Lycaon pictus. The highlight of my holiday. I had never seen a wild dog until last month. It was my mission. Usually when you head out into the bush to find an animal, say a wild dog, they elude you. You pass a vehicle and they say, oh, we just saw a wild dog, just down the road. You follow their directions precisely, nothing. Or you return to the lodge and overhear people talking about watching wild dogs make a kill. This time we were lucky. One of the anti-poaching rangers saw the tracks. We radioed, met him on the road, and drove through the bush. There they were. Nine of them. Brilliant white tails. Beautiful patchy black, brown and white patterns. And, best of all, an exceptional head of hair, tawny colored and parted in the middle. Once common, their numbers have reduced drastically over the past years because of disease and persecution. Endangered. Threatened. Rare. In northern
