African Wild Dogs: Why Conservationists Are Saving Africa’s Most Hated Carnivores

Two white pickup trucks sit beside a highway crossing South Africa’s Waterberg, about three hours from Johannesburg. As you pass them, you might hear an unexpected sound: panting from inside the cargo beds. Through openings at the tops of three green wooden crates, mottled fur rises and falls over narrow rib cages. Inside are three sleeping female African wild dogs.

The sisters have traveled thousands of miles in recent weeks—an extraordinary journey even for a species capable of covering 30 miles a day and ranging across territories of up to 1,000 square miles. They flew from Karingani Game Reserve in Mozambique as part of the Endangered Wildlife Trust’s African wild dog range expansion program.

Launched in 1997, the conservation program has added more than 344 wild dogs to the global population over 29 years. It relocates African wild dogs to protected reserves in countries where they disappeared decades ago. In Mozambique, for example, the species was wiped out in many areas during the civil war that lasted from 1977 to 1992. Mozambique’s recovering packs have reproduced so successfully that conservationists are now moving young dogs to South Africa to create new packs with greater genetic diversity.

The three sisters were carefully immobilized with sedatives before their transfer. They will spend several weeks in a specialized enclosure, known as a boma, before being released into the wild with satellite tracking collars. The facility is the first of its kind designed specifically for African wild dogs.

The sisters represent a small but important part of the estimated 6,600 African wild dogs remaining worldwide. According to the World Wildlife Fund, African wild dogs are among the world’s most endangered mammals. Also called painted dogs or Cape hunting dogs, they look like unusually tall, slender mongrels, with oversized round ears, large paws, long legs and fluffy white tails.

Every African wild dog has a distinctive coat pattern of black, gold and white patches. Their markings are as individual as fingerprints, making the animals relatively easy for researchers to identify and monitor in the field.

African wild dogs are among the most efficient predators in Africa, with reported hunting success rates of about 80 percent. Lions, by comparison, succeed in roughly 30 percent of hunts. But this remarkable hunting ability has contributed to their decline. Some private game-reserve owners kill wild dogs to protect valuable game animals, while subsistence farmers may kill them to defend livestock.

A 2021 study published in Ecology and Evolution found that human-related causes—including deliberate killing and diseases transmitted by domestic dogs—accounted for 44 percent of wild dog deaths at research sites in Kenya, Botswana and Zimbabwe over 15 years. Fragmented habitat also prevents packs from moving freely and finding unrelated mates.

Despite their reputation as dangerous predators, African wild dogs are highly social, playful animals. Briana Abrahms, who studies wild dogs in Botswana, has watched pups toss balls of elephant dung like footballs. Neil Jordan, a biologist at the University of New South Wales in Australia, has found evidence that wild dogs may be among the few animals that appear to vote on group decisions.

Before a hunt, the pack gathers for energetic “rallies.” At dusk, one or two dogs may rise from the shade, flatten their ears and pretend to stalk prey. They bark, chatter, play, urinate and run in circles as more members join the activity.

“They kind of snowball socially, so then more get involved, and more get involved. It’s like a big merry-go-round, and they’re all running around crazy,” Jordan says. The pack may repeat the ritual several times before finally departing. The hunt begins only after the dogs produce rapid nasal exhalations that sound like sneezes, although scientists are still studying whether sneezing is an intentional signal.

African wild dogs also show unusual care for vulnerable pack members. Pups are allowed to feed first, and adults that are injured, sick or pregnant may receive regurgitated food from other dogs. Cooperation is central to the survival of every member of the pack.

While the three sisters sleep in the trucks, I sit in a nearby hut with Eugene Greyling, an Endangered Wildlife Trust field officer helping transport the animals. We are at the entrance to the Welgevonden Game Reserve, home to the temporary enclosure where the dogs will be held.

South Africa has four main African wild dog populations. One is held in private zoos. Another lives in Kruger National Park, the only location in the country with enough wild dogs to maintain genetic stability without outside assistance. A third population ranges freely across a patchwork of public and private properties in the Waterberg. The fourth is a “metapopulation,” made up of dogs that move between reserves such as Welgevonden and the Tswalu Kalahari Reserve, South Africa’s largest privately owned nature reserve.

The EWT works with these reserves to establish new, genetically diverse packs and expand the species’ range. For endangered African wild dogs, forming healthy packs is essential because the animals depend on one another for hunting, raising pups and defending their territory.

African wild dog packs typically contain between five and 20 animals and have complex social hierarchies, Greyling says. The alpha female and alpha male are generally the only breeding animals. To increase the population, conservationists must help dogs form new packs.

Groups of sisters often leave their birth pack together to search for unrelated males, while groups of brothers disperse in search of females. The EWT monitors where the animals travel and tracks the genetic makeup of each pack. Without connected habitats and careful management, dispersing dogs may become isolated and fail to find suitable mates.

The three sisters had encountered potential mates in Mozambique, but the males were too closely related. Relocating the females to South Africa offered an opportunity to create a healthier, genetically diverse pack. “If you told people 20 years ago that we were going to be flying wild dogs under sedation to other countries—it’s just quite crazy,” says Cole du Plessis, who coordinates the range-expansion project.

At Welgevonden, Greyling and I meet Reilly Mooney, a biologist and director of the Waterberg Wild Dog Initiative. Mooney came to South Africa from Wisconsin to study primates. When the Covid-19 pandemic halted her research, she attended a community meeting about free-roaming African wild dogs that had been left largely unmanaged.

The situation was tense. Local residents wanted someone to improve communication between communities and conservation groups, and Mooney took on the challenge. Her first task was to determine how many wild dogs lived in the region. Their distinctive coats made the animals easier to identify. “We can say with pretty good confidence that in this entire Waterberg area, there are only 27 wild dogs,” she says.

In the hut, Greyling receives a call from Joseph Hlako, an EWT colleague monitoring the sleeping animals. As the organization’s conflict-mitigation officer, Hlako brings personal experience to the work. He grew up in the area, has relatives who farm and speaks Northern Sotho along with other South African languages.

For Hlako, conservation depends on building trust with local communities. “A familiar face works better than any face,” he says. His relationships with farmers and residents help conservationists understand local concerns and find practical ways for people and wild dogs to share the landscape.

After Greyling leaves the hut, he reports that one of the dogs may be overheating. He wants to move her into the enclosure and cool her as quickly as possible. We follow him across the highway, through cattle country and dense bush, to the boma: a fenced compound built from shipping containers and other simple materials.

The enclosure may look modest, but every feature was designed for African wild dogs. A concrete wall extends four feet below the fence to stop the animals—determined diggers—from escaping. Separate sections allow males and females to live apart while becoming familiar through the fence. Each section also includes a feeding post.

Wild dogs typically eat while facing the person feeding them, which makes it difficult and dangerous to administer a tranquilizer. The feeding posts position the animals with their backs toward caretakers. Because the dogs naturally raise their hindquarters while eating, veterinarians can safely deliver a dart when relocation is necessary.

As Greyling and Hlako unload a crate, a dusty paw slips through one corner. Mooney and I watch from inside a container while Hlako moves the truck into the shade. Although afternoon is fading, the temperature remains near 90 degrees Fahrenheit.

One by one, the workers open the crates and wait for the sedated dogs to emerge. The first sister is unsteady. The second appears almost alert, though Mooney notes that she would have run much faster if the sedative had fully worn off. Together, the sisters stand in the grass, lift their noses, swivel their enormous ears and settle beneath a thorn tree.

As the sun sets, I prepare to leave before the reserve gates close. The overheated dog is lying beside the water, breathing with her mouth open. Greyling tries to reassure everyone that she will recover, but his concern is evident.

Later, Greyling shares the devastating news: The dog has died. Du Plessis says the cause was capture myopathy, sometimes called “broken-heart syndrome,” a potentially fatal reaction to extreme physical and psychological stress. The dog had endured a prolonged capture attempt in high temperatures, and underlying health issues or recent encounters with predators may also have contributed.

Du Plessis remains focused on improving what conservationists can control. “I would never accept the loss of a dog as fine,” he says. But if one of the surviving sisters produces puppies and helps add 20 to 30 dogs to the population during her lifetime, the loss may ultimately contribute to a broader conservation gain.

A year later, du Plessis updates me on the two surviving sisters. After two months at the Welgevonden boma, they moved to Rietspruit, a small private reserve connected to Kruger National Park. Du Plessis had identified a potential mate living about nine hours away in KwaZulu-Natal Province.

He tranquilized the male and transported him to Rietspruit. The introduction initially went well, creating a new pack of three. The dogs hunted successfully, but several months later a lion killed the male inside the reserve.

Eventually, du Plessis learned of two males that had dispersed from another pack in search of mates. He brought them to the boma and waited for the sisters to locate them. Wearing tracking collars, the females appeared near one of the reserve’s lodges a few days later.

Du Plessis attached two hay balls carrying the males’ scent to the back of his vehicle and called to the females using the “hoo” vocalizations African wild dogs use to find one another. The females emerged and followed the vehicle—at one point traveling about 37 miles per hour as they chased the scented hay.

Relocation alone cannot save African wild dogs. Their habitat must continue to expand, reserves must remain connected and conservationists must work with surrounding communities. Still, progress has been significant. Over the past three decades, land set aside for the animals has increased by 1.5 million hectares, and the number of packs has grown by 30.

“The genetic diversity within those packs is very good,” du Plessis says. “If we can keep this strong and working, and other organizations are doing their restoration efforts and community conservation efforts, it’s creating the space where we’re ready to jump when the time is right.”

Du Plessis dropped the hay near the enclosure and drove away, trusting the females to follow the scent to the males. They did. At the fence, the dogs immediately began greeting one another, ducking beneath each other and dipping their heads as part of their courtship behavior.

When Du Plessis opened the enclosure, however, the males stayed inside while the females ran in. None of the four would leave, so conservationists allowed them to bond in the boma for three weeks. The females soon entered estrus, and the males began guarding them. The team hoped the introduction would produce puppies.

One sister did become pregnant. The pack of four built a den, a sign that birth was close. But before the puppies could grow, a leopard killed the mother. Her pups were too young to survive without her milk and also died. The two brothers later became caught in a snare line, while the remaining sister eventually joined another pack.

Despite the setbacks, Du Plessis measures success by the long-term population trend. In 2025, African wild dogs supported by the project in South Africa, Mozambique and Malawi produced 150 puppies. With only about 700 breeding pairs and an estimated 6,600 wild dogs remaining worldwide, that number is significant.

“You have ebbs and flows, but at the end of each year, if you’re either stable or increasing, for an endangered species, you’re doing pretty well,” Du Plessis says. For African wild dogs, every new pack, connected habitat and surviving puppy represents another chance for the species to recover.