I beg to differ.

Many millions of years ago, just after the dinosaurs got really, really common, Jhv made a decision. He looked at his creation and decided that it needed a wash and brush-up. So he looked around for a righteous man to do most of the work. Not finding one of those anywhere, Jhv leaned on the shoulder of Old Man Noah and bellowed in his ear:
"You are going to build an ark. You are going to make it yay big and you are going to fill it with some of your family, a few pets and one of every critter on the planet."
Noah, being quite old and rather brighter than Jhv, who had the IQ of a particularly well-boiled onion, put some ear-plugs in and asked the obvious question (we'll get to the other obvious question in a minute).
"Okay, but why?"
"Because, old son," said the big boss guy, "I intend to make it rain for weeks and weeks and weeks, maybe months and years and things and to flood this entire planet. It is full of ickyness and vileness and such and I'm going to wash it clean, but I went to a hell of a lot of trouble making all them there rats and possums and echidnas ..." "echidnas?" thought Noah, "what the fuck is a fucking echidna?" for he did not know of Oz where Jhv stored all of his funnier jokes like lethal spiders a yard across, " ... and other critters so I want you to take some to breed more to replenish the planet when I'm done."
And so this was when Noah, who was still rather brighter than Jhv, who was too dim even to create fences, asked the other obvious question.
"Don't you mean two of each critter, boss?"
Jhv, who really hated to be corrected by his pets, toys, meat puppets and other playthings mumbled something about gathering seven of all of the good creatures, like sea-slugs and anemones and hydras then stomped off in high dudgeon. Jhv was frequently in high dudgeon because he was slightly claustrophobic and didn't really like low dudgeons.
So Noah and his family built the ark and they filled it with two of every critter, apart from the ones they had seven of for no rational reason save bureaucracy and paperwork. Then the Noahan family sat in their little shed on the gigantic boat and waited.
And, lo, the rains came. They came high, too, as even the very tops of hills were rained on.
The rains came and they came and they came and they stayed for Summer like an unwelcome relative from whom you hope to inherit so dare not offend by booting out the door.
It rained all day. It rained all night. When Noah looked out of a morning it was raining still.
And the great ark floated on the waters formed from the rains high above the drowned lands.
Now, Noah had obeyed his great spooky daddy, Jhv, and had filled the ark with all the creatures Jhv had put on his shopping list. He had iguanas and elephants, tigers and geese, mongooses and elk, beaver (no, the other sort) and mooses, mice and lice and fleas and cats of all descriptions. Noah had the required two of each kind unto their kind and seven of some of them though why seven he had no idea. He blamed the translators for that one.
Noah had many, many kinds of animal, from aardvarks ("Again with the bloody aardvarks? What the godsdamned hell is an aardvark and who would want seven of them?" But Noah never questioned the great list) to zebras.
Sometime around day ten of the rainy weather, Noah noticed that Stegosaurus, Pteranodon, T. Rex and several million other cool representatives of the Dinosauria Group were apparently missing from the list. While this had the obvious advantage of leaving more room on the ark, especially when you consider that there were some hundreds of species of gigantic apatosaurs, it did make him slightly uneasy. He was worried that a forgetful Jhv, who had the wit of a strand of dried sea-weed and whose temper was explosively volatile at the best of times could blame him, Noah, for the drowning of the dinosaurs.
So Noah made a note on the list to blame the translators for this, too. After all, what else were bureaucrats for?
So, Noah blissfully sailed the single Sea inside the soggy ark that was full of giraffe and gorilla, griffon and vulture and the odd aardvark, whatever they were. He sailed the growing Sea and he began to notice a feature.
Not a bug (though the ark had millions of those, mostly named Graham) as this was a divinely planned ark and divine plans from Jhv and SJ don't have bugs only features.
This bug was that emu eat. Or maybe emus eat? Whatever the plural form was, they ate. The elephants ate. The rabbits ate. The dogs and the dungongs and the Tasmanian devils ate. The many monkeys ate, even the howlers and the baboons. The five hundred million kinds of spiders ate.
And Noah and his family ate very well indeed for quite a few of the tastier "seven" accidentally became "two".
Someone who knows biological systems a little better than did poor, lack-witted Jhv, which includes everyone and their pet rock, could easily predict the inevitable result of all of this eating.
It piled up.
And it piled up.
From the horse and the cattle and the bison and the gentle little deer it piled up.
Noah couldn't so anything about this as the ark had to remain sealed against the torrential rains lest it flood and sink. He suspected that allowing the ark, with the only critters left on the planet, to sink and drown would be a spectacularly bad plan. So he waited. He waded, neck deep in it and he waited.
For forty days and forty nights the accumulated used food piled up in a corner of the ark. Most corners of the ark.
Then it stopped raining.
Noah was appropriately grateful for this as it meant he could shovel all of the vast megatonnes of used food from the millions of critters over the side.

.

Where, in 1492, Columbus found it.