My buffalo When I have hunted in the past I have done so with a consciousness of life,an understanding that I am about to take a life and the sadness that comes to all hunters after the shot. We have read the great literature, rourke,hemingway etc and dreamt about the bull that we would hunt and saved so much for...an old animal maybe,genes passed on,thick hard boss combined with a deep,worn and wide curl,the quintessential dugga boy Wide eyed and enthusiastic I asked the PH for advice and was instructed to kill him,break his shoulder,pulverise his heart and then do it again. The buffalo,my buffalo, just appeared amongst the others in the herd...bigger,stronger,meaner and the animal I was told to shoot. I didn't feel the familiar sadness when he dropped,only relief. I had rolled the dice of life and won,I done as i was told,a good client. When I'm an old man my memories of this buffalo hunt will comprise two pairs of eyes,a buffalo and professional hunter, both giving me the same look.