Eat Shit and Die

Then there is the elephant in the room, or in this case, the big mad cow: From August 1997 through March 2004, 52 companies recalled feed products for violating federal rules that guard against infectious prions, the proteins believed to cause bovine spongiform encephalopathy (BSE). The USDA admits it can't rule out a connection between waste-based rations and mad cow disease, but in 1997 the FDA wrote it was "unaware of any research on this issue that would indicate that the agency should take regulatory action on poultry litter at this time."

Ironically it is because of the BSE scare that fecal matter is being used more to feed animals. Public fears about the disease the same year prodded the FDA to ban many of the meat industry's previous bargain breakfasts — like brain tissue, spinal cords, and euthanized cats and dogs, millions of which were annually purchased from shelters to be ground into feed.

Agribusiness needed a cheap alternative fodder, and manure became even more alluring.

The early 20th Century was, in retrospect, a golden era for food-production animals. Cows grazed on grass, traipsing the bucolic pastures of family-owned farms. Chickens strutted about the barnyard, pecking contentedly at their mostly corn-based meals (the lucky clucker might occasionally happen upon a worm). The arrival of factory farming in the Twenties increased production, widened availability, and reduced the price of fowl. It also represented the beginning of the end for family ranching.

When fast foods arrived in the early Sixties, the clamor for beef and poultry spiked, and so did demand. Industrial facilities with highly automated production methods were required to meet these new needs. Ranches, farms, and meat-processing industries became consolidated by a few multinational corporations, which began confining animals in 30,000-cow feedlots and 60,000-chicken warehouses, and slaughtering them in assembly-line fashion. The golden days had transmogrified into golden arches.

Enormous feedlots needed massive quantities of high-protein rations that could fatten and speed growth at the lowest possible cost. Expansive slaughterhouses had to find an inexpensive way to dispose of waste. A partnership was formed, and the newly defined feed formulas included all parts of all species of rendered animals, as well as the feces of chickens, cows, and pigs.

But 40 years on, there is simply too much chicken shit being shat. Sources cited in the Johns Hopkins' review estimate that in 2003, "one million pounds of chicken feces were produced in Florida, with at least 350,000 pounds of it used for animal rations."

Some nine billion chickens are slaughtered annually in the States, resulting in roughly 50 billion pounds of product. Nobody knows quite what to do with the resultant, seemingly infinite mounds of manure, but all acknowledge that disposing of it creates environmentally disastrous consequences, including wide-spread fecal pollution of waterways and ground water.

A single cow can munch as much as three tons of chicken muck per year — a lot, but not nearly enough to flush away the problem.

Farm animals are injected with heavy doses of hormones, antibiotics, and countless other biological, chemical, and etiologic agents — even more so when dieting on dung. High concentrations of these toxins end up in their own feces, which might also contain pesticides, pathogens, parasites, and toxic heavy metals such as lead, cadmium, mercury, and arsenic. These then pollute either the ground and water, or the animals and us.

Things work in a cycle: The use of antibiotics in food-production animals speeds up development of drug-resistant bacteria in humans. So antibiotics used on people, aimed at curing illnesses caused by eating contaminated meat, become ineffective because of antibiotics used on animals to prevent them from becoming contaminated.

In the confines of his cluttered office, bandanna-less and wearing a green scrub shirt, Bob Mitchell looks like a medical professional. He is, specifically, a licensed doctor of osteopathic medicine (D.O.), and is at the moment eating some gooey brown substance from a jar. He calls it a chocolate-corn muffin.

"Pure cocoa powder, cornmeal, bananas, apple sauce, natural peanut butter, and baking soda — not baking powder, which has aluminum sulfate in it." He mixes the ingredients and bakes under low heat in the microwave until "it puffs up and fills the jar." It looks like shit.

Mitchell has lost 30 pounds in the past year, and one can only assume food such as this played a role. He's been noncarnivorous "off and on" since he was 16 years old. "I always had a difficult time digesting meat." He admits to being a "parasitic vegetarian" — if invited to a house for a dinner that includes meat, he will partake of it. Or at least he used to. "I usually eat before I go out now. Not to the point where I'm full, but I have enough that if the main course is something I'm not comfortable with, I can make it on just the sides."

He was born in Massachusetts 49 years ago. His father worked as an electrical engineer; his mom performed community service work. Both live in Lantana.

After landing in Miami in 1986, Mitchell earned his degree at Nova Southeastern University College of Osteopathic Medicine, just a kidney stone's throw from his practice in North Miami Beach. Besides giving osteopathic treatments, he offers a $30 "Mini-Med" deal "where minor medical problems don't cost an arm or a leg."