Australia: Beware of the Dingos

The dingos are getting closer. I’ve been running from them for about a month now. everywhere I turn there is a dingo. Dingo, dingo, dingo…I don’t know where I am. I must be near a river, because I can hear water running. Maybe if I get in the river I could wash off this horrible stench of rotting flesh. Earlier today I killed a boar and rolled around in its entrails, hoping to smell like a boar, not dingo food. As you have probably guessed, it didn’t work. I can’t even describe what I smell like now, all I know is: Dingos eat boards, too.

I’m in a tree. It’s morning and I woke up in a tree…How could I–what was that sound? It sounded like a…baboon? No, baboons aren’t in Australia…are they? I wish I had my nature book…it sounds…a bit like a dog, actually–of course! How could I forget I am being hunted by a pack of dingos? Now I remember…I climbed the tree to be safe for a night. I wonder if I can just stay up here…? No, the dingos must have picked up on my trail by now. I must move on. If i can get into a town, I will be safe. The dingos are getting closer, I must make a decision: stay in the tree, or make a run for it. There is no use staying in this tree all day, so I must run as fast as I can.

Its about noon, I think. I found the river, so I’m safe for not. the dingos can’t swim. As soon as I am rested, I will move on at a leisurally pace. Now that I am on the other side of the river, I have nothing to fear.

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