Apologies to George Orwell

I came across my old nemesis the snorting wildebeest yesterday as I was taking a walk along the river on the road to the farm gate. This time there was no scrambling effort to run. Out of the silence of the bush came a loud, threatening snort. It was followed 10 seconds later with another louder snort, and then another. I looked up. The ‘beest was about 50 feet away staring me down. He caught me unawares. The tone of the snort seemed to suggest “those pants sure make your bum look big.

” I was taken aback by the suddenness of the insult and the steadfast way he stood his ground. Shaken, I turned on my heels and walked back towards the house. You may have foiled me this time, you snorting, foul-breathed wildebeest. But as Pepe La Pew (the great rogue romantic and philosopher) would say “those who fight and run away, they live to fight another day.” Next time I’ll be more prepared. Maybe something that starts with “yo Momma’s so ugly . . . . etc etc”. This morning over breakfast a huge troop of baboons crossed the river bed to the stand of trees just opposite the terrace. As I drank my morning coffee, I watched them comes in waves. Whole families, some of the baboons mere babes, running in from the bush to congregate in a huddle near the farmhouse. Two of the largest baboons climbed to the top of the largest tree and sat staring at us. Studying us. Marking our every movement through the house. If I didn’t know better, I would think they were plotting something. As I walked back towards my stone hut, the cheetah looked at me from his enclosure. He seemed to be pacing around the gate in an irritated fashion. He opened his jaws and beneath the low meowing I swear I heard him mutter “four legs good, two legs bad”. With three legs, no wonder he was looking nervous and confused. Or maybe I’ve just been in the bush too long.