Cattle Dipping Day In Rhodesia That Was

"You're a Christian only because the Bible promises that God will make you prosper". Robert said it without rancour, just as an observation.  He leaned toward the cheery little campfire and carefully pushed a mangwe log further into the yellow, dancing flames.  Out in the darkness, toward the kopjies that loomed black against a clear, cool sky that seemed to hiss with starlight a jackal howled its manic observance to the night and was answered by another, faintly, far away.

Barry did not reply immediately.  It had been a good day.  Hot, with an intensity only October in Rhodesia could muster.  Suicide month they called it.  When the long, dry winter months were over but there were as yet only a very few, secret signs of life beginning to stir in the Bush and most of the trees stood stark and leafless as the sun gathered heat by the day and leaped roaring into the waiting sky at dawn.

The workers had rounded up a good count of the free-grazing beef here in No. 1 camp.  Not a full count, of course, but fifteen short, of a total herd of sixty-seven head, wasn't bad.  It had taken nearly two hours to drive the herd slowly, carefully, through the dip-tank, in almost orderly procession.  Some beasts paused cautiously at the jump-off step before making the reluctant plunge into the dark, evil-smelling liquid.  Others leaped spectacularly as far out as they could, disappearing entirely underwater before surfacing, wild-eyed and snorting spray, horns agleam as they struck out for steps leading out into the draining race of the dip.

The dip-tank was built to a width intended to accommodate only one beast, so if an energetic leaper followed a reluctant slitherer, there could be a resulting confusion of struggling bodies which required the services of the man with the long forked pole on the watch halfway along to sort out, assisting the weaker of the two to avoid it being held underwater.  It was this man's task also to control the pace at which the animals entered the dip tank. A rush of too many at one time could result in some being pushed under, ingesting the poisonous liquid, even drowning.

In the early days, two cattlemen inside the entry track urged the animals forward by shouts, shrill blood-curdling whistling and, when necessary, the application of long, thin sticks to the backs of those they could reach, to encourage a forward surge that would push the dallying cause of congestion off the ledge into the liquid.  In later years, the cattlemen were encouraged to adopt, as far as possible, a more calm approach, taking fewer beasts at a time forward to the jumping-off point, keeping the use of their long switches to a minimum.

Arsenical cattle dips : methods of preparation and direction for use