‘I understand there aren’t any animals in the Mara in January’ was part of some recent ill-researched correspondence sent our way.……
It is early morning, last Monday. The waxing gibbous moon is seemingly refusing to drop below Rhino Ridge and there is growling in the thicket with an uneasy face-off between two male leopards: one a Jaffa-tinted four year old boy and the other the old Olare roisterer, Pink Nose.
This seasoned philanderer was so intent on the potential of a turf war that he did not see an even more territorial lioness approaching from the East. The younger russet-male had already retreated onto the nearby river’s bedrock, leaving the Swordsman in a very vulnerable and dangerous position. A big budget cat-fight mismatch, with one genuine contender was suddenly a very real possibility.
Just imagine the trauma for the few with ringside seats: mouths dry, choking breath, faces taught with intolerable anguish not knowing whether to watch or focus on the rock, or hard place. The lion crept up silently on the alpha male like Lord Rennard on an unsuspecting Oxbridge intern (allegedly) but as she burst into a run, Pink Nose bolted into the bushes, before ignominiously crying surrender from an uncomfortable pose on a prickly yet neutral euclea bush.
And breathe …….. ‘there aren’t any animals in the Mara in January.’
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