Ally Glasby tells how she laid the perfect ambush to claim her first wild dog.
After camping, hunting, shooting clays, barbequing and the celebrations of New Year’s Eve with friends and family, we enjoyed an uneventful, quiet New Year’s Day, soaking up the hot summer sun. We decided to stay an extra couple of nights to squeeze in a little more hunting after an unsuccessful few days leading up to New Year’s. This decision proved to be the right one.
I left my two-year-old son with my husband and ventured out to do a solo stalk onto a pig carcass where we had trail cameras set up. The cameras had shown excessive numbers of wild dogs.
At about 3pm, camo’d up and hiking boots on, I ventured out to sit in the sun, watching and waiting with the company of about 200 flies. According to the images from the past week on the trail cameras, the dogs weren’t due to come in until at least 5pm. Having arrived at 3pm, I had plenty of time to get into position and wait. The wind was blowing perfectly in my face and to my surprise a magpie at about 400 metres broke the silence of the bush at about 3.30pm.
My eyes zeroed in to see it swooping a wild dog that was trotting along an old bush track and heading straight towards the pig carcass and I.
With my heart beating through my chest and uneasy hands holding the rifle I tried to stay as still as I could, waiting for the dog to close the distance. Looking from scope to open sight and back to scope again I watched it come trotting playfully along the track, tail wagging. Although it only took minutes, it felt like a lifetime before the dog arrived at the pig and started to eat.
After being caught completely off guard with the dog coming in so quickly, I slowly moved to a position that was comfortable to shoot, using my knee as a rest for my shaking rifle. I waited for a perfect broadside shot, as I was only shooting with a .22 from about 40 metres out. I squeezed the trigger at the end of a long and nervous exhale.
The dog yelped, flipped and fell about two metres from where he’d stood only two seconds prior. He lay there, expired. To my shock I had finally done it — I had finally shot my first wild dog.
Growing up in a family that hunted and trapped, it was never me that got to pull the trigger. Having always seen plenty of dogs and other varmints hit the deck, this was one species I had never had the chance to shoot for myself, until now.
The adrenaline, excitement and feeling of accomplishment hit me hard. I had finally proved myself as an amateur hunter.
Ally’s story put her in the running to win hunting gear in our Hunter’s Diary competition. Find out how you could win here.
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