The lone wild dog

As if someone had just drawn the curtains open, the first of the day’s rays began to pierce through the scrub along with the heat that I have come to expect from the mid-January summer sun. ‘You have to be a tough animal to survive this kind of climate,’ I thought to myself, as we stared intently for any sign of movement along the creek line to the east.

We were looking for wild dogs from a hidden observation post in a clump of trees on a hill. Once again, I was hunting the ever-present and often elusive predators on my usual patch, accompanied by my brother and young nephew. Although the local council baiting program had been used, on this property the odd dog