Nebraska: They Eat Horses, Don't They?

Nebraska Senator Tyson Larson wants to slaughter horses for human consumption. His 2011 bill LB305 would set up a state meat inspection system, designed as an end run around the federal defunding of horsemeat inspection in 2005. Since all horsemeat sold for human consumption must be inspected, that effectively ended horse slaughter in the United States.

The meat inspection bill is bad enough, but with his companion bill LB306 effectively criminalizing horse rescue in this state, Senator Larson would assure his pet slaughter project a supply of horses with nowhere else to go. Nobody would prosecute a homeless shelter for being full, but Nebraska Senator Larson wants to do exactly that to horse rescues in this state. His justification?

"Basically, [LB306] would mandate that humane societies and horse rescue operations would have to accept a horse if one was presented to them, or they would face a class four misdemeanor. I'm giving them an alternative. If they don't want us to process horses, what are we supposed to do?"

Senator Larson claims to be a horseman, but has been quoted as saying the horse breeders in Nebraska who were producing horses exclusively for slaughter were placed under a hardship when the horse slaughter plant in North Platte closed. Funny, that sounds like horse slaughter actually ENCOURAGES breeding MORE horses, when overpopulation is used as its justification. You can't have it both ways.

Another lie about slaughter is that it is a humane end for old, lame, and sick horses. But those kinds of horses will not pass inspection for the foreign markets that buy the meat. Only healthy, sound horses are acceptable for slaughter for human consumption. As far as killing the others for "zoo meat," transporting and stockpiling the old, sick, and lame for slaughter is horrific. I've held horses I'd had for many years, who had given me 110% in all things, while they died, both naturally and by veterinary euthanasia. That's humane. Slaughter is not.

When I lived in Illinois, I saw the Cavel plant and a pet-food facility that slaughtered horses very up close and personal, from the inside. I accompanied two different friends who had been convinced by their boarding stable owners that slaughter at Cavel was the best end for their unsound horses. Back then, horse owners could pay for a "private" kill, outside of normal production hours. My visits to the pet-food facility came when I was drafted by another friend to ride along as moral support when he was hired to haul a truckload of crippled livery horses for disposal. After comparing my direct observations with the Canadian Horse Defence Coalition's videos located here, I can unequivocally state that NOTHING has changed in horse slaughter over more than thirty years.

By making horse destruction profitable, slaughter promotes abuse, neglect, and overbreeding. Slaughter also promotes horse theft. Before the horse slaughter plant in North Platte, Nebraska, was shut down, horse theft was surprisingly common in this state. Law enforcement never seemed to take the thefts seriously. Several horses were stolen from a boarding facility where a friend kept her horse. The horses stolen were family pleasure horses, unregistered but priceless to their owners. Their "monetary" value was too low to get any real attention from the sheriff. I found a man on my own property once eyeballing my retired 16.3hh Thoroughbred mare who had been a successful 3-day eventer in our misspent youths. When I demanded he explain his presence, he told me my horse was worth a lot of money for meat. I told him to leave while he still could.

Horse slaughter plants are a management nightmare. No commercial slaughter equipment exists that is made for horses. Horses are bigger, stronger, faster, and far more reactive than cattle. Their smaller heads with longer, more flexible necks make instant kills by gunshot or captive bolt far more difficult with a high percentage of failures. Pound for pound, horses have twice as much blood in their bodies as cattle. A proposed plant in Montana would have required an entire new wastewater treatment plant for a kill as low as 200 to 400 horses a week.

Former Mayor Paula Bacon of Kaufman, Texas, has issued an open letter to state legislatures considering horse slaughter relating her experiences with the Dallas Crown plant in Kaufman.

When I first moved to Iowa, the only job I could get as a woman with an electrical engineering/computer science degree was as a USDA/APHIS brucellosis inspector in a hog slaughtering plant. I worked in the "stick pit" so I got to observe the killing process and what happened immediately before in great detail. I saw frequent and blatant abuse of hogs before and during the kill by employees who treated it as a source of amusement. There was nobody I could report it to who would do anything. When outside inspectors did come in, employees were notified in advance and everything was done perfectly while those inspectors were on site. As soon as they left, it was back to business as usual.

A veterinarian friend working in an Omaha-area beef plant lost his job when he tried to report and stop cattle abuse by employees. According to Dr. Temple Grandin, only about 20% of animal slaughter facilities operate within acceptable humane guidelines. The rest "slip into bad practices" with a full 10% intentionally treating animals cruelly.

Senator Larson and his cronies are liars. Horse slaughter is not humane. Horse slaughter does not reduce "surplus" horses, it promotes more breeding. Horse slaughter is not an appropriate end for those individuals who are old, sick, and lame. The practices and problems with horse slaughter exposed by the Canadian Horse Defense Coalition's videos and veterinary reports are not exceptional but are typical of the process. Criminalizing horse rescue as a way to promote and support slaughter is beneath reprehensible.

I'm sure Senator Larson could watch the CHDC videos and insist it can't happen here. I've been inside slaughter plants, and I don't believe that for a minute. Neither should you.

And I am once again reminded of a very old poem, author unknown:

Look back at our struggle for freedom,

Trace our present day's strength to its source,

And you'll find man's pathway to glory

Is strewn with the bones of the horse.

"Tone Down The Political Rhetoric"

You first.

The Chicago Way

I was born and raised in Chicago (don't hold that against me), so I'm all too familiar with Chicago's unique form of politics. President Dear Leader Obama is doing everything in his power to take that sordid corruption to the national level.

If any further proof was needed, we have his appointment of Bill Daley as his new Chief of Staff. Bill Daley as in brother of Richard M. Daley, King Richard the Second, corrupt mayor of Chicago since 1989. As in son of Richard J. Daley, King Richard the First, 21-year mayor of Chicago and undisputed boss of the city's far-reaching Democratic Machine.

But don't take it from me . . .

Another Unpossible School Shooting

A student at Millard South High School in Omaha shot the principal and assistant principal today. The shooter was the son of an Omaha Police Department detective. He was suspended this morning and left the campus to return with a gun, thought to be his father's service weapon. When he was later found in his car by police, he was already dead by his own hand after posting a suicide message on Facebook.

Millard South is a posted helpless victim gun free zone by law. Millard South has an OPD school resource officer. Millard South is in a "good neighborhood." The shooter's father was a police officer. I can't think of a single new or existing gun law that would have prevented this tragedy.

Ever notice how these things never happened back in the days before zero tolerance, weaponized pencils, and nobody's-allowed-to-fail?

UPDATE: Assistant principal Dr. Vicki Kaspar has died. Deepest condolences to her family and friends.

UPDATE 2: Looks like the school security officer hid behind his desk. It accomplishes nothing if your sheepdog is a sheep.

Don't Bet Your Life On The Police

They were AT THE SCENE and this felon-in-possession still managed to kill his girlfriend and try to kill himself.

Say again, both individuals were alive and (physically, obviously not psychologically) undamaged when the police arrived. While the police were there, Mitchel Hadan shot and killed Rita Eckhout and then shot himself in the back of the head.

And why was this career-criminal deleted-expletive out on the street?

Don't die waiting for somebody else to save your sorry @$$.

I May Have A New Favorite Holster

Back in early September I ordered a FIST All Around IWB holster through my favorite local gun store. It finally arrived a week or so ago, and I am seriously impressed.

Ride, cant, position, you-name-it, this holster redefines adjustable. I carry a bobtail Commander 1911 appendix IWB, and the All Around works better than any other holster I have for getting everything just right. The belt clip allows just enough wiggle to keep it comfortable while not letting it move out of position. Molding to the gun is excellent with firm retention. Drawing requires a firm, positive move. It is impossible to shake the gun out of the holster upside-down, even fully loaded with Dummunition for maximum weight.

After I wear it a little more, I'll probably use the ol' hair dryer to shape the Kydex at the top to conform more closely to the safety and rear of the slide. I might also shape it a bit at the muzzle, since it can dig in when I move around.

The clip is very secure but kind of clunky, but with it attached by Velcro I can easily replace it with any alternative attachment my devious little mind can contrive. It also gave me the idea of using self-adhesive Velcro to attach a leather backing to a few of my other Kydex IWB holsters to improve comfort and keep me from sweating on my gun.

For sheer versatility, functionality, and practicality, this thing's a winner.

It Sneaks Up On You

My dogs' favorite food in the whole world is green tripe. Raw-frozen is better for them, but canned will do in a pinch. No matter how you package it, though, green tripe is vile.

Since they love it so much, I decided that would be their Christmas dinner (I celebrate Yule, not Christmas, but take full advantage of the days off to do the "heavy lifting"). Since I store the dogs' food in the barely-heated foyer and I happened to have canned tripe on hand, I opened the cans and set them on the woodstove to warm up.

Really cold green tripe has very little odor. When the tripe was nice and warm, I thought my residual head cold was protecting me from the awfulness. Unfortunately, the rate at which it warms up and stinks appears to equal the rate of human olfactory fatigue. I found this out the hard way after I fed the dogs and went outside to do some chores.

When I came back in the house, I walked into a nearly tangible wall of stench. I've worked in a slaughterhouse and a morgue without any difficulty at all, but this was nearly enough to make me hurl. Generous use of bayberry candles and fresh orange peel (aided no doubt by the aforementioned olfactory fatigue) eventually rendered the house habitable, but I still hung my jackets outside for the rest of the day.

I found the following essay years ago on the Greyhound-L mail list. I think it was originally written by a member of the Dogwood Rottweiler Club, but their website is currently down. If the site comes back, I will verify and attribute. Whatever its source, though, it accurately describes Green Tripe In A Can in all its horrific glory.

Tripe In A Can

You know, I used to think I was tough. That I could handle just about anything! After all, I LAUGHED at fresh Green Tripe!

So it was with much joy when I discovered that one could BUY Fresh Green Tripe, in a CAN!

How novel, I thought! No more mess, no more fuss, just open a can, and feed Green Tripe on demand.

Of course I ordered from this company immediately! And not just one or two cans, but a case! Mind, you, I'm no simpleton! After all, It's Fresh Green Tripe. In a CAN!

So today, that Santa Claus of the mail system UPS came to my door and delivered a LARGE brown box. With a satisfied "Ahh Haaa!!!" I hoisted my prize high over my head and carried it inside, Max following along, sniffing at the box, tail wagging. After all, he knew it was for him!

"What's in the box??" my 13 year old son asked.

"Fresh GREEN tripe! In a can!" I stated emphatically. "A case of it!" What a smart consumer I was indeed! (Oooh! Ooohh! Tim Allen grunt!)

Finally the moment I had waited for, came, later in the evening. Max's dinner time. We put the normal raw beef heart, some veggies, Hokamix, flaxseed meal, and a wee bit of kibble in his dish, but the crowning moment was about to happen.

As I looked longingly at the can, it felt almost like a solemn occasion. "Now you will see some good stuff!" I smiled as I positioned the can into the electric can opener. Clink, Chink Whhhhrrrrrrrr!!

Went the can opener. For a brief moment in time, it felt as though time itself had stopped, so intent were we to see this wondrous marvel of modern science. Green Tripe in a can, why it was almost as if we were discovering the lost Ark of the Covenant. Dog, Child and myself were held in awe. With a final CHINK! The can lid was released… And then I smelled something.

"What is THAT?!?!" my son exclaimed. One of our cats who had been sitting by the kitchen door, quickly sidled out. She was smart.

"Green Tripe, in a can…" I tried to sound parental and authoritative, but I could feel the first churning of my stomach.

The dog's eyes were on me intently, like two laser beams.

With a daring poke, I took off the lid to the can. And then it hit us. "Oh Geeeshhhh!!!!" and then my normally angelic son cursed for the first time, in my presence, "What the $&%@ is that *@#*???!!!"

And with that he ran away.

AT that point a smell hit me, so foul, so putrefied and grotesque, that bathing in fresh skunk spray would have been a pleasure. A smell so rancid, that it made a raw sewage plant in a hot southern sun, smell nice.

I felt my insides roil dangerously.

Max now had two long lines of drool that hung from his mouth, and with a sickening slurp! He licked his lips, willing me to give him what was in that can.

"You're sick," I said to him through clenched teeth. I had to clench them or else I knew my dinner would be revisiting at that very moment.

This Green Tripe in a can was nothing like the fresh tripe I had dealt with. No, this stuff was insidious, vile, and deadly. The US Military should use it as a biological weapon. I could see squadrons of men falling before this stuff.

I held the can at arms length like radioactive plutonium and gingerly waggled it over the dog's dish, aiming for his food bowl. Sluuuurrrrk!!! It made a sickening noise as it slid out of the can. By now my vision was clouded, and I could have sworn I saw GREEN vapors leaking out of the can, like some mad scientist's experiment gone wrong.

I thrust the dogs dish down, and he immediately threw himself into eating it, like a starving man at a banquet.

"Aaaaaaaacck!" was all I managed to say, as I WILLED myself not to hurl my cookies. "Steve! Help me! Find the plastic lid cover!" I cried plaintively to my son.

"Nuh-uh!" he screamed from somewhere deep in the house, "That stuff REEKS!"

Now it was my turn to come up with colorful expletives as I dug up a plastic lid cover to try and hide the horrible bomb that had been unleashed in the house. I just KNEW that the smell would be forever imbedded in my walls, my furniture, my cat's fur, and thanks to the central AC, the putrefying fragrance was being spread to all corners of the house.

Finally in disgust I managed to cover the can and thrust it into the refrigerator. The dog had finished his dinner, and stood looking at me, as though hoping for more. I knew I would be sterilizing the dogs dish, and probably his mouth with hot water. Heck I may just throw them both in an autoclave. If a hurricane hit my house now, it would not have been a bad time. It may even clear the air. I realized now why they called it GREEN tripe. It was. And it was in a can. And it was deadly.

Five hours later, the smell STILL lingers around, in cruel little whiffs. But hey, who am I to complain, I was smart, right? After all, I only have 11 and 1/2 cans to go, of Green Tripe in a CAN!

Fortunately, the horses' favorite delicacies weren't disgusting. Baby carrots, cut-up apples, and Mrs. Pasture's Horse Cookies are all favorites. None of my current herd like peppermints, oddly enough, and weird old Max refuses anything except his normal Triple Crown Senior.

I'm afraid I just can't bring myself to give Milton The EvilPony™ his favorite treat in cold weather. He absolutely loves Edy's frozen strawberry bars.

"We'd Like To Get Him Off The Street"

Pacedon Birge is wanted for a home invasion robbery. He's had "hundreds of run-ins with the law" and been in and out of jail over a ten-year period.

"(He’s) been arrested for burglary, theft, various assaults, felony terroristic threats and other offenses of that nature," said (Omaha Police officer Michael) Pecha.

In this latest home invasion, Birge and two accomplices fired shots at a person running away from them. Gee, felon in possession. Which gun control law would have prevented that?

Other items on his list of accomplishments include burglary, theft, various assaults, felony terroristic threats and sexual assault. OPD says they'd like to get him off the street.

What I'd like to know is, why is this ambulatory fecal matter even ON the street???

We need criminal control, not gun control.

Typical

I'm driving down the aisle in the grocery store parking lot. Up ahead,I see a pickup starting to back out of a stall. There's a van next to it, so the pickup's driver will have trouble seeing what's coming. I stop well back, figuring the car in front of me will do the same.

Oh no, that driver just keeps on going. The truck stops abruptly as the driver finally sees the oncoming car. The car's driver screeches to a halt, rolls down the window, and starts yelling at the pickup driver complete with hand gestures. Mr. Car Driver apparently thinks Mr. Pickup Driver is Number 1, sort of.

The rear of the car is covered with bumper stickers: Obama '08, Nebraska Democratic Party, COEXIST, Nebraskans For Peace, a big "equal" sign, something espousing Tolerance. Heh.

Hazmat

That pretty well describes what I've been horking out of my sinuses over the last few days.

I swear, every workplace has its own mutant strain of The Annual Winter Crud.