There’s a zoo in the garden and the delightful twist is that these “animals” don’t require regimental feedings morning and night. There’s no litter box to change, no manure to shovel, no fences to mend when they escape. Best of all, you won’t need to line up the neighbors to care for them when you go away for the weekend.

No, this is a botanical zoo, if you will forgive the taxonomic oxymoron. Our gardens are full of plants whose names are drawn from the animal kingdom. Some make perfect sense: It’s no mind-boggler, for example, that the cardinal flower is named for its brilliant red blooms, and it’s no great wonder that bee balm is inundated with winged pollinators of all sorts throughout summer.

A no more perfect name could be thought of to describe the downy, thick leaves of lamb’s ear. It’s no surprise that pheasant-eyed pinks bloom in spring with oodles of pink, white or magenta flowers that have a dark burgundy “eye” in the center. Pig-squeak, with its glossy, waxy foliage, does make an unpleasant squealing noise if the leaves are rubbed together after rainfall.

Catnip, cockscomb, snapdragons and butterfly weed require no lengthy explanation. As for the obnoxious dandelion, its name probably was derived from the French dent-de-lion: Its deeply lobed leaves must have reminded someone of lion’s teeth.

Even though I have to push my appreciation of horticultural things to the limit to find something remotely attractive about hens and chickens, I must say that imagining the succulent leaves of the groundcover as mother hens with their fuzzy little offspring makes this plant a bit more bearable. I suppose the way the mature plants shoot off runners and set down “chicks” is reminiscent of a family of chickens pecking away at the ground in the barnyard.

Some common names of our garden plants make perfect sense, but it’s amusing to think of how others acquired their names. It is plants such as cowslip that don’t seem to be logically named. I’ve dedicated more time than I should admit to searching my brain as to why someone would have given this pretty little spring-blooming primrose such a name.

When I see the tiny yellow bells dangling from delicate stems over the unimposing, lush leaves of the barely 8-inch-tall plants, I can’t help but let my mind wander. I imagine a comical scene of rhythmically swaying cows making their way back to the barn for the evening milking. The forlorn critters head unsuspectingly down a pleasant little knoll that’s dotted with the flowering perennial when suddenly the leggy creatures begin to slip and slide.

Mind you, I picture this because it’s my nature to want to attach logical meaning to the name cowslip, but, admittedly, it is outrageous to think that the tiny plants are actually responsible for making cows slip.

And so it goes with plants such as foxglove, horehound, flea bane, ostrich fern and leopard’s bane. There are a host of plants named after the most common farm animals. Sheep sorrel, sheep fescue and sheep’s bit may not lend themselves to the same logical derivation as lamb’s ear, but they reflect the common place of woolly creatures on the farms of old. Cowberry, cow itch tree, cow parsnip and cow’s horn do inspire wonder.

There are plenty of references to felines in garden plants, as well. Catnip, catmint, cat’s claw vine, cat’s ears, cat’s paw, cat’s whiskers and cattail, not all of which overwinter here in our northern zones, but which demonstrate the commonality of the domesticated quadruped. This all brings to light one truth: The garden can be such a peaceful place. A place where the lamb is untouched by the lion and where the cats and hounds are undaunted by fleas.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, RR1, Box 2120, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@ctel.net. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.