Still Rampant
by Glenn Muir
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: The further adventures of Shug and Dave, twa lions frae the Serengeti.
Swearwords: One strong one only.
Description: The further adventures of Shug and Dave, twa lions frae the Serengeti.
The mid-day sun wis totally scaddin, even by Serengeti standards. Too hot for the usual cacophony o birdsang, only the chirping and buzzing o insects interruptit the brooding silence.
Unner the scant shade o an Acacia tree twa lions were sleeping. Dave and Shug had jyned forces twa weeks afore. Shug wis haen major hyena problems at the time and Dave obligingly helped him oot (thereby gaining a share o a buffalo Shug had pauchled frae the hyenas). Dave had been chased awa frae his pride by his twa faithers on him reaching maturity. Shug’s story wis much the same, except that his brither Oscar had been wi him when he had been telt tae bugger aff. Unfortunately Oscar endit up broon breid eftir getting kicked on the napper by a giraffe. Dave turnin up wis a godsend, twa lions had a much better chance o takin owre a pride than yin oan his ain. Of course they werenae quite ready for that jist yet, they wid hae a couple o years as nomads first.
Shug and Dave had spent the last twa weeks scavenging aff hyena kills and dodgin onie resident male lions. Maistly,they slept, lions are experts at sleepin, if they didnae hae tae eat they wid sleep aa the time.
As the sun stertit tae sink lower Dave yawned and streetcht.
“Haw, Shug wakey, wakey.”
Shug merely twitched a tawny lug an continued sleeping.
“ZEBRA!” Dave purred loudly.
Shug lowpit up. “Whit, whaur, jeez Dave, gi’es a brek. Ah wis haen a braw dream aboot you an me catchin wildebeests.”
“Shit happens, bud, c’moan mebbe we can catch a real wildebeest doon at the waterhole,” Dave yawned.
“Aye, Dave, somethin fresh for a chynge, that hisnae been slabbered owre by bastard hyenas,” Shug replied.
They padded aff in the direction o the waterhole as the nicht began tae fa. The wind wis blawin intae thir faces as they brushed thir wey through the lang lush gress.
“Mmm,” said Shug, “can ye smell yon?”
“Aye, this could be oor lucky nicht,” Dave answered. “Wildebeest and zebra tae.”
They decided tae form a pincer movement, Shug takin the west flank and Dave takin the east. The plan wis for Shug tae position himself low in a thick clump o lang gress. Dave approachin stealthily frae the opposite airt wid gie a roar an Shug wid ambush whitivir cam closest in the ensuing panic.
Dave tested the wind, guid it wis still blawin in his face as he inched ever closer tae the wildebeest and zebra wha’s ootlines he wis able tae see in the pale licht o the African moon. He lowered himsel as much as possible and inched his wey forrit. The zebra and wildebeest were usually cautious at waterholes, eftir aa this wis a prime ambush spot for predators. Aye they wir nervous richt enough and they werenae sae daft as they luiked. Dave suddenly let oot a muckle roar and raised himsel up. The grazers splashed thir wey in the opposite direction ontae terra firma and in the general direction o the waiting Shug. Dave ran behind them, every noo and then haen a wee bit roar.
The soond o dozens an dozens o hooves thundered aff intae the darkness. Shug suddenly appeared on the horizon, he wis dangling frae the neck o a zebra stallion. Dave clattered intae the unfortunate cratur cowpin it ower. Shug crushed the stallion’s windpipe and it twitched it’s last twitch and then they proceeded tae dine.
The new dawn fund the freens snoozing either side o the partially etten zebra. They widnae need tae hunt again for anither couple o days. They stertit tae blether aboot their favourite grub, like a couple o bon viveurs comparing restaurants.
“Zebra is braw enough, Dave, and wildebeest, eland an kudu tae, but ye jist cannae whack buffalo,” Shug opined. “Buffalo is the best.”
“No monie o them aboot,” Dave answered, yawning expansively. “Dangerous buggers, tae, but ye are richt buffalo is defo the best.”
Dave gave anither yawn. “Better than bluidy baboon, Shug, hiv you evir ate yin o yon?”.
“O aye, I tried baboon yince, it wis boggin, nearly as bad as hyena, Ah wis aboot boakin.”
They both gave identical yawns and drifted off tae sleep (perchance tae dream), bellies up an replete.
The dawn found them still slumbering beside the hauf etten zebra. As the temperature rose the sky became thick wi vultures circling abune them on the thermals, waiting for Dave and Shug tae leave the carcase. Naturally, on seeing the vultures, ither scavengers were drawn tae the kill.
“Shug,” Dave purred, “we hiv company.”
“Aye, bluidy chancers the lot o thim,” Shug answered, opening yin yella ee.
There wis a dozen or so hyenas warily parading roond the lions and their kill at whit they considered tae be a safe distance. There were also a few black-backed jackals boldly joukin in an oot trying tae grab a wee bit scrap o the meat. A particularly cocky hyena breenged in tae grab a meaty haunch. Roaring irately Dave and Shug got up as swiftly as their full bellies wid allow, but too late tae stop the thief.
Reluctantly they agreed tae walk the hundred or so yairds back tae the waterhole for a quick drink.
“I doot there will be zilch left o auld stripey by the time we get back,” Shug growled, “but ye dinnae hauf get a drooth.”
The waterhole wis largely deserted, the approach o the twa lions saw tae that. A family o warthogs trotted aff, leaving Shug and Dave wi only a few sand grouse for company.
Having drank thir fill o the tepid muddy water they padded back tae the remains o last nicht’s kill. There wisnae much left, jist the heid and a few scattered banes, the remaining vultures flapped thirsels awa oot the road as the hunters arrived.
“Great!” Shug groaned. “Bastard hyenas.”
“Nivir mind, Shug, it wis guid while it lastit,” Dave purred affably. “Time for a wee snooze.”
They avoided the harshest rays of the sun by lying deep in a shady clump of mopane trees. An unfamiliar rumbling noise alerted them tae the approaching landrover.
“Whit the fuck is that?” Dave exclaimed as the vehicle came tae a halt not twinty yairds frae thir hiding place. Shug remained silent as if trying tae recall some stored knowledge .
A black game scout and a white scientist emerged tae examine the remains o last nicht’s meal. The scout knelt cradling his rifle and picked up a blade of dry grass which he sniffed sagely. He whispered something tae his companion and they gingerly eased themselves back intae the landrover. Just in time, as it happens, Dave had come charging oot o the scrub thinking he had an easy meal. A warning roar frae Shug stopped him in his tracks and he swerved awa frae the humans at the last meenit. The engine turned and the strange visitors sped aff leaving the freens alane yince mair.
“Guid job ye didnae catch thon thing, Davie lad,” Shug sighed.
“Why, Shug? It wid hae been a nice easy kill, it seemed hermless enough, fresh meat an aa that,” he replied.
“Ma faither telt me aboot yon, said he had ate yin when he wis younger,” Shug went on. “Oniewey, ye widnae hiv enjoyed it at aa.”
“How no?” said the puzzled Dave.
“It’s the taste, son,” Shug grimaced at last. “Apparently they taste like baboon.”
Unner the scant shade o an Acacia tree twa lions were sleeping. Dave and Shug had jyned forces twa weeks afore. Shug wis haen major hyena problems at the time and Dave obligingly helped him oot (thereby gaining a share o a buffalo Shug had pauchled frae the hyenas). Dave had been chased awa frae his pride by his twa faithers on him reaching maturity. Shug’s story wis much the same, except that his brither Oscar had been wi him when he had been telt tae bugger aff. Unfortunately Oscar endit up broon breid eftir getting kicked on the napper by a giraffe. Dave turnin up wis a godsend, twa lions had a much better chance o takin owre a pride than yin oan his ain. Of course they werenae quite ready for that jist yet, they wid hae a couple o years as nomads first.
Shug and Dave had spent the last twa weeks scavenging aff hyena kills and dodgin onie resident male lions. Maistly,they slept, lions are experts at sleepin, if they didnae hae tae eat they wid sleep aa the time.
As the sun stertit tae sink lower Dave yawned and streetcht.
“Haw, Shug wakey, wakey.”
Shug merely twitched a tawny lug an continued sleeping.
“ZEBRA!” Dave purred loudly.
Shug lowpit up. “Whit, whaur, jeez Dave, gi’es a brek. Ah wis haen a braw dream aboot you an me catchin wildebeests.”
“Shit happens, bud, c’moan mebbe we can catch a real wildebeest doon at the waterhole,” Dave yawned.
“Aye, Dave, somethin fresh for a chynge, that hisnae been slabbered owre by bastard hyenas,” Shug replied.
They padded aff in the direction o the waterhole as the nicht began tae fa. The wind wis blawin intae thir faces as they brushed thir wey through the lang lush gress.
“Mmm,” said Shug, “can ye smell yon?”
“Aye, this could be oor lucky nicht,” Dave answered. “Wildebeest and zebra tae.”
They decided tae form a pincer movement, Shug takin the west flank and Dave takin the east. The plan wis for Shug tae position himself low in a thick clump o lang gress. Dave approachin stealthily frae the opposite airt wid gie a roar an Shug wid ambush whitivir cam closest in the ensuing panic.
Dave tested the wind, guid it wis still blawin in his face as he inched ever closer tae the wildebeest and zebra wha’s ootlines he wis able tae see in the pale licht o the African moon. He lowered himsel as much as possible and inched his wey forrit. The zebra and wildebeest were usually cautious at waterholes, eftir aa this wis a prime ambush spot for predators. Aye they wir nervous richt enough and they werenae sae daft as they luiked. Dave suddenly let oot a muckle roar and raised himsel up. The grazers splashed thir wey in the opposite direction ontae terra firma and in the general direction o the waiting Shug. Dave ran behind them, every noo and then haen a wee bit roar.
The soond o dozens an dozens o hooves thundered aff intae the darkness. Shug suddenly appeared on the horizon, he wis dangling frae the neck o a zebra stallion. Dave clattered intae the unfortunate cratur cowpin it ower. Shug crushed the stallion’s windpipe and it twitched it’s last twitch and then they proceeded tae dine.
The new dawn fund the freens snoozing either side o the partially etten zebra. They widnae need tae hunt again for anither couple o days. They stertit tae blether aboot their favourite grub, like a couple o bon viveurs comparing restaurants.
“Zebra is braw enough, Dave, and wildebeest, eland an kudu tae, but ye jist cannae whack buffalo,” Shug opined. “Buffalo is the best.”
“No monie o them aboot,” Dave answered, yawning expansively. “Dangerous buggers, tae, but ye are richt buffalo is defo the best.”
Dave gave anither yawn. “Better than bluidy baboon, Shug, hiv you evir ate yin o yon?”.
“O aye, I tried baboon yince, it wis boggin, nearly as bad as hyena, Ah wis aboot boakin.”
They both gave identical yawns and drifted off tae sleep (perchance tae dream), bellies up an replete.
The dawn found them still slumbering beside the hauf etten zebra. As the temperature rose the sky became thick wi vultures circling abune them on the thermals, waiting for Dave and Shug tae leave the carcase. Naturally, on seeing the vultures, ither scavengers were drawn tae the kill.
“Shug,” Dave purred, “we hiv company.”
“Aye, bluidy chancers the lot o thim,” Shug answered, opening yin yella ee.
There wis a dozen or so hyenas warily parading roond the lions and their kill at whit they considered tae be a safe distance. There were also a few black-backed jackals boldly joukin in an oot trying tae grab a wee bit scrap o the meat. A particularly cocky hyena breenged in tae grab a meaty haunch. Roaring irately Dave and Shug got up as swiftly as their full bellies wid allow, but too late tae stop the thief.
Reluctantly they agreed tae walk the hundred or so yairds back tae the waterhole for a quick drink.
“I doot there will be zilch left o auld stripey by the time we get back,” Shug growled, “but ye dinnae hauf get a drooth.”
The waterhole wis largely deserted, the approach o the twa lions saw tae that. A family o warthogs trotted aff, leaving Shug and Dave wi only a few sand grouse for company.
Having drank thir fill o the tepid muddy water they padded back tae the remains o last nicht’s kill. There wisnae much left, jist the heid and a few scattered banes, the remaining vultures flapped thirsels awa oot the road as the hunters arrived.
“Great!” Shug groaned. “Bastard hyenas.”
“Nivir mind, Shug, it wis guid while it lastit,” Dave purred affably. “Time for a wee snooze.”
They avoided the harshest rays of the sun by lying deep in a shady clump of mopane trees. An unfamiliar rumbling noise alerted them tae the approaching landrover.
“Whit the fuck is that?” Dave exclaimed as the vehicle came tae a halt not twinty yairds frae thir hiding place. Shug remained silent as if trying tae recall some stored knowledge .
A black game scout and a white scientist emerged tae examine the remains o last nicht’s meal. The scout knelt cradling his rifle and picked up a blade of dry grass which he sniffed sagely. He whispered something tae his companion and they gingerly eased themselves back intae the landrover. Just in time, as it happens, Dave had come charging oot o the scrub thinking he had an easy meal. A warning roar frae Shug stopped him in his tracks and he swerved awa frae the humans at the last meenit. The engine turned and the strange visitors sped aff leaving the freens alane yince mair.
“Guid job ye didnae catch thon thing, Davie lad,” Shug sighed.
“Why, Shug? It wid hae been a nice easy kill, it seemed hermless enough, fresh meat an aa that,” he replied.
“Ma faither telt me aboot yon, said he had ate yin when he wis younger,” Shug went on. “Oniewey, ye widnae hiv enjoyed it at aa.”
“How no?” said the puzzled Dave.
“It’s the taste, son,” Shug grimaced at last. “Apparently they taste like baboon.”
About the Author
West Lothian-born Glenn Muir is a fiftysomething postman working in Linlithgow. Previously a member of the West Lothian Song Writers Group, he is now with Quill, a poetry and writing group based in Bathgate.