No recourse, no compensation

Local rancher, a victim of cattle rustling, works to protect herd for the future

For those who are not involved in the world of agriculture, the word "cattle rustling" may invoke images of sepia-toned movies in which black hatted villains abscond with the property of hard working ranchers. Perhaps it brings to mind gritty western movies, still set in the Old West, in which lynch mobs are formed and the thieves are brought to some form of justice. 

Unfortunately, the theft of cattle is not the problem of a bygone era.

While ranches and ranchers have adapted with changing times and technology, so to have those who seek to profit off their hard labor. In the past two years, Cheryl Munroe has had to deal with a major loss of her stock and estimates her losses to be nearly 100 calves between 2019 and 2020.

"The cattle that we've lost for two years now have been here on the ranch on our private land, state land and BLM land," said Munroe. "Because it's easy access, we have county roads that come right through the ranch and right close to it, it's easy for them in the dark of night just load up a bunch of cattle, throw them in a horse trailer and head east with them."

Not just "east" but to eastern Nebraska, where brand inspections aren't required. 

"Once you get into eastern Nebraska, there's no requirement for brand inspections so they can just sell them," Munroe said. "If you took just calves, you could probably put 15, 20 calves ... in a trailer and it's pretty easy to do that and be gone with them."

Like other ranchers, Munroe's pastures are a mixture of private, state and BLM land. Additionally, she leases land from the United States Forest Service for her cattle to graze in the Medicine Bow National Forest. 

"As they come down, some of them get in the neighbors' and the neighbors' get in with us. So, we sort off and everything else. You really don't know what you're missing until you get everything gathered," said Munroe. "Usually, we'll lose probably one or two from the National Forest but it's probably from predators, a poison weed, something like this."

In the case of a missing calf, a rancher may eventually find a body to be able to put in their records that the loss of the animal was due to death. If a body can't be found, it may have criminal implications but leaves little recourse for the rancher, especially if they were taken to eastern Nebraska.

"Here, I'll talk to the local brand inspectors and they'll put it out statewide and then they do their networking to any of the sale barns that check the brands," Munroe said. "The only way you might stop them is if they happened to get stopped on the interstate."

Not only is there no recourse, but there's no compensation either. While insurance will pay out for a dead calf, it won't pay out for suspected cattle rustling. According to Munroe, if that were the case, any rancher could simply write off missing cattle and expect to get a payout from their insurance company.

The first time that Munroe suspected that her cattle were being stolen was December 2018. As they brought in the herd, they figured they were about 45 calves short. Not a small number by any means. That same month, however, Munroe had more pressing matters as she had to deal with the passing of her husband, Monty.

When Munroe went to sell her cattle in January, she was unable to keep any replacement heifers. Traditionally, the ranch keeps approximately 30 head of calves for themselves to use for breeding. This ensures that the next generation of the herd will have the genetics the ranch is looking for and is more adapted to the elevation and climate.

"We did not keep any replacement heifers back because we had to have enough sale animals so we could meet ranch payments," said Munroe.

In December 2019, as Munroe and her family brought their cattle in, they went back into their records to 2015. Those records show the number of cows branded, the calves lost to death, the cows that were tested for pregnancy and the cows that actually calved.

"We know, this year, we lost 16 cows and 52 calves," Munroe said.

That was even with adding a big death loss for the calves.

With no recourse and no compensation for missing calves, the only solution that Munroe can think of is to tighten things up around the ranch. This includes securing and rebuilding sections of fence and locking gates.

"I'm just going to close it to everybody," said Munroe. "We usually had it open and I'd let people come up and they would maybe go four-wheeling and just enjoy the country. I can't do that anymore. I'm going to have to shut it off."

For those who know Munroe, a woman who welcomes many people with open arms and offers whatever food she has on her table, this is a big change. Ultimately, she feels that she has no choice when it comes to protecting her cattle and her property.

"It's not a money making business. It's a lifestyle and we work hard, we work diligently. Long hours, early mornings, late nights," Munroe said.

Even worse, Munroe believes that the theft of her cattle may be by someone she knows. According to a March 27, 2012 article in BEEF magazine, this is the case more often than not.

"It's probably somebody that I know that knows what's going on here and I would be terribly hurt that they would take advantage of someone else," said Munroe.

She added that if they were someone who had fallen on hard times and need some income, she would offer them a job.

"I would work them or something so they could earn a little bit of money to get by but stealing is not getting by," Munroe said.

 

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