Granting a Poor Animal Amnesty

...This is about our pet-dog named Wisky. He was a German Shepherd - a well trained Hunting Dog.
Uncle Adrian owned a beautiful gray dog he named Wisky. Wisky was indeed a German Shepherd. He was well trained, obedient, and an energetic relentless hunting dog that could smell a deer, a mile away.
From age eight, I had the privilege of accompanying my uncles Adrian, Fred and their friends on several adventurous hunting expeditions.
I was often the errand boy who carried the light stuff light lunch and water bottles.
These hunting trips often would go on for a whole weekend depending on how soon we made a big catch of bush meat to take home to our parents.
We depended on Wisky's nasal sensors. While in the bushes, Wisky would suddenly raise his nose up to the sky, appearing to smell something in the air. My uncle would become alert and when Wisky dashed in one direction, we all would follow suit. After a quick dash he would start digging and we instinctively would form a semi-circle around the area, with our machetes held high above our heads, ready to strike the unfortunate victim of the day.
Often, my uncle would rush forward to make a euphemistical first contact with the victim which was usually either a rabbit or a squirrel.
Since I was often scared, I stood back until the dust settled. On such occasions, I would quietly wish that Uncle Adrian granted the poor animal amnesty. This was when my desired for a 'Fresh Bush Meat meal' was overwhelmed by witnessing first hand how the animal was caught.

You've gotta read: "Survival Instincts" by Herman Yenwo for the full story.

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