A day in the life of a Wyoming cattle brand inspector

In the modern economy, manufacturers and sellers have all manner of ways to keep tight control of their inventory. They know at all times how many widgets they have and what shelf they are on in the warehouse.

But what if your product is alive, has four legs and the ability to go wherever it wants to?

In the fall, ranchers on vast public lands out West round up their cattle. To keep things straight, each ranch has its own brand, which can be some combination of numbers, letters and shapes that have been seared onto the side of a cow.

There is a very niche job that verifies that brand and ownership before a cow is sold: a brand inspector. In western Wyoming’s Sublette County, which is about the size of Connecticut and is filled with ranches, there are only three people doing the job.

Just another day on the clock

On a recent fall day, the sun crested over the mountains near a multi-generational ranch. Mike Vickrey drove his truck down a long gravel road.

“There are a couple of semis parked here that will be loading these cattle,” he said. “So we're going to load about 150 today.”

Before those cattle can step hoof onto the semis, Vickrey has to put eyes on them. That is his job as a brand inspector. He is going on 38 years.

“We're checking to make sure that the people selling them or transporting them actually have ownership or the right to do that,” Vickrey said over the truck engine.

He pulled up to some wooden corrals and spotted the rancher.

“This one here, he and I were roommates in college,” Vickrey said.

They discussed the brands he was looking for that day. The main one is the letters M and E on the left side of each cow.

Vickrey headed into an empty, muddy pen. Black cattle bunch up on the other side. Their backs coated in frost from a cold night.

The panel gate creaked opened and the cattle briefly paused. The rancher and his crew shouted, “Hey cows,” and growled to get them moving. The first 15 cows stampeded through.

Vickrey looked for that M-E brand on each cow. It was hard to see it through their fluffy hair.

“Hang on a second,” Vickrey said to the crew, so he could get a closer look at a cow.

In less than half an hour Vickrey looked at all 150.

“So I'll go find out who the buyer is,” Vickrey said, as a cow bellowed a big ‘mooo.’ “ I have to write down a health number. The veterinarian came and looked at them, made sure they don’t have any contagious diseases.”

The vet check is to keep sick cows from being sold to a feedlot and becoming burger at the store.

At his truck Vickrey typed up how many cattle there were and who was buying. It is the official paper trail for the transaction.

“And there goes the printer,” Vickrey chuckled over a mini, portable printer hum.

Onto the next

He handed off the paperwork and slammed his truck door.

“Ok, here we go again,” he said.

In Sublette County, there are roughly 91 farms per brand inspector. So Vickrey is busy most days in the fall when cattle are sold here.

“That's the most important day of the year for the people shipping their cattle because that's the day they're getting paid,” Vickrey said.

Like this last stop? That was almost half a million dollars worth of cattle. That’s big for the beef supply chain and big for the rancher’s wallet. And Vickrey gets it. His family runs a ranch down the road.

“So this is my parents' place here,” he pointed across a meadow. “We're not very far away by the way a cow walks or a crow flies.

Their main brand is an F and then another F turned sideways.

“There's a lot of pride with people when you drive through a herd of cattle and they have your brand on it,” he said.

Sometimes cattle have electronic ear tags too, but those can get ripped out or removed. Brands are permanent. That kind of proof of ownership was especially important in the 1800s when cattle rustling was hot. But these days, Vickrey said it is not like what you see in the movies.

“We don't shoot people. We're not deputized, so to speak,” he said, noting he carries a gun, but not for work.

Today if a rancher has someone else’s cow it’s likely an honest mistake. And Vickrey probably knows everyone involved.

A couple of beef cows

Vickrey pulled up to the last stop of the day. It’s a quieter setting with a white farmhouse and few grain-fed beef cows. They will go to slaughter in a few days. Vickrey is looking them over for rancher Gene Paul Pearson.

“This is what's the fun part of the job. Gene and I grew up next to each other also,” Vickrey said.

Pearson and his two-year-old grandson Peter walked over, both in cowboy hats.

“Feed the cows. They say, ‘mooo,’” Peter said with a big smile.

This is Vickrey’s last fall as a brand inspector. He is ready to spend time with his own grandkids.

When he does retire, Sublette County will need a new inspector. It’s a good gig — a state job with benefits, pairs well with ranching — and is the first time the position’s opened up in several decades.