Canine Conservation Corps?

Hansel Harlan extracts a stiff Ziploc bag from the crush of identical bags that crowds a squatty freezer in his small Baton Rouge warehouse. The frozen block, the rich color of a nice cabernet sauvignon, looks like a lean chuck roast; but it is actually a chunk of Myocaster coypus, the locally invasive rodent better known as nutria. This is the base ingredient for two of South Louisiana’s most interesting products: Barataria Bites, a doggie biscuit; and Bark, a pure-meat jerky for dogs. 

These items comprise the current product line of Marsh Dog, an artisanal dog treat company founded in 2011 by Hansel, an attorney, and his sister Veni, a graphic designer. The Baton Rouge duo, who have ten canine friends between them, are also dedicated environmentalists horrified by the ongoing devastation of Louisiana’s coastal wetlands, the demise of which can be traced in part to nutria. 

“I love animals,” Hansel protested, “and I don’t demonize nutria.” But, he explained, the critters have helped destroy the vital coastal habitat. Marsh Dog dovetails the Harlans’ interests by providing products whose main ingredient is the meat of this environmental scourge for the benefit of well-loved dogs. “We can’t solve the coastal problem [with Marsh Dog],” he admitted, “but we can help educate about it.”  

How did Louisiana get so many nutria?

Almost anyone who has explored Louisiana’s coastal wetlands since the late 1930s has probably canoed or boated up close to a cartoon-cute, furry little creature with a rat-like tail and two prominent, orange front teeth. But its friendly-looking appearance belies the animal’s incredibly destructive behavior. 

Nutria are semi-aquatic, herbivorous rodents native to South America; they originally arrived in South Louisiana in the 1930s as imported stock for fur farming. Inevitably, some animals were either freed or escaped into the marshes, which offered a wonderfully hospitable environment for their survival and multiplication. Nevertheless, so long as the international fur industry thrived, Louisiana’s avid troop of trappers and hunters kept the population of feral nutria under control. The interlopers’ fur was considered a luxury item. With its longer guard hairs removed, sheared nutria became a favorite for both natural and dyed furs, used in linings and trims and the occasional coat, and boasting the likes of Greta Garbo and Elizabeth Taylor as fans. 

Wild nutria became a significant revenue source for Louisiana’s trappers. Between 1962 and 1982, more than one million nutria were harvested annually, with price per pelt peaking at $8.19 in 1981, according to the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries.

Shortly thereafter, however, the fur market began to collapse. A glut of farmed fur from Europe threatened prices; a recession in Russia—a prime consumer—diminished the customer base; and the growing fervor of animal rights activists in the United States who decried the use of all furs made buying and wearing fur anathema.

(The latter attitude remains somewhat in effect today, although environmentalists wonder why the public wouldn’t make an exception for fur derived from an invasive species that is destroying a native habitat. In fact, a nonprofit called Righteous Fur was founded in 2010, working with contemporary designers to try and promote nutria-based fashion items. “Save our wetlands—wear more nutria!” is the slogan on their website.)

When the fur market contracted, the trappers—nutria’s primary predator—no longer had a reason to track them down, and the animals began to overrun the marshes. They reproduced at astounding rates, consuming vast swathes of native vegetation by gnawing at the roots. Even the resident alligator population couldn’t keep their numbers in check. 

The flora that stabilized the marsh was eaten by the nutria or died as a result of damage, exposing the fragile wetland ecosystem to dramatic erosion from tides and storms. By the end of the 1980s, nutria had caused enough documented damage that the species was added to the list of known causes for coastal devastation, behind the top three culprits: leveeing of the Mississippi River; natural subsidence of the land; and unfilled channels through the marsh cut for oil and gas exploration. 

Although Louisiana’s wildlife biologists were acutely aware of the damage nutria were inflicting on the marsh, they were unable to convince political powers to “do something” until 2002, when federal funding arrived compliments of the Coastal Wetlands Planning, Protection and Restoration Act (CWPPRA). A program was set up, administered by Wildlife and Fisheries, that offered incentives (a.k.a. a bounty) to hunters and trappers to kill nutria. It continues today at the going rate of $5 per tail.

The bounty program operates under a set of regulations similar to those controlling other kinds of hunting and trapping. Participants must sign up for the program, get a license, and hunt only on permitted properties in season—November 20 to March 31. Each nutria tail submitted for the bounty must be “fresh or well-preserved (iced, frozen, salted)… longer than seven inches.” 

Many people ask Edmond Mouton, a biologist and director of the nutria control program for Wildlife and Fisheries, why an invasive species shouldn’t be hunted 365 days per year. They can be, he said, if the animals create a problem on private property.

Otherwise, the timing is geared to the season when the nutria’s coat is at its best, when they’re easier to spot in the wild, and when the folks most interested in nabbing them aren’t fishing, crawfishing, or otherwise occupied.

Wildlife and Fisheries’ ideal target is 400,000 nutria tails annually. This is affordable for the program and a number that will ensure controlled damage to the remaining wetlands. Unfortunately, Ed Mouton said, with an invasive species, we can probably never eradicate every nutria. 

Hansel Harlan offered a metaphor: “Killing nutria is like mowing the grass … it keeps coming back.”

With the bounty program comes an implicit charge to hunters and trappers to properly dispose of the remains of the nutria after presenting the tails. But that preference is not part of the law. So, Ed Mouton admitted, nutria carcasses could be going to waste rather than being sold to the state’s four remaining fur dealers, taken home to be cooked, or buried. Enforcement of such a law would be nigh on impossible anyway over the millions of acres of coastal wetlands where nutria live. 

When the bounty program started, Wildlife and Fisheries had developed a parallel campaign to promote nutria meat for public consumption. USDA-certified facilities were opened to inspect the meat, and a few commercial producers promoted it as a lean, high-protein food that tasted like turkey. It was called by its French name, “ragondin,” and a regional chef showcased recipes presenting ragondin delicacies. These were apparently met with enthusiasm—until folks discovered the source of the product. 

So the Eat Nutria campaign was a failure and, until the arrival of Marsh Dog, no commercial processor of nutria meat existed. Nevertheless, Wildlife and Fisheries still devotes a page of its nutria-control-program website to a recipe for “Heart Healthy ‘Crock-Pot’ Nutria” along with links to other nutria recipes and instruction for processing a carcass, just in case.

Let them (dogs) eat nutria!

Hansel Harlan first became interested in nutria when, as a graduate student in Buenos Aires, he learned that the familiar Louisiana rodent scourge was indigenous to that South American country, but not to the U.S. Back home, Hansel became increasingly aware of the animal’s role in the destruction of coastal wetlands as well as the potential, and then failure, of nutria/ragondin as a commercial foodstuff.

At the time, Hansel owned a Parson Russell terrier with a battery of allergies, and he had begun making special dog food using turkey and avoiding the filler grains in commercial dog foods. One day it struck him that he might substitute nutria meat for turkey.

“Wouldn’t that be a great use for it?” he recalled asking Veni. He signed on to Google alerts referencing nutria and began collecting information about the animals. 

One of the alerts announced a competition for conservation projects sponsored by the Barataria-Terrebone National Estuary Program (BTNEP), an organization charged with preserving, protecting, and restoring South Louisiana between the Mississippi and Atchafalaya rivers. Although the Harlans live outside the area, they pondered the idea seriously, finally submitting an application to process nutria meat as dog food and/or treats. After winning a small grant, they realized that dog treats were the more feasible option. And so Marsh Dog was born.

Marsh Dog headquarters consists of a small, tidy office as well as a larger warehouse space outfitted with metal, pull-up garage doors. It is here where each step of dog biscuit production is completed—all by hand, by a coterie of young staff working with the Harlans. 

At the end of nutria hunting season, a commercial fur dealer on the coast processes carcasses and sends Marsh Dog thousands of pounds of ground nutria meat in fifty-pound boxes. To make batches of biscuits as needed, the workers thaw a certain amount of meat, regrind it, and mix it according to a secret recipe that took Hansel a year to perfect. 

The biscuits, called Barataria Bites, include nutria meat, ground Louisiana sweet potatoes, molasses, cayenne pepper, parsley, and other seasonings with Louisiana brown rice flour as a binder. And, because of the lessons learned from his allergic pet, Hansel’s recipe contains no artificial preservatives, flavorings, or colorings.

The stiff dough, colorfully speckled with dark red nutria meat, orange sweet potatoes, and yellow-brown rice, is packed into loaves that resemble chunky whole grain bread, then frozen until needed. A thawed loaf is rolled out by hand into a slab and hand-cut with cookie cutters into small rounds, then set in tight rows on baking trays in small, multi-rack commercial ovens. After the biscuits are properly baked, the trays are placed in small dehydrators. Finished biscuits, about the size of chunky vanilla wafers, are bagged by uniform weight into sacks (designed by Veni) that bear a South Louisiana motif, then boxed for delivery.

Bark is Marsh Dog’s jerky product. It is one hundred percent nutria meat and is produced offsite at a commercial meat processor in Baton Rouge that already owns the requisite heavy equipment. The ground meat is thawed and reground, then run through an extruder to produce long, flat strips that are dry-roasted, then packaged with nitrogen. 

Currently, distribution of Bark and Barataria Bites within a hundred-mile radius relies on climate-controlled SUVs. Veni hauls her product to area pet stores, veterinarians’ offices, and natural foods shops. In New Orleans, the products have also been picked up by a sustainable goods business that distributes local and artisanal products to customers. For orders received on their online site, Marshdog.com, from dog-lovers beyond the immediate territory, however, Veni hauls the product to a shipper.  

Marsh Dog’s fusion of canine and environmental interests has generated good recognition. Anecdotal surveys suggest that dogs of all kinds love the treats. And Marsh Dog was recognized in 2012 by the Louisiana Wildlife Federation as the Business Conservationist of the Year.  

It was a well-deserved honor, formally acknowledging the Harlans’ creative, private sector initiative and also celebrating their contribution to ensuring that thousands of dead nutria are not rotting in the disappearing marsh.

Details. Details. Details.

marshdog.com

Marsh Dog products can be found in stores throughout southeast Louisiana.

In Baton Rouge, shop for the treats at  The Buddy Loft, Calandro’s, Denicola’s, and Bluebonnet Swamp, among many other locations.