COLUMN ONE : Big Bucks Down on the Farm? : Deer farmers hope to woo consumers by touting venison as the red meat of the ‘90s. But many people may shudder at the thought of eating Bambi.

When rancher Ralph Busch looks at his latest crop, he sees bucks. Big bucks.

The sleek brown and white buck with the No. 2 ear tag weighs a good 240 pounds. The lean white one in the neighboring pasture might be closer to 160. And the black one butting his antler-shorn head against a rival seems to fall somewhere in between.

Peering through the eight-foot fence, the sprightly white-haired rancher nods approvingly.

“The heaviest ones, we’ll sell,” he says.

Sell, that is, after a trip to the slaughterhouse.

On a ranch hemmed in by mountains and scented with ripe lemons, Busch raises venison. And he is convinced that he has latched onto a trend in the making.

Long limited to swank, white-tablecloth restaurants, venison, he says, is poised for a gustatory breakthrough.

Naturally, his fellow venison producers agree. Nearly 400 of them belong to the North American Deer Farmers Assn., which was founded by a couple of aristocratic German immigrants who established the first U.S. venison ranch in 1978 on a remote patch of Upstate New York.

An eclectic bunch, the deer farmers include a former underwater salvager in Texas, a burned-out corporate headhunter in Vermont, and Busch, a retired anesthesiologist from this farm town northwest of Los Angeles.

All hope to capitalize on Americans’ desire to eat well while staying fit. And all tout venison as the beef of the ‘90s--red meat for health-conscious calorie counters.

Animal rights activists might raise a ruckus and consumers might shudder at the thought of eating Bambi, but deer farmers believe that they can gain converts by rattling off statistics. A seven-ounce venison steak, they say, gets only 3.2% of its 316 calories from fat. By contrast, the leanest ground beef gets nearly 10% of its calories from fat, and a seven-ounce portion weighs in at 432 calories. Venison also has less fat and fewer calories than skinned chicken breast.

This nutritional profile has won venison some high-powered endorsements.

The American Heart Assn. lists wild game as a good choice for a daily serving of meat, poultry or fish. Weight Watchers recommends venison as a lean, low calorie alternative to fatty beef. And gourmet chef Roger Pigozzi praises prime deer cuts as “the food of the future.”

Even Price Chopper, the Northeast supermarket chain, has started carrying frozen venison steaks, chops and sausage in several stores.

But convincing the masses might take a little work.

Farm-raised venison tastes tender and mild, and the meat tends to be smooth, without the grains that streak beefsteak. Yet, Americans tend to associate venison with the gamey, shoe-leather meat that amateur hunters drag back home after a kill.

And then there is that pesky Bambi Syndrome.

Animal rights activists holler that deer do not belong behind chain-link fences--much less on the “Daily Specials” menu.

And lithe, soft-eyed deer seem to generate more sympathy than other exotic animals raised for meat, such as the gawky, standoffish ostrich or the dusty, belligerent-looking buffalo. Certainly, deer carry more emotional appeal than the squat domestic steer.

“Most consumers don’t see cows as cute and cuddly, like they do with a veal calf or a lamb or a deer,” a spokesman for the Beef Industry Council said, with just a trace of smugness.

Used to doom-and-gloom predictions about the future of beef, cattle ranchers tend to brush off claims of venison’s surging popularity.

After all, Americans still gobble up 63 pounds of beef each year, despite relentless warnings against fat and cholesterol. The average diet also includes 47 pounds of pork and almost as much chicken. Venison, however, remains a novelty--per-capita consumption stands at only a morsel or two each year.

And if Americans suddenly started demanding venison burgers at McDonald’s and snapping up venison jerky in convenience stores, deer farmers would quickly find themselves overwhelmed.

Given the limited supply--the national trade association represents only 38,000 head of deer and elk--a full-fledged venison craze would not be possible for another five to 10 years, industry experts say. At least two-thirds of the venison eaten in the United States is imported from New Zealand, where farmers have raised deer for several decades.

“There are about 100 million head of cattle in the national beef herd,” said Dick Gilbert, executive secretary of the Red Angus Assn. of America. “So we’ve got a bit of a lead on ‘em.”

Cattle ranchers lead in another crucial category as well: price.

In just about any cut, venison costs roughly twice as much as beef. A two-pound rack of venison, good for a pair of hearty entrees, sells for $28 in Joe Delfino’s Vermont-based venison catalogue. Four small loin chops go for $21.

Served blood-rare, drizzled with pineapple, papaya or pomegranate juice, a six-ounce portion of venison at the Parkway Grill in Pasadena costs about $22, the same price as a sirloin steak twice the size.

Yet Chef Hugo Molina insists that his diners do not mind the dainty portion, barely as big as two decks of cards.

“When people eat beef, they want a manly chunk of meat in front of them, whereas venison is more delicate,” Molina said. “Venison is so rich in flavor that people don’t have to go to McDonald’s to finish the meal.”

While chefs concoct venison delicacies, deer ranchers across the country have their hands full with a more pragmatic matter. Autumn brings the breeding season for most species of deer--and stress for the farmers in charge.

American ranchers raise four distinct types of deer: red, fallow, sika and axis. Always, they seek to breed plumper, meatier animals. Some farmers have even taken to inseminating their does with $300 vials of imported semen extracted from prime New Zealand bucks.

“More meat means more money,” explains Busch, the Santa Paula farmer.

Of course, the genes that produce hefty fawns are expensive. A good breeding doe can go for up to $8,000, if her bloodlines are pure. In contrast, a run-of-the-mill female deer might cost just $200, according to Pat Reardon, general manger of the Heart-Bar Deer Farm in Yancey, Tex.

So far, Busch’s breeding program has proved successful.

The 71-year-old retired doctor launched his deer farm three years ago with 100 animals imported from a Texas ranch, including two pedigreed bucks guaranteed to produce weighty fawns. Although one of his prize bucks mysteriously died, Busch still counts a herd of 240--enough so that he feels ready, for the first time, to sell some yearlings for meat this spring.

Busch expects to get at least $6.50 a pound for his venison, and each buck he sells should produce 60 to 75 pounds of meat. He also hopes to sell the antlers, hoofs and sinews to local Indian tribes who use the parts for buttons and archery bows. “I intend to make a profit,” he says firmly.

As with most deer farmers, Busch considers his deer just another crop, like the passel of macadamia nuts drying on a rack and the groves of lemon trees laden with ripe fruit. He uses the language of agriculture to describe his herd: He farms deer, cultivates the crop and harvests the venison.

Busch admits a bit of a soft spot for Doe No. 99, which nudges closer than usual during feedings, but in general he regards his deer as meat, pure and simple.

“You do not call the animals by name,” he says gruffly.

As if to prove his point, Busch gestures toward his remaining pedigreed buck and grumbles a stern warning.

The tan-and-white deer has, for two years running, failed miserably in his main task: to impregnate the does cavorting around him. A bad showing this mating season will doom him to the slaughterhouse.

Despite his enviable--and pricey--bloodlines, the buck cannot afford to slack off. “It’s plain business--produce or you’re out, baby,” Busch says.

Does tend to skitter away from the bucks, accepting them as mates for only 15 minutes every three weeks. Still, Busch demands a high fertility rate from his herd. He approves only when a buck impregnates at least three-quarters of the does assigned to his alfalfa and clover pasture.

Because female fallow deer begin showing pregnancy only at the tail end of their seven-month gestation--and sometimes not until they give birth--Busch must hold off on rating his bucks until spring.

“You’d swear to hell not one of those damn does was pregnant and then you go out there and they’re dropping fawns everywhere,” Busch says. But “everywhere” is fairly limited on a deer farm.

The bucks and does have only a few acres to gambol, feed and breed. In many pastures, they can run just a few dozen paces before slamming up against a chain-link fence. Seven deer generally occupy the territory granted to one cow, a fact that thrills industry bean-counters but infuriates animal rights groups.

Ranchers insist that they do their best to keep the animals in good shape--”a happy deer is a healthy deer, so it’s in our own best interest,” said Delfino, venison’s mail-order magnate.

Yet, animal champions counter that any fence is too high, any slaughter too bloody.

“These are animals who naturally range over many miles and who have intricate social networks that are undoubtedly frustrated by being fenced in,” said Wayne Pacelle, director of the national Fund for Animals. “They’re not like pigs or chickens who have been bred to be more docile and domesticated.”

The anti-venison forces also target ranchers raising buffalo and elk.

They fear that poachers will take their cues from the wild game farmers, who crow loudly about the untapped market for exotic meat. If venison catches on, they say, so will illegal deer hunting.

“In the past decade, we’ve seen a real return to the commercial exploitation of wildlife,” Pacelle said.

Animal rights activists also worry that the so-called exotics might escape and compete with native wildlife for scarce food. In Texas, some biologists believe that deer and elk fleeing game farms have taken over large patches of the state’s grazing land, driving out indigenous species.

Finally, they warn that wild-game farming could spread deadly disease.

Although most ranchers screen their animals several times a year, no one is certain whether the standard tuberculosis test used on cattle works well on deer. An outbreak of bovine tuberculosis on a Canadian elk farm several years ago sparked fears that disease could jump off wild game ranches and infect traditional livestock or native animals.

Responding to these concerns, a handful of states have banned deer farming, including Maryland, New Mexico and Washington. In May, California joined Oregon and Washington in temporarily prohibiting imports of live deer.

While they protest these restrictions, some ranchers are clamoring for the government to regulate other aspects of their industry.

Because the U.S. Department of Agriculture does not consider venison a meat, it does not routinely inspect slaughtered deer. Cattle, sheep, goat, swine and even horse meat must obtain a USDA stamp of approval before being sold, but venison meat remains largely unregulated.

“We want national standards so we can be sure we’re handling healthy animals and moving on an even playing field from state to state,” said Barbara Fox, director of the deer farmers association.

Inspections could be especially important if deer farming catches on the way industry insiders predict.

“Quite frankly, a lot of people like working with deer,” said Bob Brown, a professor at Texas A & M University who studies wild game farming. “It’s fun and exciting and non-traditional.”