Sambar for lunch, with some coffee

I have long been fascinated with wildlife. Growing up in the metropolis of Chennai, I often found myself wondering about the mysterious ways in which wild animals in the far away forests would communicate, survive and thrive. Amongst all their wondrous habits, it is the art of the hunt that enthralled me. A hunt demands complete mental and physical prowess, combining patience, strategy, and determination to secure a meal. Little did I know at the time that my fascination with carnivorous creatures would persist, shaping my career towards formally researching and understanding wild carnivores like wild dogs, mongooses, leopards, civets and bears.

India’s wild dogs — also called ‘dholes’ (from the Kannada word ‘thola’ meaning ‘wolf’) — are incredible hunters. These pack-living endangered dogs (scientifically known as Cuon alpinus) are found across the forests of India’s Western and Eastern Ghats, Central India and Northeast India. Rather than roaring, howling, and barking (like most other carnivores of the dog family), dholes ‘whistle’ to communicate with each other, together with a wide repertoire of sounds like yaks, yelps and squeaks. 

Dholes are extremely efficient hunters. When packs embark on a hunt, each member seamlessly takes its place, coordinating a synchronised chase. The impeccable coordination and communication among pack members is a stunning display of teamwork. Following a short chase, they swiftly capture their prey — usually deer or wild cattle that weigh around 10 times the size of an individual dhole — in a mesmerising dance of predator and prey.

For the past two years, I have been part of a project researching dholes across the state of Kerala. During one of our surveys in Nelliyampathy, my colleague and I were traversing a coffee plantation interlaced with fragmented patches of forest habitats. We were walking along the survey route, surrounded by the melody of a stream meandering through the plantation. Scattered settlements of the plantation workers dotted the path.

During the survey, I spotted two rusty red dogs with black bushy tails by the stream. Unmistakably, they were dholes. My excitement surged, but my colleague had already moved a few paces ahead. I urged him back, and we both saw three dholes by the stream. Despite the tremble in my hands, I managed to capture a few blurry photos before the dogs vanished into the vegetation. I was desperate to get a better view of the elusive canids. I cautiously followed their trail and stumbled upon a breathtaking sight. The pack of five dholes were sitting scattered on various rocks by the stream, a rather rare sight to witness in the middle of a busy coffee plantation abuzz with plantation workers in the middle of the day.

Maintaining a safe distance from the dholes so as to not disturb them, we settled near a coffee bush and quietly observed the pack. The three dholes we had initially seen lingered by the stream. The other two remained hidden behind the foliage; only their feeble whimpers audible to us. The leader (presumably) of the pack stood sentinel, ensuring the coast was clear. Peering through my binoculars, I focused on what I thought was his partner drinking water, only to then witness her devouring a freshly hunted sambar deer (Rusa unicolor). The male dutifully safeguarded the pack, while his mate enjoyed her meal. Close by, a sub-adult patiently awaited its turn, while the two others rested, and waited for their turn.

After a while, we heard some people approaching along the path. The leader, with his ears erect and alert, was the first to detect the people. With a subtle signal, he alerted the pack, and within moments, the dusky-coloured dogs disappeared into the coffee bushes without a trace. We watched the people — coffee plantation workers — stumbling upon the kill. Recognising it as the handiwork of dholes, the ensuing conversation revealed their understanding of dhole behavior, acknowledging the likelihood of the predators returning for their meal. They opted to take a coffee break and return later, allowing the dholes to have their meal in peace.

With substantial reluctance, we resumed our survey. But my curiosity lingered, prompting me to steal glances through my binoculars every now and then. What I then saw left me speechless: all five dholes, now resting between bouts of ravenous gorging. All of this unfolded within a mere hundred metres of a human settlement. It was a passive reminder of nature’s resilience and adaptability, even in the face of rapidly changing times.

Dholes are mostly forest-dependent carnivores, preferring to live far away from human activities. Over time, they seem to have adapted to live alongside people in agroforests like coffee and tea plantations of India’s Western Ghats. These ‘altered’ habitats, with all their complexities, still offer refuge for wildlife. Observing how dholes (and many other wild carnivores) navigate these diverse landscapes, deal with challenges and manage to thrive, continues to fuel my curiosity.

My journey with these captivating creatures has only just begun. Understating this strange blend of people and large carnivores sharing space, to me, is not very different from the unusual yet delicious blend of freshly brewed coffee. Now back in the city, as I sit analysing the data — as researchers do — every sip of my beverage serves as a reminder of the elusive whistling dogs, whose presence adds an extra flavor to my filter coffee.

Pooja Sarvanan is a Research Assistant with The Dhole Project at the National Centre for Biological Sciences–TIFR, Bengaluru. She has interests in the ecology of small carnivores and conservation education

Views expressed are the author’s own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth