Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 7 )( Page 3 ) Into The Heart Of The Bush

We knew well enough what to expect, so after breakfast Jimmy, who understood Buggins well, told him pleasantly that he could "sleep, shoot, or shut up."  To shut up was impossible, and to sleep again-- without a rest--difficult, even for Buggins; so with a good-natured laugh he took the shot gun, saying that he "would potter around a bit and give us a treat."  Well, he did!
We had outspanned on the edge of an open space in the thorn bush; there are plenty of them to be found in the Bushveld--spaces a few hundred yards in diameter, like open park land, where not a single tree breaks the expanse of wavy yellow grass.  The waggons with their greyish tents
and buck-sails and dusty wood-work stood in the fringe of the trees where this little arena touched the road, and into it sallied Buggins, gently drawn by the benevolent purpose of giving us a treat.  What he hoped to find in the open on that sweltering day he only could tell; we
knew that no living thing but lizards would be out of the shade just then, but we wanted to find him employment harmless to him and us. He had been gone for more than half an hour when we heard a shot, and a few minutes later Jimmy's voice roused us. "What the dickens is Buggins doing?" he asked in a tone so puzzled and interested that we all turned to watch that sportsman.  According to Jimmy, he had been walking about in an erratic way for some time on the far side of the open ground--going from the one end to the other and then back again; then disappearing for a few minutes in the bush and re-appearing to again manoeuvre in the open in loops and circles, angles and straight lines.  Now he was walking about at a smart pace, looking
from side to side apparently searching for something.  We could see the whole of the arena as clearly as you can see a cricket-field from the railings--for our waggon formed part of the boundary--but we could see nothing to explain Buggins's manoeuvres.  Next we saw him face the thorns opposite, raise his gun very deliberately, and fire into the top of the trees.
"Green pigeons," said Jimmy firmly; and we all agreed that Buggins was after specimens for stuffing; but either our guess was wrong or his aim was bad, for after standing dead still for a minute he resumed his vigorous walk.  By this time Buggins fairly fascinated us; even the
kaffirs had roused each other and were watching him.  Away he went at once off to our left, and there he repeated the performance, but, again made no attempt to pick up anything and showed no further interest in whatever it was he had fired at, but turned right about face and walked
across the open ground in our direction until he was only a couple of hundred yards away.  There he stopped and began to look about him and making off some few yards in another direction climbed on to a fair-sized ant-heap five or six feet high, and balancing himself
cautiously on this he deliberately fired off both barrels in quick succession.  Then the same idea struck us all together, and "Buggins is lost" came from several--all choking with laughter.
Jimmy got up and, stepping out into the open beside the waggon, called, "Say, Buggins, what in thunder _are_ you doing?" To see Buggins slide off the ant-heap and shuffle shamefacedly back to the waggon before a gallery of four white men and a lot of kaffirs, all cracking and crying with laughter, was a sight never to be forgotten. I did not want to get lost and be eaten alive, or even look ridiculous, so I began very carefully: glanced back regularly to see what the track,
trees, rocks, or kopjes looked like from the other side; carefully noted which side of the road I had turned off; and always kept my eye on the sun.  But day after day and month after month went by without accident or serious difficulty, and then the same old thing happened: familiarity
bred contempt, and I got the beginner's complaint, conceit fever, just as others did: thought I was rather a fine fellow, not like other chaps who always have doubts and difficulties in finding their way back, but something exceptional with the real instinct in me which hunters,
natives, and many animals are supposed to have; though, in fact, I could not get lost.  So each day I went further and more boldly off the road, and grew more confident and careless.
The very last thing that would have occurred to me on this particular day was that there was any chance of being lost or any need to take note of where we went.  For many weeks we had been hunting in exactly the same sort of country, but not of course in the same part; and the truth is I did not give the matter a thought at all, but went ahead as one does with the things that are done every day as matters of habit.