5
Sonja clapped her hands. ‘Shoo!’ she commanded the trio of tan-coloured mangy African dogs. The heavily pregnant wart-hog didn’t pause to acknowledge her intervention, and continued snuffling in the overturned rubbish bin as she had been when the dogs were nipping at her hindquarters.
‘Eish, you must be eating for four or five, my girl,’ Sonja said to the grunting, farting creature as she passed it.
Sonja walked on, through the dusty car park of the small shopping centre near the entrance to the Chobe Safari Lodge. Chipchase had done a good job of cleaning and stitching the holes in her thigh. The skin was pink, there was no blood, and while her leg still ached she had been well enough to walk on it by the second day. She still hadn’t confirmed to him that it was she who had tried to
