Turns out, today was the day my dad and the workers were trying to finish branding and de-horning the steer. My Dad bought somewhere around 200 steer last year, and they needed to be worked. Because I haven't really worked with cattle much, I've never actively taken part in this, but it's not only strenuous and difficult, but exceedingly dangerous. You're basically getting knee deep in mud and cow shit, then trying to sling a rope around the Bull's foot, tripping it up, and trying to manhandle it to the floor by any means possible. Those of you who know me know that I get a kick out stuff like this, but i seriously had to bow out and leave this to the professionals. They've done this their whole lives, and know how to move, where to grab, where to rope, etc. There's a good chance I'd end up crushed against a rail, trampled on, impaled by horns, or at the very least, face-first in the 8-inch deep fecal grime. It'd be a hell of a shame to end up with a broken leg, having to abandon Chris and Natalie for the rest of our Nicaraguan adventure. No Ometepe island, no lagoons, jungles, no beaches, no volcanoes. Plus, I somehow need to make it back to Costa Rica by June 16th. But, as a stubborn individual, i'd still like to jump in the ring eventually. Now that it's in the past, i'd like to have tried -- perhaps next time i'm at the ranch, when I can focus my trip on working the cows rather than gallivanting through the tropics.
Anyway, back to the steers. The wrasslin' consisted of much screaming, coaxing, grabbing slapping, and shoving. The bulls weren't having any of it, and certainly didn't hold anything back. Mooing, snorting, shoving, and eventually slipping to the ground, they all had the same fate of being bound by all four legs, and laying prone and helpless in their own muddy poo.
Unfortunately for the cows, this was not the worst part of it. If you're easily offended or grossed out, feel free to continue to the end of this post, and read on to our adventures at Ometepe Island.For those of you still interested in the details, i'd be happy to give them. I'll preface by saying that most of us (most Americans) don't ever come in much contact with the food we eat -- especially not the meat. This detachment between animal and food is quite strong, but also quite recent. It was not so long ago that the majority of the U.S. was rural. At the beginning of the 18th century, only 5% of the U.S. lived in 'urban' places (NY, Philly, or Boston). Now, the vast majority of people are urbanites. And a handful of mega-ranches produce prodigious volumes of beef. So, the animals we tend to come in contact with are companions with feeling, emotions, and
often better-than-human (super-human?? haha) treatment. I say this because when you see the blood squirting 4 feet in the air from a bloody horn stub, throbbing and staining the ground, and hear the steer groaning when they're branded with orange-hot irons, the animal lover in you feels for them. At the same time, I think about the fact that not only will these cows have happy, practically care-free lives up until their short, abrupt end, but that they would not even exist if it weren't for human consumption. And for every time i think about a cow in a bit of discomfort, i remember that at least here on our ranch in Nicaragua, these cows have thousands of acres of open green pastures, food, and mates. This is in stark contrast to the cattle industry up here, where cows can be grown like plants, in stalls, and fattened up on corn. And as far as an argument against beef in general, I've found no discussion from a vegetarian against cattle ranching convincing. In a place like Europe or the U.S., many have the luxury being able to afford completely removing animal products from their lives. But a vegan lifestyle is, essentially, a luxury. Issues of overgrazing are serious when put in the context of erosion, runoff, etc. But for countries like Nicaragua, where issues of sanitation, public health and poverty are hanging in the balance, the choice to use cattle to support an economy is not only morally and ethically justifiable, but absolutely necessary for the survival of many communities. And if done properly, non detrimental to the environment.
Well, in the interests of breaking the longwinded rant, i'll continue on. The first step after tackling and tying the bulls is to cut the horns off. This is for both their protection (from each other), and that of the horses and ranchers. Before today, I always thought of horns as something like fingernails. Growing, and attached, but composed of dead material. Not so. By quickly holding the bulls head and aggressively sawing with a bone saw, you can saw through the horn by hand in about 8-10 seconds. The guys sawed through, tossed the nub to the corner of the corral, and then continued on quite efficiently. The bulls did struggle, and right after it's severed, the stump bleeds something fierce. It actually squirts up into the air, at least 4 feet, and continues to squirt incessantly - a perfect parabola from its head in a tight stream, and collects in little pools in the mud a couple yards away. In some degree of pain, the next step was to brand. It's true that they're leather and all, so i'm sure it doesn't hurt nearly to the extent that it would on a human, but you can tell it's painful. A couple of the bulls, having been de-horned 20 minutes prior, were branded, and i suppose the pain/stress/heart palpitations re-aggravated the bleeding nubs, and the horn stumps began bleeding again. Also, the confinement, de-horning, branding, or combination thereof caused more than a few of them to just let go of their intestinal muscles, and squeeze out their contributions to the mud-poop hodgepodge.
You couldn't help but feel a little bad for them... bleeding from the head, seared hides, laying hogtied in their own poop. That's why i called it the worst day of their short lives. But, sure enough, as soon as they were untied, up they popped, and out the corral they ran to join their friends and tell them about the experience they'd just had. hahah...
As we spent our last night at the ranch, we started a guest book. Right now it's just a small bound notebook. but Chris, me, Natalie, my parents, and Guillermo's family sat around, played the "No English speaking" game, and slept peacefully. It may have been because I was exited about traveling just the three of us through the heart of Nicaragua, or because it was a little warmer that night, but I had a bit of a time sleeping. The pillow seemed extra lumpy, the mattress springs extra pokey, and the sheets smelled like stale paper.
I dreamt that night about these huge flat headed brown frogs that followed people around and ate their valuables. This group of them were following Chris, me and Nat around, and ate our cameras. And then our passports. Then they started taking our food. For some reason they never moved unless you weren't paying attention to them. When the chickens woke me up at 5 something AM, I remember waking up angry, and i think wanted to kick one of those frogs. Glad it was just a dream.
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