without sound when they wish"

• The Lord of the Rings, Prologue describes the Shire's geographical isolation and the role of the Rangers in protecting its borders

The Tom Bombadil Exception: Badger-Folk and Other Mysteries

No discussion of animals in Tolkien's world would be complete without mentioning one of the strangest references in the entire corpus: the Badger-folk who capture Tom Bombadil in The Adventures of Tom Bombadil.

These creatures are described as having "badger-nature and appearance with a slight hobbitness about them" — sentient beings capable of speech who dwell in burrows. They're strong enough to drag Tom Bombadil (who stands around five feet tall) into their hole by his coat. Whether these are literally badgers with some hobbit characteristics, hobbit-badger hybrids, or simply Tolkien being whimsical in a poem not meant to be taken as strict canon remains unclear.

But their existence raises questions: Are there other semi-sentient animal-folk in the Old Forest or the borders of the Shire? Do the Brandybucks, living on the edge of the Old Forest, have folk tales about the Badger-folk used to keep children from wandering? Are these creatures related to the nameless things of deeper lore, or simply another example of the Old Forest's strangeness?

We cannot answer these questions definitively, but they remind us that Tolkien's world contains mysteries even in its most domestic corners.

Where to find it:

• The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (1962), the title poem describes Tom's capture by Badger-folk

Reflections on Scale, Safety, and Whimsy

What have we learned from this investigation? Perhaps most importantly: Tolkien didn't think about these questions, and he didn't need to. His focus was mythology, language, and the heroic journey of small people doing great things. The practical details of hobbit agriculture were background noise to the story he wanted to tell.

But his silence on the subject allows us to extrapolate, and what we find is both amusing and revealing. If hobbits do keep full-sized livestock — and the evidence suggests they probably do — then every day in the Shire requires a level of practical courage that goes unsung in the great tales. The farmer who safely brings in a herd of cows, the butcher who processes a pig, the poultry-keeper who faces down an angry goose: these are small heroisms, but genuine ones.

It also makes hobbits themselves more impressive. We know they're "remarkably tough" despite their small size. Perhaps this toughness comes not just from genetics but from daily experience managing a world not built for their scale. A hobbit who can wrangle a full-sized pig has developed strength, skill, and courage that translates well to unexpected adventures.

Finally, it raises our appreciation for what the Shire represents: not just pastoral simplicity, but a carefully maintained haven where small folk have carved out space for themselves in a big world. Every fence is built higher than strictly needed for hobbit use. Every barn is sized for larger-than-hobbit animals. Every system and tool represents adaptations developed over generations. The Shire works because hobbits have made it work, through ingenuity, cooperation, and sheer stubbornness.

In the end, perhaps the lesson is this: whether animals are hobbit-sized or not, hobbits themselves are remarkable. And that's the point Tolkien was making all along.

Further Reading

Primary Sources:

• The Lord of the Rings, Prologue "Concerning Hobbits"

• The Fellowship of the Ring, Book I, Chapters 1-4

• The Hobbit, Chapter 1 "An Unexpected Party"

• The Adventures of Tom Bombadil (1962)

• The Return of the King, Appendix B

On Hobbits and Their Nature:

• The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, various letters discussing the Shire as representing rural England

• Unfinished Tales, "The Quest of Erebor" contains additional hobbit lore

On Practical World-Building:

• While Tolkien wrote extensively about plants and trees (see The Trees of Tolkien by Colin Duriez), he remained largely silent on livestock

• For historical context on medieval and early modern farming at small scale, general agricultural histories provide interesting comparison points

Questions for the Reader

• Do you picture Shire animals as full-sized or hobbit-scaled? Has this episode changed how you imagine daily life in Hobbiton?

• What do you think is the most dangerous job in the Shire? Dairy farmer? Butcher? Rat-catcher?

• How do you imagine hobbits have adapted their tools, techniques, and traditions to manage full-sized livestock safely?

• If you could ask Tolkien one practical question about the Shire, what would it be?

Share your thoughts, theories, and headcanons at hello@beyondthebrandywine.com