The great state of Nevada boasts more public land than any state outside of Alaska. More than 80 percent of our land is owned by the U.S. government.  For an outdoor enthusiast, Nevada provides an endless array of trails, summits, and backcountry vistas to enjoy and appreciate.

Along with this tremendous land resource, Nevada also hosts no shortage of arguments about how best to use it. From off-road motorized vehicle trails, to nuclear testing, to mining, to wild horses, Nevadans are always debating what is appropriate and what is not. Though all of these land uses should be of concern to all Nevadans, I suggest we first focus on another scourge of the desert Southwest — not the pesky parasitic humanoid but rather the bulbous belching bovine.

Go on any hike outside of a national park or recreation area, and you’ll likely encounter them, or at least encounter signs of them. There doesn’t seem to be a water body or natural spring on Nevada’s 48 million acres of Bureau of Land Management land that isn’t surrounded by two truckloads of cow manure and the healthy hoard of flies that accompany it. Unlike wild deer or elk, a group of cows will turn a rare, precious desert water source into a swirled pit of mud, slime, bacteria and defecation. This is not to mention the damage done to the local flora they feed on or the precious cryptobiotic soils they trample on. Even our national monuments are not immune.  Despite federal laws that forbid it, Cliven Bundy’s thirsty malnourished beasts of burger still graze Gold Butte National Monument with impunity.

In a world of rising temperatures and advancing coastlines, raising cattle for food, anywhere, is becoming increasingly irrational. The production of just 2.2 pounds of beef protein produces nearly 300 kilograms of greenhouse gas emissions. That’s the equivalent of driving your average gasoline-powered automobile 769 miles. These numbers sound quite striking but you, of course, have to include all beef-related emission sources including transport and the production of cattle feed. Of course, if you drive a great big pickup truck like Cliven Bundy, you’ll get much less bang for your burger.

What makes even less sense than dumping carbon into the atmosphere when the globe is on fire is dumping millions of gallons of water into Nevada’s hamburger machines when we’re in our third decade of drought. When you consider, among other things, not only the water consumed by cows but also the water needed to grow that fattening grain our cows like to eat, it takes 1,852 gallons of water to produce 1 pound of beef. For those keeping tally, that’s the amount of water needed to flush 1,157 beef-packed human turds down the toilet.

And, of course, eating beef is bad for Americans’ health, particularly the 12 percent of Americans who consume half of the nation’s beef. Eating large amounts of red meat is associated with increased risk of heart disease, cancer, diabetes and premature death.  This, of course, means a larger medical bill for our state and nation.

Once we’ve driven all those importunate freeloading moo-cows off our public lands, we can look at better ways to deal with the mustang.  That invasive meandering moocher poses its own unique threat to the indigenous flora and fauna and will foul a watering hole faster than you can say “horse poop.”  But they’re clearly not the more immediate concern for Nevadans.  Cows are an immediate threat to our delicate desert ecosystems, our atmosphere and our arteries.  It’s time for Nevadans to collectively say “git along little dogies.”

Eric McCammond is a combat veteran who spent 24 years in the United States Air Force. He writes commentary on local and regional issues.