Help Animals With Emergency Medical Treatment

The past two months, from December 2025 through February 2026, we experienced two wildlife emergencies where, despite our best efforts, we were unable to intervene in time.

It was deeply saddening to witness an impala mother calling repeatedly for her newborn calf. We had seen her tiny antelope soon after birth—it was much smaller than the other new calves, but appeared to be fine. Sadly, we later found the little one had died. There was no visible injury or cause, and we believe it may have been due to natural reasons, possibly a premature birth.

No sooner had we accepted that nature sometimes intervenes than another event occurred.

Our night watchman reported a wildebeest on the other side of our boundary on the property of the Agricultural Research Institute. She had a deeply embedded snare around her head. She was lying down, unable to stand. We immediately contacted the manager of the ARC and prepared to assist, but tragically, she had already died. While we were relieved her suffering had ended, we were deeply disturbed by the incident and concerned about the need for stronger anti-poaching measures on that property. We are arranging further meetings with the Institute to encourage improved security.

These moments remind us of the urgency and unpredictability of conservation work. While the outcomes were saddening, they have strengthened our resolve to continue helping wherever possible to prevent undue suffering. Each challenge underscores the importance of the Wildlife Emergency Fund, ensuring swift, effective future interventions.

This month, a quiet sadness has settled over our sanctuary. A little red duiker, blind in one eye and slowed by age, has drawn near to our homestead. As many wild creatures do when unwell, he’s found comfort in proximity—browsing tender leaves and shrubs with a calm that speaks of trust. We watch him with gentle hearts, knowing his time may be drawing near. His presence reminds us of the fragile beauty of life in the wild.

Being far out in the bush presents its own challenge: veterinary help is not always close at hand. We’ve reached out to a trusted vet, hoping he can fit a visit into his schedule. His guidance will help us understand how best to support the duiker, and also advise us on another concern—a mild case of lymphadenitis in one of our nyala.

Lymphadenitis, often seen in domestic goats, causes swelling in the neck glands. Thankfully, it usually resolves on its own. We’ve observed the nyala browsing Sickle bush leaves, which Zulu tradition holds as a healing remedy. Locals brew a tea from these leaves to treat their goats, and perhaps the nyala’s instinctive foraging is its own form of medicine. Nature, after all, has its quiet ways of restoring balance.

The rest of our wild residents are thriving. As spring lingers, holding her breath before the summer rains, the bush is already tinged with green. Though the land still carries the dryness of winter, there’s a sense of anticipation—of nourishment to come. And with it, our spirits rise. We move gently with the seasons, grateful for every life entrusted to our care.