January 8, 2004

Countdown for the U.S. hollow-horn operators began when we became aware that a black and white milk cow in Washington state tested positive for mad cow disease the day before Christmas — a slow, dreary count set to the beat of a hangman's footsteps climbing the gallows. Feedlot hombres and herders alike are bound to have heard a dirge like Nero tuning his fiddle to play for the finale for the fall of Rome.

As the press worked overtime to spread the news, the big-time dailies stayed current with each country banning U.S. beef and each possible site of contamination. Words spewed from Washington assuring that the domestic supply was safe. Photographs flashed on the 'Net of Japanese butchers removing U.S. beef from the shelves.

At the ranch, my son and his friend left on the morning of the 26^th. The Royal Guard of the French army never witnessed such an emotional farewell. Surrender and defeat cast a spell over the parting. My son Ben kept repeating, "Now, Dad, this is not the end of the world, just the end of a good cow market. As soon as the Secretary of Agriculture convinces 290 million Americans and one half of the world's population that beef is safe, you will be able to sleep past three in the morning and go back on solid food."

Ten head of heavy-bred Angus heifers watered at the horse trough before I went indoors. These pampered beasts needed to rinse away the dry grass and cottonseed meal taste before going over to lick a free-choice $440 a ton mineral. Fifty-five head of weaned calves bawled across the fence, bemoaning the late start of the feed wagon as if the life of a black calf is in danger if she misses a handout on Christmas day followed by a delay the day after.

I tried to stretch before my morning walk, but my body was so tense from the bad news, the only parts loose enough to flex were the joints of my little fingers. By noon, sage newscasters predicted some repercussion for beef producers from the contaminated milk cow. Might as well have reported that Far Eastern insurance companies are considering refusing Saddam Hussein's option to increase the size of his accidental death benefit.

The guests left a half-gallon of organic whole milk in the refrigerator. This was the first organic milk on the shelves since my friend insisted we milk the colostrum from a heifer to feed dogies. By lunch, I felt my stomach was stable enough to sip warm milk. As bleak as the future seemed, I hoped the organic milk might have come from a Washington State dairy.

Takes a big dose of Cow and Scientist Madness (CSM — Please let this slip by to see if a new label floats.) to outdo the sadness at the end of the best cow boom since work oxen had a flush season back in 1860 when all the horses were off in the war. Takes more than your mother's training to keep from being resentful about the sick milk cow, harboring a hunch she came from Canada. Lots of those big Holsteins in Canada. (Fidel Castro was so impressed with Canada's dairy cattle, he imported a herd of Holsteins to improve milk production. Hungry as the Cubans are for meat, they probably can verify Canadian milk cows are safe to eat, including the horns and the tails of Canadian milk cows.)

The only inkling I had of the lurking fear of Disturbed Cow Disorder (DCB — I am going to continue to downgrade the label) was at a resort hotel in Kerrville, Texas. The German lady running the restaurant refused to serve us a rare steak, claiming "Wild Cow Disease" was the reason, which I supposed was the same as Bovine Fury Reaction (BFR).

She was wrong, but I'd rather try to change a federal judge's mind on tenure than so much as disagree with one of those Teutonic Central Texas products only three generations removed from the homeland. I wanted to tell this purveyor of myth and panic that 20 people worldwide had already died from the Cow Fury Disorder, (latest label; CFD) or advise her it was a lot more risky to park at the grocery store than to have a full body message in ground beef followed by a rare steak dinner for four.

At this writing, the news was improving. My hunch the milk cow came from Canada is being investigated. Her two calves have been destroyed. Next time I go to Kerrville, I am going to carry a lunch of carrot sticks and rhubarb stalks. Might as well be a vegetarian as risk the palate eating well done meat, and if the cafe lady was scared two months ago, she's going to be frantic after this fiasco.

January 8, 2004

---