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| A carnivore's plumage |
A carnivore // meaning 'meat eater' (Latin, caro meaning 'meat' or 'flesh' and vorare meaning 'to devour') is an organism that derives its energy and nutrient requirements from a diet consisting mainly or exclusively of animal tissue, whether through predation or scavenging. Animals that depend solely on animal flesh for their nutrient requirements are considered obligate carnivores while those that also consume non-animal food are considered facultative carnivores. Omnivores
also consume both animal and non-animal food, and apart from the more
general definition, there is no clearly defined ratio of plant to animal
material that would distinguish a facultative carnivore from an
omnivore. A carnivore that sits at the top of the food chain is an apex predator. [from: Wikipedia]
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| Tucuman City meat market |
You can't miss the Argentinian love for good tasting
meat. My first meal in Buenos Aires back in 2010 was a Pampus-fed beef
steak. I didn't see any butcher shops that first time, but during the
second trip in 2011 when walking to a restaurant from our hotel in
Tucuman City, we went by the one shown to the left. Many restaurants
don't open until 7:00 PM, and the general nightlife on the streets picks
up late into the evening.
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| North American preparations |
When it came to meats, there is not a lot different
for me considering my family's ranch operations in California. We always
had a freezer-full of meat prepared by a butcher at a
locker facility
in our town: beef and pork. Funny thing was: I had no idea of where on
the animal the meat in the white or brown-wrapped packages stacked in
the freezer came from on the animal. It wasn't until I took an
introductory zoology class and was dissecting some creature, that it all
came together where the meat came from on the animal - pretty pathetic.
During
the
second trip to Uruguay and Argentina, I made a point to record the
different preparations of meat I ordered at various restaurants.
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| A sampling of Argentina meat preparations |
The commonality of BBQ's is obvious - one grill seems
to be like any other grill, whether in the
New World Southern or
Northern Hemispheres. What distinguishes them, the source and the
quality of the meat. Argentina is know for its
grass-fed beef, produced
from cattle roaming the
pampas and herded by
gauchos. Much the equivalent of pasture and rangeland grazing in the United States.
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| Patio grill in Fort Collins, Colorado |
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Brand Inspectors Ride California Range in Search for Stolen Cattle
March 01, 1987 | JAN HAAG | United Press International
SACRAMENTO
— Sit for a spell and chat with Jay Phebus about brands. The former
cowboy talks lovingly about brands a hundred years old that are still
being burned into the flanks of cattle, about the days of cowboys and
cattle ranches that spread herds over thousands of acres. He'll talk
about nights spent under the open sky and a way of life that is slowly
disappearing as ranches are eaten up by developments that spit out
houses like old chewing tobacco. "They're ruinin' good cattle
country," Phebus recalls one of his old ranch bosses telling him. "Too
many cities springin' up. Not enough ranches."
As the
number of ranches shrinks, so does the number of brands. In 1980,
there were about 35,000 brands registered with the livestock
identification unit of the state Department of Food and Agriculture.
Today, there are 28,000. But Phebus, the keeper of the brands in
California, and dozens of state livestock inspectors do their part to
keep a bit of the Old West alive. He presides over all the lazy J's,
the rocking A's, the broken hearts, the spades, anchors and crescents
that are branded into livestock all over the state. "Brands are the
only protection the cattlemen have," Phebus says, sitting in his
Sacramento office that has a wall lined with old branding irons. "All
the brands are registered with us, so when a rancher loses cattle, we
can help him trace them."
Those who think
brands went out with cattle rustling have not met Phebus and his
Sherlock Holmeses of the range--the brand inspectors. The inspectors,
mostly retired cowboys like Phebus, check all cattle, horses, sheep,
mules and burros whenever they're sold or moved. A big part of their
duties involves finding lost or stolen cattle. Cattle rustling, it
seems, did not die with the Old West.
"You see more of that than
ever before," Phebus figures. "It's just more modern--with trucks you
can steal whole herds easily." But hiding stolen cattle is not so
easy, especially when a cattleman's brand--the only permanent symbol
of ownership--is stamped into a cow's hip, rib or shoulder.
"We
find 'em," Phebus says proudly. In 1985, for example, of the 2,221
cattle reported lost or stolen, more than 1,000 were returned. He also
notes that his agency is totally self-supporting. Funded by brand
registration and inspection fees, it is financed by the cattlemen and
livestock owners it protects.
The state took over responsibility
for livestock identification in 1917. Phebus, who tells tales of
brands blended with stories of the open range, has a copy of the first
state brand registration book, printed in 1919. It's less than an
inch thick. The latest brand book of 1983 is close to three inches
thick.
The early registration books also have lots of
duplicate brands. Duplicate brands are still allowed, but they have
to be registered on different parts of an animal, Phebus says. There
are six places on an animal where it can be branded--the left or right
shoulder, hip or rib. "You can have three owners who each have a
rocking J," Phebus says, drawing the letter over a half circle, "but
they have to be say, on the right shoulder, the left hip and the right
rib."
Brands are read from top to bottom, left to
right, from the outside to inside. A "slash A" brand, for example, is
just what it sounds like--a slash mark next to the letter "A." A half
circle over a letter is called a crescent, a rainbow or an eyebrow. A
letter on its side is always lazy. A letter that leans is described as
tumbling, leaning or sleeping. "You used to tell a cowboy by his hat,
boots, saddle and how he pronounced his brands," says Phebus, a
former "buckaroo" from Nevada. "We don't care what a rancher wants to
call it, just so we can easily describe it."
Brands
sometimes are rejected by the agency for that very reason. "Some of
the old Spanish brands are beautiful, but you can't describe them by
phone if you're looking for a lost animal," Phebus explains.
He
recalls the rancher who wanted an intricate design of grapes for his
brand. "It would've just been a big blob," he says. "We turn those
down. My job is to suggest a brand that will work--that can be easily
branded into an animal and is big enough to see." A brand should be so
obvious that "a fella from New York who's never seen a cow, let alone
a brand, can tell what it is," Phebus says.
He
admits that people who think branding is cruel have suggested
alternatives, but none are permanent. Ear tags are easily removed and
tattooing is hard to read from a distance. "I don't know if anyone can
come up with a better idea," Phebus says. "I think that old brand on
the hide is here to stay."
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