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Rosalie Hayes travelled on our 'Botswana's Deserts & Delta (Mammals)' holiday and submitted this entry to our writing competition.
Wild Dogs, Botswana
The light was vivid amber and the air was still when our vehicle pulled up quietly amongst the pack of sleeping Wild Dogs. It was an hour before sunset and the shadows of the fire-damaged trees stretched long on the dry ground. The dogs dozed on, their patchwork black-and-fawn coats dappled further by the slowly shifting shade. We stared at these rare animals, our breathing falling into step with theirs, and felt a twinge of guilt whenever one jolted awake, gave us a puzzled look, and then slipped back into irresistible sleep, apparently judging us no threat.
They slept on, and at such close quarters it was impossible not to notice little character quirks. One was slightly more watchful than the others; another held a particularly cool spot with a satisfied look; another was dreaming and his paws scurried comically in the air. We felt so privileged to be tolerated by these beautiful, fierce animals, and a sense of calm settled over the whole group as we relaxed, watching.
Suddenly, with hardly a hint of warning, the dogs leapt to their feet. They spun and jumped, tails whirling, in a fast, incomprehensible dance, sniffing and yelping, crouching and whining: the greeting ritual had begun. It was a manic blur of licking, nuzzling and high-pitched twittering, and then, almost as quickly as it had started, the movement stopped. The dogs lay down in a flash and seemed to go straight back to sleep, leaving most of us a little bewildered: was that the end of the action?
Minutes passed. I sank back into the peace of early evening, the diminishing light turning the sky to a pale, dusky blue and the earth to an even richer orange. Flies tickled the dogs’ outsized ears. Muzzles twitched. Everything was quiet.
Then, to our amazement, the dogs stirred once again. More slowly this time, they stretched, shook themselves, and began to move with an ever-increasing rolling gait: it was time for the hunt. The pack manoeuvred in slick, practised formations, spreading out over the terrain with the alpha male leading the way. One took up a vantage point in a dead tree trunk whilst another padded up a grassy mound, both with their heads raised and ears straining forwards. All were sniffing, all were bright-eyed, all were totally alert.
Quicker and quicker they moved, so our guide turned on the ignition and hurried round the corner, ahead of the pack. Breaths held, we strained to pick out their shapes in the gathering dusk, but yes, there was the alpha male, and yes, one by one they came lolloping past, all right in front of our vehicle. The chase was now on so we sped off behind them, in hot pursuit of the pursuers. We were racing at the tail end of the pack, and like them we scanned the horizon avidly for prey: could this be our chance to see a kill?
There! An Impala darted off to our right, and a lone dog flew across our path to chase it down, at a speed that took us all by surprise. But the others did not follow and, without their support, the dog had to abandon the attempt, circling back to join the group. We were still accelerating, and looking around with the wind pounding at my face and my heart racing, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. We were surrounded. We were in the pack. We were running with Wild Dogs.
The pack veered away from the track but our guide drove on, aiming to cut the dogs off at a further point. After a few minutes we stopped and the engine died down. I gazed around me. The sky was radiant now, pink and violet and peach, and a soft breeze played with the dark leaves of the thicket. I gazed upwards. Hundreds of enormous dragonflies were darting silently after insects, their delicate bodies silhouetted against the beautiful sky. I listened. The night sounds were growing, the crickets and the plinkity-plonk of reed frogs, but nothing more. Nearby Impalas were grazing at ease. The Wild Dogs were gone.
Read more about our 'Botswana's Desert & Delta (Mammals)' holiday.