ORDON CORMACK and I were sharing a campfire on the Zambezi, listening to the deep-voiced snorting and grunting of a pod of hippos close by. Every once in a while, something would disturb one of them, and it would set them all off in a loud cacophony of complaint. “They always sound so indignant,” I laughed. “Hmmm,” said Gordon, “They’ll soon push off to graze. Probably wake us up when they come back.” “I won’t mind,” I said, “I love hippos. Despite their grumpy outbursts, they lend peacefulness to
