African Wild Dog Collaring (My Favourite Animal)

Before I go anywhere on safari, I ask if there are any conservation projects near the camp. These are usually local conservation charities that need something paid for, in this case a collar, and as a visitor you get to ride along whilst they go about their job. It’s like being an unpaid intern, except you, the intern, pays. Oh, so when they do it it’s fine, but when I offer people the chance to clean my gutters and pay me for the privilege, suddenly it’s “exploitation”.

You can’t demand they just head out and dart an animal for you, cos that’d fall under the “fucked up” category normally reserved for certain bars in Bangkok.  Collaring happens when a collar needs fitting or replacing, and it depends on the animal, the vets, and the permits, regrettably not on your room category.

But, it is certainly possible.  In the last twelve months I’ve been there for a rhino relocation, rhino dehorning, elephant collaring and, now, my favourite animal, the African wild dog, sometimes known as the painted wolf. They’re one of the most underappreciated, endangered predators in Africa. I have far too many books on them, and one of my favourites opens with the view that if you set out to design the perfect animal — a ruthlessly efficient predator that has never attacked a person in the wild, good-looking, and devoted to its family — you’d be wasting your time, as it already exists. Facts.

South Africa has around 500 to 650 left, most of them in and around the Greater Kruger. Fewer than the number of people at my children’s school sports day and considerably better behaved.

Wild dogs cover enormous distances and have little interest in the difference between the reserve and your farm. When a pack wanders off, it’s dealing with roads, but more importantly, unhappy farmers and domestic dogs carrying rabies, distemper and god knows what. Have you seen what your dog is up to? Wild dogs are incredibly social, so once disease gets into one, the whole pack can die. A GPS collar lets the team know where the whole pack is in near real time, so they can get there before a problem becomes a funeral. One collar covers an entire pack, which is why it’s worth the roughly $2,500 it costs to put one on.

Anywho, my prayers were answered when I heard there was a pack near where I was staying that needed collaring. So one afternoon, we went off to look for them. Never before have I felt more manly. My testosterone levels hit eleven, I promise you. We had a buffalo leg in the back of the truck in case we needed it to lure them out, and I stood on the back of the car as we drove around… for the first hour. Then the sun hit, and I slithered my way into the front seat.

After nearly three hours of trying, with all hope (and light) starting to fade, we found them, the vet darted one, and in “we” went. The moment the dart hits, the rest of the pack are spooked and run from the sound, and in less than a minute the heroic dog is down, having a nice snooze. The vet goes in, checks all is well, and then the work starts.

These vets move fast.  First, checking the drugs work, cos no matter how lovely these animals are, they’re probably not gonna take well to you sticking your fingers in their ears.  Then the blindfold goes on, blood taken, vaccinations given, collar fitted. I “helped” lift up the pooch and screw in the collar, much like your three-year-old child “helps” you make dinner. They just made me feel good about not being a complete waste of space. I also kindly turned down the chance to do the rabies vaccination, because I just don’t do needles, thank you very much. I’m not sure what would have happened if that injection had been mine alone to give, and whether I’d have picked my phobia over my favourite animal, but luckily that doesn’t happen in this timeline.

Their skin isn’t smooth at all, and their teeth are nice and large, so it was all a bit Red Riding Hood. But for around 40 minutes, whilst they worked their magic, it was an incredible experience to be there with Mr Fluffles, as I have christened him.

Then the reversal drug, and we sat and waited, making sure no predator turned up to ruin the day. A groggy, visibly intoxicated dog got up, shook himself off and trotted back to the pack. Where they all lived happily ever after.

At the end, they trimmed the collar and gave me the offcut as a souvenir, which I have now stored in my wallet for the rest of my life, as those pictures of my family aren’t really needed anymore.

These “activities” are always an honour; always a privilege.