On Friday I noticed that a camp dog we have a real soft spot for was looking poorly, and we needed meat for our household, too. So when evening rolled around - the time when buffalo like to stand-up - my wife and dog and I went for a look-around to see what we could find. The annual cold-season burning has started. It promotes new growth and reduces fire risk later in the year when it would be disastrous. The buffalo love this time of year, and so do we. The new growth that erupts from the ash doesn't look like much at first glance, but is good fodder - better than the browned-off stuff left-over from the wet season. The rifle I took may be of interest or even surprising. Thirty-five years ago my father bought this Sako .22-250 to tame some wild south-west country. I was probably nine or ten when I began using it on rabbits to feed the cats and foxes to save the lambs. This old rifle now has a new barrel and lives up-north where the country will forever stay wild, I pray. It brings good food to some of the nicest folks on God's Earth and nourishment to an assortment of canine characters, running the cute little 55 grain Barnes TSX. Anyhow, on Friday afternoon a thumper of a bull nganabbarru fell to my old childhood rifle, shot through the heart plus some insurance shooting. There were some happy dogs, for sure.