Poaching Quarterly Lyndsey Miles Issue - Page 9

The Jeep finally pulled off the side of the road, and the guides pulled out rifles, phones, and maps. Then they set off on foot. After about twenty minutes of wandering around, they came across a skeleton. It was clearly an antelope, and clearly fresh. Meat clung to its bones, and the stench of decay was likely telling every predator around where a free snack was. They moved on. After another hour without animals, they heard a gunshot. The guides pulled their rifles out and raced towards the sound. Leaves crunched underfoot as they ran. After a few minutes, they came across a hidden place. It was a water hole, small in size, but full of life. Or at least it was. Bird carcasses littered the ground, and the bones of larger animals were placed like they had fallen. Suddenly, a beeping started. A guide pulled his transmitter and located the noise. Miranda asked what it was, and he replied that it was a rhino locator. It went off everyday with every alive rhino. A single dot was blinking. He explained to her that that was indead the last rhino. Luckily, she was soon to be a mother, and could be bred by the only captive rhino left. Miranda nodded. The group continued on their way. After another mile, they heard an ugly noise. Flapping noises sounded overhead. It was vultures. They followed the birds for a mile or so until they saw it. A rhino. Laying on the ground . Bleeding. Dying. Poached. Miranda knew it was poached because it had no horn. They stood frozen for a few seconds before two guards ran off the find the hunter, and the rest and Miranda tried to save the lost one. After a few minutes of frantic first aid, Miranda realized something. This was truly the last rhino. Only a male was left. As the rhino died, all was silent.

Miranda was so very proud of her story. It was pages and pages about the wonderful wild. Magical animals, serene places. But most of all, endangered animals. The ones who are dying. The poached ones. Rhinos, tigers, but mostly elephants. The ones who need help. The lost ones.

Poaching Quarterly

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