Wild dog control close to home

Sometimes opportunities are in your own backyard. It was 3pmon a stinking hot summer afternoon. All I wanted to do was sit on the verandah sipping cold soda water. But our little grandson was visiting and agitating to “do something”. Farm holidays are great for kids. They get to see real world animals and activities. New calves are cute and there’s plenty of tame native animals and birds around the farmhouse too. The neighbouring forestry hosts a lot of wild dogs and at times they take a heavy toll on the little calves. Our grandson loves helping with the dog control aspects. That includes putting up trail cameras and moving dead livestock about. Sometimes it includes placing boned-out deer frames near the trail cams too.

A calf was missing, and I needed to go look for evidence of what may have happened to it. A drive around the paddocks with the A/C cranked right up was the easiest option and qualified as ‘doing something’. With the grass short, and whenfrizzled, a missing calf should be easy to spot. The country was parched after a long dry spell. Sooner or later, wild dogs would reappear, and young calves would be an easy and enticing meal opportunity. My trail cams on neighbouring properties were registering an increasing occurrence of scrawny wild dogs so, even though I had not heard or seen dogs on our place, I harboured some concerns about the missing calf.

My eager little helper wanted to know if I was taking a rifle, in case we saw a wild dog. I told him no, the rifle could stay in the gun safe as there would not be any wild dogs out and about on such a scorching afternoon. We motored slowly off to the back paddock to perform a lap and then glass from a high point, looking for any signs of the calf. The little guy was keen to open and close all the gates we had to pass through while I soaked up the A/C. Sweet. There was a small dam in the middle of the paddock, and I detoured that way. The skeleton of a cow killed and eaten by dogs more than a year earlier was still beside the dam. I knew that would titillate the morbid curiosity of my passenger and likely be the highlight of the afternoon. The vehicle was in low range 2^nd gear and we were just idling along at a walking pace. There were zero hazards to be aware of, so I was free to look all about as we approached the dam.

My hunting buddy soon yelled, “There’s a dog!”I began to correct him, even before I had eyes on the animal itself, “No, that would be a…” I was about to add wallaby but never got the chance. About 100m away, a rangy old red dog trotted away from the dam. It stopped, then sat down to look back at us. Through my binoculars the dog loomed large and showed in fine detail. I passed the binos to my helper for a good look. The dog seemed happy with himself and was content to sit returning our gaze. Wild dogs in our parts are well tuned and know very well the danger represented by humans and vehicles. But with that often-demonstrated canine skill, our cunning old adversary seemed to somehow know we were unarmed and posed no threat. I regretted leaving my wildlife camera at home almost as much as I did the rifle.

After a lengthy session of mutual admiration, the dog stood up and trotted off to the sanctuary of neighbouring forest. We went on to the dam. The dried, scungy remains of the cow skeleton were surrounded by a mass of wild dog tracks. It said a lot for how hungry they must be to pay any attention to such slim pickings. It also underlined the threat to the calves in the next paddock. My little helper volunteered to carry the backpack of trail cameras. He helped me to put a few up. It added a lot of zest to his visit as he insisted we check the trail cams once, even twice, each day. Need I say that all future trips to the paddocks required a rifle? Of course, we did not see another dog during that visit, but the trail cams and tracks showed they were about.

By the time of the next school holidays, we had received some good summer rain and the paddocks were once more lush with grass. The moment he arrived, my little hunting buddy wanted to pick up where he left off. The trail cams showed a variety of dogs, at different times of the day, all heading towards the calf paddock. The rangy old red dog we had seen featured often, always at the most random times. We had lost a couple of calves to the dogs. The dam with the cow skeleton lies in a shallow valley that runs downhill, and straight to the calves. It’s a natural funnel for the wild dogs coming in from the forestry. We did a few dawn and dusk sits under a lone pine tree growing close to the dam. After a few days we had not seen a dog and my young companion’s patience was being tested. So it was that the next afternoon sit found me alone. He chose to stay home and help Nanna cook some biscuits and cake. Our cottage is less than a kilometre from the dam so the cooks were keeping an ear open for any shots they might hear. They knew the drill. If they heard a shot, they must wait for my call before coming to meet me.

I took up position under the pine about half an hour before sunset. It was muggy and a light drizzle was wafting across the landscape. Around me, darker clouds and flashes of lightning heralded the approach of storms. It occurred to me that sitting under a lone pine tree in an otherwise open paddock was not a good place to be. I kept a close eye on the gathering storm, prepared to leave at the first sign it was rolling closer. The pine gave me some shelter from the misty drizzle as I howled intermittently. Sunset passed without any dogs appearing. The light was fading rapidly and I began to get ready to leave. I had the phone in my hand, about to call my wife to come collect me when I saw a red dog trotting past, about 120m away. It took only a few seconds to get into shooting position, the Merkel K3 in .243 Win resting comfortably in the yolk of my trigger stick. I gave a brief yodel. The dog stopped at once and looked my way. I had an unobstructed sighting on his shoulder as he stood nicely side on. I pushed the cocking switch forward and fired, killing him instantly.

I immediately reloaded as I scanned around me. Up toward the forestry, a black speck moved. It was the companion bitch. She was reluctantly moving back toward the forestry in stop-start fashion while constantly looking back. I yodelled loudly and she obligingly stopped and, even better, sat down facing me. I reappraised the distance and figured it was at least 250m. There was only a light breeze. I aimed a smidge up on her and carefully squeezed off the shot. There was that brief delay that confirms a long shot before the reassuring wallop of a good hit. She flopped into the grass. I called home. They had heard the shots and the little guy was prancing about the kitchen in excitement. I finished my pack up then shouldered my backpack before going to inspect the dead dogs. I heard our vehicle start and saw the headlights coming my way. Another few minutes and the light would not have let me see, or shoot, that second black dog.

In the following days, I took my little buddy onto close-by properties that are rougher and more forested. I showed him fresh dog tracks and an old hollow log sometimes used as a den by wild dogs. We called at various promising spots and had a few close encounters with wild dogs as they cautiously approached through the deep summer grass. It turned into a red-letter week with five wild dogs accounted for. The fifth dog was shot on that small dam close to the cottage. It was the old red dog we had first seen that hot afternoon. I had collected quite a few images of him crossing that paddock, so we knew him well. When I squeezed the trigger, he was in almost the exact same spot as that first sighting. It just demonstrates how your own backyard can turn on the action at times.