Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 January 1892 — INSTINCTS OF CATTLE. [ARTICLE]

INSTINCTS OF CATTLE.

Why They Are Excited by the Color Red —Experience on the Pampas. When we consider that blood is red; that the smell of it is, or may be, or has been, associated with that vivid hue in the animal’s mind; that blood, seen or smelt, is, or has been, associated with the sight of wounds and with cries of pain and rage or terror from the wounded or captive animal, there appears to be some reason for connecting these two instinctive passions as having the same origin—namely, terror and rage caused by the sight of a member of the herd struck down and bleeding, or struggling for life in the grasp of an enemy. I do not mean to say that such an image is actually present in the animal’s mind, but that the inherited or instinctive passion is one in land and in its working with the passion of the animal when experience and reason was its guide. But the more I copsider the point the more am I inclined to regard those two instincts as separate in their origin, although I retain the belief that cattle and horses and several wild animals are violently excited by the smell of blood for the reason just given—namely, their inherited memory associates the smell of blood with the presence among them of some powerful enemy that threatens their life.

The following incident will show how violently this blood passion sometimes affects cattle, when they are permitted to exist in a half-wild condition, as on the pampas. 1 was out with my gun one day, a few miles from home, when I came across a patch on the ground where the grass was pressed ■or trodden down and stained with blood. I concluded that some thievish gauchos had slaughtered a fat cow there on the previous night, and, to avoid detection, had somehow managed to carry the whole of it away on their horses. As I walked on, a herd of cattle, numbering about three hundred, appeared, moving slowly on toward a small stream a mile away; they were traveling in a thin, long line, and would pass the blood-stained spot at a distance of seven to eight hundred yards, but the wind from it would blow across their track. When the tainted wind struck the leaders of the herd, they instantly stood still, raising their heads, then they broke into loud, excited bellowings, and finally turning they started off at a fast trot, following up the scent in a straight line, until they arrived at the place where one of their kind had met its death. The contagion spread, and before long all the cattle were congregated on the fatal spot, and began moving around in a dense mass, bellowing continually. It may be remarked here that the animal has a peculiar language on occasions like this; it emits a succession of short bellowing cries, like excited exclamations, followed by a very loud cry, alternately sinking into a hoarse murmur and rising to a kind of scream that grates harshly on the sense. Of the ordinary “cow music” I am a great admirer, and take as much pleasure in it as in the cries and melodies of birds and the sound of the wind in trees; hut this performance of cattle excited by the smell of blood is most distressing to hear.