This only happens in Africa!




Rubber Doughnut



Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 19)( Page 7 ) Jocks Mistake

So that was the explanation of the koodoo's return to us!  The natives, a hunting party, had heard the shot and coming along in hopes of meat had met and headed off the wounded koodoo, turning her back almost on her own tracks.  There was satisfaction in having the puzzle solved, but the more practical point was that here was all the help I wanted; and the boys readily agreed to skin the animal and carry the four quarters to the camp for the gift of the rest. Then my trouble began with Jock.  He flew at the first of the kaffir dogs that sneaked up to sniff at the koodoo.  Shouting at him produced no effect whatever, and before I could get hold of him he had mauled the animal pretty badly.  After hauling him off I sat down in the shade, with him beside me; but there were many dogs, and a succession of affairs, and I, knowing nothing of his deafness, became thoroughly exasperated and  urprised by poor old Jock's behaviour. His instinct to defend our kills, which was always strong, was roused that day beyond control, and his hatred of kaffir dogs--an implacable one in any case--made a perfect fury of him; still, the sickening awful feeling that came over me as he lay limp and lifeless was too fresh, and it was not possible to be really angry; and after half a dozen of the dogs had been badly handled there was something so comical in the way they sheered off and eyed Jock that I could only laugh.  They sneaked behind bushes and tried to circumvent him in all sorts of ways, but fled precipitately as soon as he moved a step or lowered his head and humped his shoulders threateningly.  Even the kaffir owners, who had begun to look glum, broke into appreciative laughter and shouts of admiration for the white man's dog. Jock kept up an unbroken string of growls, not loud, of course, but I could feel them going all the while like a volcano's rumbling as my restraining hand rested on him, and when the boys came up to skin the koodoo I had to hold him down and shake him sharply.  The dog was mad with fight; he bristled all over; and no patting or talking produced more than a flicker of his ears.  The growling went on; the hair stood up; the tail was quite unresponsive; his jaws were set like a vice; and his eyes shone like two black diamonds.  He had actually struggled to get free of my hand when the boys began to skin, and they were so scared by his resolute attempt that they would not start until I put him down between my knees and held him. I was sitting against a tree only three or four yards from the koodoo, and the boys, who had lighted a fire in anticipation of early tit-bits which would grill while they worked, were getting along well with the skinning, when one of them saw fit to pause in order to hold forth in the native fashion on the glories of the chase and the might of the white man.  Jock's head lay on his paws and his mouth was shut like a rat trap; his growling grew louder as the bombastic nigger, all unconscious of the wicked watching eyes behind him, waved his blood-stained knife and warmed to his theme. "Great you thought yourself," proclaimed the orator, addressing the dead koodoo in a long rigmarole which was only partly understood by me but evidently much approved by the other boys as they stooped to their work, "Swift of foot and strong of limb.  But the white man came, and--there!" I could not make out the words with any certainty; but whatever the last word was, it was intended as a dramatic climax, and to lend additional force to his point the orator let fly a resounding kick on the koodoo's stomach. The effect was quite electrical!  Like an arrow from the bow Jock flew at him!  The warning shout came too late, and as  ock's teeth fastened in him behind the terrified boy gave a wild bound over the koodoo, carrying Jock like a streaming coat-tail behind him. The work was stopped and the natives drew off in grave consultation.  I thought that they had had enough of Jock for one day and that they would strike work and leave me, probably returning later on to steal the meat while I went for help from the waggons.  But it turned out that the consultation was purely medical, and in a few minutes I had an interesting exhibition of native doctoring.  They laid the late orator out face downwards, and one burly `brother' straddled him across the small of the back; then after a little preliminary examination of the four slits left by Jock's fangs, he proceeded to cauterise them with the glowing ends of sundry sticks which an assistant took from the fire and handed to him as required.  The victim flapped his hands on the ground and hallooed out "My babo!  My babo!" but he did not struggle; and the operator toasted away with methodical indifference. The orator stood it well! I took Jock away to the big tree near the pool: it was evident that he, too, had had enough of it for one day.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick ( Chapter 19 )( Page 2 )Jock's Mistake

At the next stop I had a look back to see how he was behaving, and to my surprise, although he was following carefully close behind me, he was looking steadily away to our immediate right.  I subsided gently on to my left side to see what it was that interested him, and to my delight saw a troop of twenty to twenty-five Blue Wildebeeste.  They, too, were `standing any way,' and evidently had not seen us. I worked myself cautiously round to face them so as to be able to pick my shot and take it kneeling, thus clearing the tops of the grass; but whilst doing this another surprising development took place.  Looking hard and carefully at the wildebeeste two hundred yards away, I became conscious of something else in between us, and only half the distance off, looking at me.  It had the effect of a shock; the disagreeable effect produced by having a book or picture suddenly thrust close to the face; the feeling of wanting to get further away from it to re-focus one's sight. What I saw was simply a dozen quagga, all exactly alike, all standing alike, all looking at me, all full face to me, their fore feet together, their ears cocked, and their heads quite motionless--all gazing steadily at me, alive with interest and curiosity.  There was something quite ludicrous in it, and something perplexing also: when I looked at the quagga the wildebeeste seemed to get out of focus and were lost to me; when I looked at the wildebeeste the quagga `blurred' and faded out of sight.  The difference in distance, perhaps as much as the very marked difference in the distinctive colourings, threw me out; and the effect of being watched also told.  Of course I wanted to get a wildebeeste, but I was conscious of the watching quagga all the time, and, for the life of me, could not help constantly looking at them to see if they were going to start off and stampede the others. Whilst trying to pick out the best of the wildebeeste a movement away on the left made me look that way: the impala jumped off like one animal, scaring the tsessebe into a scattering rout; the quagga switched round and thundered off like a stampede of horses; and the wildebeeste simply vanished.  One signal in one troop had sent the whole lot off.  Jock and I were left alone, still crouching, looking from side to side, staring at the slowly drifting dust, and listening to the distant dying sound of galloping feet. It was a great disappointment, but the conviction that we had found a really good spot made some amends, and Snowball was left undisturbed to feed and rest for another two hours.  We made for the waggons along another route taking in some of the newly discovered country in the home sweep, and the promise of the morning was fulfilled.  We had not been more than a few minutes on the way when a fine rietbuck ram jumped up within a dozen yards of Snowball's nose.  Old Rocky had taught me to imitate the rietbuck's shrill whistle and this one fell to the first shot.  He was a fine big fellow, and as Snowball put on airs and pretended to be nervous when it came to packing the meat, I had to blindfold him, and after hoisting the buck up to a horizontal branch lowered it on to his back.

Jock Of The Bushveld by Sir Percy Fitzpatrick (Chapter 19)( Page 6 ) Jocks Mistake

The reason for Jock's persistent disobedience that day was not even suspected then; I put everything down to the kick; and he seemed to me to be `all wrong,' but indeed there was excuse enough for him. Nevertheless it was puzzling that at times he should ignore me in positively contemptuous fashion, and at others obey with all his old readiness: I neither knew he was deaf, nor realised that the habit of using certain signs and gestures when I spoke to him--and even of using them in place of orders when silence was imperative--had made him almost independent of the word of mouth.  From that day he depended wholly upon signs; for he never heard another sound. Jock came back with me and lay down; but he was not content.  Presently he rose again and remained standing with his back to me, looking steadily in the direction taken by the koodoo.  It was fine to see the indomitable spirit, but I did not mean to let him try again; the koodoo was as good as dead no doubt, yet a hundred koodoo would not have tempted me to risk taking him out: to rest him and get him back to the camp was the only thought.  I was feeling very soft about the dog then. And while I sat thus watching him and waiting for him to rest and recover, once more and almost within reach of me he started off again. But it was not as he had done before: this time he went with a spring and a rush, and with head lowered and meaning business.  In vain I called and followed: he outpaced me and left me in a few strides. The koodoo had gone along the right bank of the donga which, commencing just below the pool, extended half a mile or more down the flat valley. Jock's rush was magnificent, but it was puzzling, and his direction was even more so; for he made straight for the donga. I ran back for the rifle and followed, and he had already disappeared down the steep bank of the donga when, through the trees on the opposite side, I saw a koodoo cow moving along at a slow cramped walk.  The donga was a deep one with perpendicular sides, and in places even overhanging crumbling banks, and I reached it as Jock, slipping and struggling, worked his way up the other wall writhing and climbing through the tree roots exposed by the floods.  As he rushed out the koodoo saw him and turned; there was just a chance--a second of time: a foot of space-- before he got in the line of fire; and I took it.  One hind leg gave way, and in the short sidelong stagger that followed Jock jumped at the koodoo's throat and they went down together. It took me several minutes to get through the donga, and by that time the koodoo was dead and Jock was standing, wide-mouthed and panting, on guard at its head: the second shot had been enough. It was an unexpected and puzzling end; and, in a way, not a welcome one, as it meant delay in getting back.  After the morning's experience there was not much inclination for the skinning and cutting up of a big animal and I set to work gathering branches and grass to hide the carcase, meaning to send the boys back for it. But the day's experiences were not over yet: a low growl from Jock made me look sharply round, to see half a dozen kaffirs coming through the bush with a string of mongrel hounds at their heels.