Over the last week, I have been out for a series of early morning wild dog hunts. There has been no luck with that, so far. The mornings have been misty and cool, with beautiful sunrises. I have judiciously called, in good locations, but have not had any responses at all from the wild dogs. After getting home from those forays, in time for breakfast, I have been busy in the yard, watering, mowing and gardening. I have also managed to get in a bit of bird photography.
This morning, for something different, hunting buddy Peter and I did another early morning hunt, but this time we were looking for a big, old boar. The owners of the property have had several encounters with this crusty old warrior, where they needed to jump back in their vehicle as the big old boar came at them, huffing and clacking his tusks.
They got in a couple of experienced young fellows with their dogs. The hunters encountered the boar, which they described as bigger than average, and mean as hell. The dogs tackled it. However, the boar was a tough customer and, after a half kilometre tussle through thick tropical jungle, the dogs were badly ripped and beaten. Now, that’s a boar we would like to make acquaintance with!
Later this afternoon I will be putting a trail camera over another dead cow on the neighbour’s place. Late yesterday afternoon, I was watering the veggie garden for another neighbour who is away camping, when this fellow rode up on his quad bike. He asked me to come and put down one of his cows. She was one of his favourites, and you could see why. About ten years old, with a lovely glossy coat, she was as tame as a kitten.
However, something had gone wrong with her current calving effort, and she was in a bad way. My friend is an experienced farmer and had tried everything he knew to help her but to no avail. Septicemia had set in, and the old girl was beyond anything but a swift exit. I talked gently to her as I walked right up close and put the muzzle of the rifle on her forehead.
The carcass has been dragged aways to a bare, flat spot next to one of the dams, and piled with firewood. In a day or two, the farmer will set the funeral pyre ablaze. In the meantime, we might just get a dog or two off her. But for a patch of intervening remnant forest, I would be able to see the carcass from my place, and it would be within the sighed range of my 257 Weatherby Magnum. However, the location calls for something a bit more discreet than the 257 Weatherby, and I will be using my deadly accurate Weatherby HSP in 223 Rem for any hounds that show-up.