“Jealous I’m tired. I’m actually falling asleep. I need you to drive, my
friend.”
Our day had started 17 hours earlier at 4am. We were now
driving the 300km from Hwange to Bulawayo with Ester, the alpha female of the
Kutanga pack, in the back of my Land Rover. Her leg was broken and we were
taking her to Dr. Stevenage, the veterinarian in Bulawayo. It was 9pm.
The story really started three weeks ago on May 18th, when
Jealous located the den of the Kutanga pack. He came to my office that morning
with news that Ester had denned on the fringes of Dete Township. I looked at him with a mixture of disbelief
and dismay.. I did not doubt Jealous for one second, why would I? My disbelief
and dismay stemmed from the fact that the location was perhaps as poor a
location as any painted dog could select to den. Dete is the main centre of human population
in our core operating area and anywhere within five kilometres is often riddled
with snares on any given day, despite the best efforts of Forestry Commission
and our anti-poaching units.
Jealous and I drove out together that afternoon. We stopped
first at the Forestry Commission office. I wanted to inform them that we would
be active in the area for the next two months and also make plans for joint
anti-poaching patrols with them. After this we drove the short distance towards
the Kutanga den. The road network allowed us toget approximately 500m from the
den. We sat listening to the beep, beep, beep of the protective collars fitted
on all four adults. Jealous and I discussed the situation with the same mix of
disbelief and dismay. The den was no more than two kilometres from the centre
of Dete. The chances of them surviving unscathed in this area, hunting day
after day to feed rapidly growing pups, was slim indeed. There was nothing we
could do now though.
Jealous monitored the pack daily, counting them out and
counting them in as they hunted. On Monday June 3rd, sixteen days after
locating the den, he saw Ester with a broken leg. The knee jerk response was
obvious and we all talked about poachers and snares. Jealous worked around the
clock to locate the dogs. On Thursday June 6th he detected the adults back at
the den and that same evening he watched as the two males, Surf and BT, hunted
down a kudu, feeding on it frantically as only painted dogs do, before the
bigger more powerful predators can muscle in. With bulging stomachs they raced
back to the den to feed Ester and her pups.
Surf and BT failed to make a kill that evening and we
located them again at 4am on Saturday morning. The males soon gave chase, racing
into thick bush with Ester trailing far behind. I looked at Jealous; no words
were needed as I drove my Land Rover off the road into the thick bush. Only
four punctured tyres could stop us; physical damage to the car was of no
concern. We located the dogs approximately 800 metres from the road. They had
killed a duiker and were busily consuming the remaining morsels.
We were close and it would have been an easy shot to dart
Ester with immobilizing drugs, but her distended stomach indicated that she was
already very full of meat. Immobilizing her in such a condition was not an
option, it is too dangerous for her, and so we simply watched them melt away
into the bush. Our concern now switched to the pups. Painted Dogs with pups feed as quickly as
they can and then race back to the den to feed the pups. Instead, Ester, Surf
and BT walked slowly away before settling down to sleep beneath the leafy shade
of a teak tree. With alarm bells ringing we raced to the den. After extensive
searching our worst fears were confirmed.
We walked away speculating on what fate had befallen the
pups after finding only a few small pieces of fur.
We prepared ourselves for the evening, knowing that Ester,
Surf and BT would visit the nearby waterhole. They did, and chased a herd of
Kudu before separating out a sub adult female, who promptly took refuge in the
waterhole. Ester eventually caught up and lay down as Surf and BT circled
around and around the waterhole. As Ester had now digested her morning meal, I
took aim and darted her. She hardly moved and quickly succumbed to the
immobilizing drugs. As we got out of my Land Rover to get Ester, the kudu made
a break for freedom but was caught by Surf and BT. We were happy that they
would feed well and thus not move far away, making it easy for us to locate
them again in the morning when we would return with Ester, who was now our
absolute priority.
I phoned Dr. Stevenage to alert him and predicted that we
would arrive in Bulawayo at 10pm. Thus
we set off on the road to Bulawayo. At 9pm I pulled over to the side of the
road, feeling tired. Mary Phiri sat in the back of my Land Rover keeping a
watchful eye on Ester, while Jealous and I swopped places and he drove us
towards Bulawayo, handling the Land Rover well when we got a puncture! We
quickly changed the wheel while Ester slept in the back of the Land Rover.
We arrived at Dr. Stevenage’s surgery at 11pm. He was
equally shocked by Ester’s condition. Her broken leg was rotten, the flesh
decomposing, septicaemia had set in and she was little more than skin and bone.
Her body displayed all the signs of her brutally tough life in the wild. He
estimated that she only had a day or so left to live and that her only chance
of survival was if he amputated her leg, adding that she may not survive the
operation. I looked at him and nodded, giving him my consent and so we took her
life into our hands.
Jealous and I talked about putting the collar back on Ester
so that we would be able to monitor her once she was released back into the
wild. We knew of an alpha female in Mana
Pools, who had survived for three years after losing a leg, and we hoped Ester
would survive as long.
As I fitted the collar and Dr. Stevenage began cleaning up,
Ester stopped breathing. Emergency procedures, CPR and an adrenaline injection
brought her around briefly, but she died on the operating table. Subsequent
efforts could not bring her back. We looked at each other, what could we say?
After all of that effort we had failed to save her. With heavy hearts we placed
her body into the transport box and left the surgery with quiet words of thanks
and condolences exchanged.
It was 2 am; there was no need to make the long, dangerous
drive back to Hwange now so we drove the short distance to Mary’s home. I lay awake thinking about the drama of the
day and our failure to save
Ester, gaining a little comfort from the effort we had
made. I thought about the dogs whose lives had intersected with mine over the
years.