2018 - continued.
Having resolved the question of whether or not I knew ostriches "can't fly anyway", we set out for more game,
This was next
Then we just happened upon this old guy. Head down, grazing, separated from a herd of approximately 60 other buffalo.
We were able to get to about 30 yds from him and I took aim and fired. The 450/400 round hit the sweet spot on the right shoulder and he dropped like a brick. He let out a bellow, and a stream of blood shot back out of the entry hole.
The rest of the herd, now alerted to the danger began to react. Some scattered while some seemed to take up defensive positions.
"Stay here" the PH hollered, as he and the trackers ran to face the threat.
I stared in amazement, the blood stream was as big as my thumb - and spraying out at least 3'. Like an organic lawn sprinkler, every beat - another spurt.
Surely this guy is out of blood. Not hardly, apparently not even close.
Just when I thought the referee was going to say, "10 - you're out", he attempted to get to his feet.
Head turned in my direction, blood pulsing out of his shoulder, with a look of, "Is that all you've got?"
Broken shoulders unable to support his weight, he faltered, and pulled his body left as if to join the fleeing herd.
Now facing away from me, his hind legs struggling to lift the back half of his body, I send the second barrel into his hip, breaking it and anchoring him to the ground.
He's down, but he's still not dead, and you don't leave a wounded cape buffalo undead.
With the PH standing guard, I reload and deliver the coup de grâce.
My first shot broke both shoulders and did what you see to the heart - and he struggled to his feet.
Damn - I've got a cousin who won't get out of bed with a f***g cold.
More later...