epski
August 12th, 2004, 08:33 PM
From L.A. Weekly (edited for length, bolding is mine)
Where’s the Beef?
Rustling makes a comeback in California
by Steven Kotler
(Photo by Meredith Heuer/Photonivca)
I was in New Zealand recently and met an old German couple in Queenstown. We conversed in some mangle of English and German. When I told them I was from California, we had something like the following exchange:
“California ist very lickable . . . Ex-zupt Herr Terminator and ze cow wrestling.”
“Ze what?”
“Ze cow wrestling.”
It took a while, but I finally figured out my new friends were talking about a news broadcast they heard in Germany that claimed cattle rustling, scourge of the Old West and lynchable offense in countless Westerns, was making a comeback in California because of the protein-fueled Atkins-diet craze. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. In a time of nanotechnology, Mars rovers and, especially, Jessica Simpson, cattle rustling seemed so anachronistic. Maybe they were still rustling cows in Patagonia, in the now-cleared rainforests of Brazil, in places where desperate times demanded desperate measures, but in California, in my shiny back yard? Figures I’d have to go halfway around the world to find out something like this. I had to know more.
When I got home, Benjamin Higgins, vice president of the California Cattlemen’s Association, confirmed that cattle rustling was indeed on the rise, but not in the Old West way I thought.
“People are stealing cows — but not only beef cows, they’re also stealing dairy cows,” said Higgins. “In fact, they’re mainly stealing dairy cows. Dairy replacement calves, to be exact.”
Those It’s the cheese commercials don’t lie. In 1993, California took the nation’s dairy crown from Wisconsin and never gave it back. The state’s 2,025 dairies pump milk by the megaton, and produce 1.83 billion pounds of cheese annually. It’s a $4.04 billion economic engine, and dairy cows make the whole thing run. And while there are 1.69 million dairy cows in California, lately there’s been something of a dearth.
Typically, a dairy cow spends the first two years of its life as an unmilked calf and the next three in full-scale production. After five years, production starts to slack off, so, in the words of Tom Gossard of the California Dairy Farmers Association, “McDonald’s usually gets them after that. But ranchers need to replace the loss. We used to get replacement calves from Canada. Now we don’t.”
That’s because nine months ago, the threat of mad cow disease slammed the cattle-importation portion of the Canadian border shut. “There’s a real shortage,” continued Gossard. “Milk production is way down, and prices are way up. Some people see this as an opportunity. They’re stealing dairy cows. And because of the shortage, the people who are buying them are asking fewer questions.”
Gossard points out that dairy cows have to be milked every day and fed all the time, but the calves can wander freely, so calf-raising operations tend to be farther away from the rest of the farm — making calves considerably easier to steal. And newborn calves — which are called dairy replacement calves — are often not branded immediately, so they’re harder to identify. Plus, a dairy calf can be slung over your shoulder and tossed in a car trunk — so you don’t even need a pickup to do the dirty work.
The problem also seems to be increasing slightly. In 2003, 1,101 cows were stolen in California (there are no national statistics), up from 907 stolen in 2002. In fact, cattle-rustling damages total $1.5 million a year — but that number represents only the official count of stolen cattle and does not include the cost of investigating and prosecuting these crimes, or the cost of unreported damages. And, as Ben Higgins says, “There’s probably no crime in the state that is more underreported than cattle rustling. Ranchers, especially bigger ranchers, don’t see their cows that often. And there’s a pride factor as well. Cowboys are a rugged bunch. No one wants to be thought of as a bad producer or an easy mark. The real cattle-rustling numbers are probably double or triple what’s reported.”
...
For a closer look at how the Rural Crimes Prevention Task Force works, I jump into John Suther’s pickup truck and head to the Cattlemen’s Livestock Auction in Galt, California. Suther is an affable man, thick of wrist and paunch, with a bushy mustache and a rancher’s history. His father was the state’s veterinarian, and Suther grew up around animals. He worked at an auction yard for 17 years before joining the task force and becoming the state’s top cattle cop.
As we drive south from Sacramento, office buildings recede from the roadside and then disappear altogether as the horizon opens up into empty range. Cattle country is dry, ruthless, and smells both musky and feral. Suther tells me that calves are typically worth about $500 each and that 70 percent of rustling is employees stealing from employers.
“They know how the system works, they know how to steal and where to sell.”
The other 30 percent, says Suther, “is neighbor stealing from neighbor or people stealing food.
“Occasionally, we find a dead cow in a field, well-butchered.”
“Well-butchered?”
“Yeah, you know, with the choice cuts removed.”
...
Driving with Suther back to Sacramento, I notice how little range is left here. Strip malls sit on the edges of tired fields; fast-food restaurants are pushing out the things that make fast food possible. In the distance are dilapidated barns and broken fences, what writer Rob Schultheis called “the hidden West” — the desiccated vestiges of the old ways..
Where’s the Beef?
Rustling makes a comeback in California
by Steven Kotler
(Photo by Meredith Heuer/Photonivca)
I was in New Zealand recently and met an old German couple in Queenstown. We conversed in some mangle of English and German. When I told them I was from California, we had something like the following exchange:
“California ist very lickable . . . Ex-zupt Herr Terminator and ze cow wrestling.”
“Ze what?”
“Ze cow wrestling.”
It took a while, but I finally figured out my new friends were talking about a news broadcast they heard in Germany that claimed cattle rustling, scourge of the Old West and lynchable offense in countless Westerns, was making a comeback in California because of the protein-fueled Atkins-diet craze. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. In a time of nanotechnology, Mars rovers and, especially, Jessica Simpson, cattle rustling seemed so anachronistic. Maybe they were still rustling cows in Patagonia, in the now-cleared rainforests of Brazil, in places where desperate times demanded desperate measures, but in California, in my shiny back yard? Figures I’d have to go halfway around the world to find out something like this. I had to know more.
When I got home, Benjamin Higgins, vice president of the California Cattlemen’s Association, confirmed that cattle rustling was indeed on the rise, but not in the Old West way I thought.
“People are stealing cows — but not only beef cows, they’re also stealing dairy cows,” said Higgins. “In fact, they’re mainly stealing dairy cows. Dairy replacement calves, to be exact.”
Those It’s the cheese commercials don’t lie. In 1993, California took the nation’s dairy crown from Wisconsin and never gave it back. The state’s 2,025 dairies pump milk by the megaton, and produce 1.83 billion pounds of cheese annually. It’s a $4.04 billion economic engine, and dairy cows make the whole thing run. And while there are 1.69 million dairy cows in California, lately there’s been something of a dearth.
Typically, a dairy cow spends the first two years of its life as an unmilked calf and the next three in full-scale production. After five years, production starts to slack off, so, in the words of Tom Gossard of the California Dairy Farmers Association, “McDonald’s usually gets them after that. But ranchers need to replace the loss. We used to get replacement calves from Canada. Now we don’t.”
That’s because nine months ago, the threat of mad cow disease slammed the cattle-importation portion of the Canadian border shut. “There’s a real shortage,” continued Gossard. “Milk production is way down, and prices are way up. Some people see this as an opportunity. They’re stealing dairy cows. And because of the shortage, the people who are buying them are asking fewer questions.”
Gossard points out that dairy cows have to be milked every day and fed all the time, but the calves can wander freely, so calf-raising operations tend to be farther away from the rest of the farm — making calves considerably easier to steal. And newborn calves — which are called dairy replacement calves — are often not branded immediately, so they’re harder to identify. Plus, a dairy calf can be slung over your shoulder and tossed in a car trunk — so you don’t even need a pickup to do the dirty work.
The problem also seems to be increasing slightly. In 2003, 1,101 cows were stolen in California (there are no national statistics), up from 907 stolen in 2002. In fact, cattle-rustling damages total $1.5 million a year — but that number represents only the official count of stolen cattle and does not include the cost of investigating and prosecuting these crimes, or the cost of unreported damages. And, as Ben Higgins says, “There’s probably no crime in the state that is more underreported than cattle rustling. Ranchers, especially bigger ranchers, don’t see their cows that often. And there’s a pride factor as well. Cowboys are a rugged bunch. No one wants to be thought of as a bad producer or an easy mark. The real cattle-rustling numbers are probably double or triple what’s reported.”
...
For a closer look at how the Rural Crimes Prevention Task Force works, I jump into John Suther’s pickup truck and head to the Cattlemen’s Livestock Auction in Galt, California. Suther is an affable man, thick of wrist and paunch, with a bushy mustache and a rancher’s history. His father was the state’s veterinarian, and Suther grew up around animals. He worked at an auction yard for 17 years before joining the task force and becoming the state’s top cattle cop.
As we drive south from Sacramento, office buildings recede from the roadside and then disappear altogether as the horizon opens up into empty range. Cattle country is dry, ruthless, and smells both musky and feral. Suther tells me that calves are typically worth about $500 each and that 70 percent of rustling is employees stealing from employers.
“They know how the system works, they know how to steal and where to sell.”
The other 30 percent, says Suther, “is neighbor stealing from neighbor or people stealing food.
“Occasionally, we find a dead cow in a field, well-butchered.”
“Well-butchered?”
“Yeah, you know, with the choice cuts removed.”
...
Driving with Suther back to Sacramento, I notice how little range is left here. Strip malls sit on the edges of tired fields; fast-food restaurants are pushing out the things that make fast food possible. In the distance are dilapidated barns and broken fences, what writer Rob Schultheis called “the hidden West” — the desiccated vestiges of the old ways..