MICROCHIPPING INDIAN COWS

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http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/06011/637008.stm

Overrun India tries microchips to track cows

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

 

By Peter Wonacott, The Wall Street Journal

 

 

NEW DELHI -- As the green truck creaked toward its quarry, a rustling

sound came from the neighborhood dump. Suddenly, a heifer chewing a

plastic bag emerged and bolted from the scene.

 

Before the cowcatchers could give chase, she had turned a corner and

was gone -- free to roam the streets another day. " She can smell the

truck, " observed chief cow buster Harjinden Pal Singh. " They all know

our truck. "

 

Here in India's capital, as with other cities in this mostly Hindu

nation of cow lovers, milk cows that have gone dry aren't put out to

pasture -- they're put out on the street. Killing this revered

religious symbol is banned in nearly all Indian states. Some urban

farmers even permit dairy cows to graze garbage sites because grass is

scarce and feed expensive. As a result, the world's biggest milk

producer is contending with the world's largest population of stray

cows, thwarting India's efforts to clean up its cities.

 

In Delhi alone, officials say there are tens of thousands of cattle on

the streets, despite a 1957 law allowing the government to seize

strays. Wandering cattle cause traffic accidents, clog sewers with

dung and even make people who drink their tainted milk sick. The

problem is especially acute as more cars, created by the

subcontinent's booming economy, ply jammed roadways.

 

Last year, Delhi's municipal government offered a reward of $45 a head

to anyone who could reel in stray cattle. It later backed off the

bounty after owners began turning in their own unmarked cows, only to

reclaim them at cow shelters, according to the government's chief

veterinarian, S.K. Yadlav.

 

Now comes a new tactic: a $10 microchip shoved down the throats of all

captured cattle. Shaped like a roll of dimes, the chip lodges in the

second stomach, or reticulum, so it doesn't get excreted. Pass a

portable scanner across the stomach and the chip identifies the cow's

number, breed and -- if there is one -- its owner. The information is

downloaded to a central database, allowing the Delhi municipal

government for the first time to keep track of its cows and identify

and fine negligent owners.

 

Livestock owners in the U.S., Europe and Argentina have adopted

similar microchip technology to monitor potential outbreaks of mad-cow

disease. India has three times as many cattle as the U.S., and they

are central to the country's huge farm economy, its politics and its

religion. Devout Hindus have been known to pelt cowcatchers with

rocks.

 

The microchip is the brainchild of a 35-year-old entrepreneur, Ashish

Anand. His mission is to clean up India's livestock economy by ridding

cities of garbage-eating cows and the polluted milk they produce.

India's cows yielded nearly 100 million tons of milk last year, more

than any other country produced, but officials acknowledge problems

regulating what they eat and the quality of their milk. Mr. Anand's

idea is that a clearer ownership will keep dairy cows where they

belong -- in designated dairies where they are fed a healthier diet.

The Delhi government is trying to improve food safety by moving all

its dairies outside the city.

 

The idea for an electronic tag of ownership came to him several years

ago, after listening to farmers joke about the abysmal record keeping

of Indian banks and insurance companies. The farmers could rotate a

single buffalo around a village as borrowing collateral for different

households. Later, when the buffalo died, farmers claimed payouts from

insurance companies.

 

Today, in addition to working with banks and insurance companies to

cut fraud, Mr. Anand and his company, Everest Enterprises, are selling

the microchip to local governments, including Delhi's, as a way to

banish strays. All cattle picked up are auctioned to farmers outside

the city, or sent to cow shelters, where the animals live at

government expense until they die a natural death.

 

Since the project began last August, more than 6,000 of New Delhi's

stray cows have swallowed Mr. Anand's microchips. By early next year,

he and government officials aim to have all of Delhi's cows carrying

them. The cow-microchip experiment is already expanding to several

other Indian states.

 

Dr. Yadlav, the chief veterinarian, is a crucial backer. Over the past

two years, his department has corralled nearly 40,000 strays, he says.

Still, tens of thousands of wayward cattle remain on the run -- and

making a mess.

 

" We want to solve this problem, " says Dr. Yadlav. " But it is very

difficult to catch a cow. "

 

Parked outside his office on a warm winter afternoon was the Delhi

cowcatchers' official vehicle: a green high-walled truck with a

hydraulic ramp -- one of 12 such trucks. Five other vehicles require

men to push and pull a ton of beef up a wooden ramp.

 

Four men arrived carrying frayed ropes and climbed atop steel supports

that keep cattle tethered inside the truck. Each cowcatcher earns

about $150 a month.

 

" It is a dangerous job, " said Mr. Singh, the team's supervisor. " Even

after we catch the cow, we have to face the owner. " Six months ago,

one attacked a team member, splitting his head open with a lathi, or

bamboo cane.

 

As the truck moved slowly through the streets, several head of cattle

sauntered strategically toward the median strip. They seem to be aware

that few cowcatchers are foolhardy enough to wrestle cattle across

several lanes of Delhi's swerving traffic.

 

In one neighborhood, the truck passed by dozens of stray cattle

strolling near a Hindu temple. The men were reluctant to incur the ire

of the devout. Elsewhere, the team stopped to nab a brown calf whose

head was buried in a plastic bag that offered a midday meal. Residents

shot rage-filled looks at the cowcatchers, who quickly jumped back in

the truck.

 

" You want to get our head knocked in? " yelled one to Mr. Singh. He

told the driver to hit the gas.

 

So many cattle wander Delhi's streets, though, that the team has

little trouble draping lassos around the meek, fat and slow-moving.

The team ignores bulls, which don't get on well together in the truck.

 

Over the next few hours, the team corralled nine ragged strays. They

pulled ears and twisted tails to usher the cows onto a hydraulic lift.

Having reached capacity, Mr. Singh signaled the day's end. The truck,

the cowcatchers and a swarm of flies headed to a nearby food stand for

samosas and tea.

 

 

 

 

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(Rasul Bailay contributed to this article.)