Sporting Shooter

The Sandwich Bull

NINE hours ago my dinner was alive and well, meandering through the tropical savannah after a big night on the grass. He was an old bull, and from where I sat under the shade of a clump of pandanus, I caught his movement and then watched his last fight through the binocular.

“As he neared, I kept edging around the tree so that I couldn’t see his head.”

He won, and the other bull –

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