12 December 2011, 17:21
Fritz RabeGoodbye my friend
This is a tribute to Shumba – my friend, my hunting partner and my companion.
Shumba did not say much. He did all his talking through actions. He was my tracking dog. He was 90lb of pure Rhodesian-Ridgeback. Whenever I took my bow and walked into the bush, he was my silent eyes, nose and ears. How exciting it is to stalk into the wind and after a while he just nudges me from behind and looks into the bush and warns me of something up ahead.
Many a time I hunted like that and we were successful more often than not. He was an expert with wounded game from a Rabbit to Buffalo. When a client wounded an animal my trackers all wanted to get Shumba on the spoor as fast as they could. That meant less stress for them. He could go 10 -15 miles in the hot African bush with only drinking water once. His biggest asset was his feet. They never gave up on him like other breeds when sharp, hot stones were where the spoor led us.
Even after dark, he would not quit until he had the quarry bayed and we could finish it of properly.
His end came sudden.
My fiancé and I were taking a late Sunday afternoon stroll in the bush as we always did. Shumba was sniffing everything he could as usual. As we entered a very thick clump of bush, all hell broke loose around us with a lot of grunting and branches breaking.
At first I did not know what it was but Shumba immediately went ahead and started a fight. I was afraid to leave my fiancé and took her to a big tree to hide in. The whole Big-6 was on the property and we had a lot of Buffalo. I did not want to have to shoot if I could avoid it.
Then Shumba gave a short, sharp yelp. This I could not ignore. I rushed into the thicket with my .416Rem at the ready. A Short distance later I saw him lying on his side, tail wagging as he saw me. He was hurt badly. I still did not know what it was that he went for.
When I got to him I was shocked! His one back leg was broken. His whole side was ripped open and his guts were lying next to him. I could not keep back the tears. I sat next to him and he licked my hand and looked me in the eye as if pleading to end his pain.
Never in my life did I hate pulling a trigger so much.
I took my fiancé home and went back with my trackers to see what happened. First we buried him in the way that the Matabele nation buried a king. David my head tracker would not have it any other way. He was wrapped in a Zebra skin and they all cried as we covered the site.
Then the tracking started. Never have I seen them so dedicated on finding an animal. Not far from the scene we found the Warthog. He died of blood loss. Shumba just about ripped his whole throat out. The interesting thing is that another blood trail led further. We found the second pig where he was stumbling and snorting in circles and falling over a lot. With him was another one that kept following this drunken pig.
I shot both of them. The third pig also showed signs of heavy fighting. This was a first for me. Three big male Warthog that formed a clan and they stuck together when a treat came.
Shumba died the way he lived. Doing what he loved the most.
I have a new Ridgeback now. He is great but still young. He has big shoes to fill if he wants to make a name for himself. My trackers think that he will succeed.