Dingo's Hunt

My rust-coloured fur warms me on the dark, cold Australian nights.

My rust-coloured fur is as soft as a barn owl’s feathers.

My rust-coloured fur is a large beach, getting hot as I lie in the sun.

My large paw-pads are rough from running along the red Australian dirt.

My large paw-pads are rough like bark.

My large paw-pads are rocks, with hard unbreakable shells.

I hear the birds high up in the trees, squawking and screeching, cooing and calling.

I smell the scent of the birds through my nose.

I feel the ferns as they dance in the wind.

The bright greens of the forest dazzle my eyes.

I find the dead animal I was tracking, and take it back to my den.

I place it down next to the fallen tree, and walk into my den.

I wake my pups, dinner is here.

We feast until dawn breaks over the far-off hills.

Then we hide back in the den, waiting for the next night, to hunt again.