Pet cemetery

Star Witness

Colleagues who watched us walk out of the office each morning were convinced we were headed for a picnic. Who could blame them? We had camping chairs, umbrellas and bags of food and water. Some joked about it being a "rubbish" story.

But a stakeout at a landfill dump where mountains of animals rot in the sun and deep, thick pools of blood make the most hardened animal activist fight back vomit is about as far as you can get from a day at the botanical gardens.

Especially when each failed attempt ends in long, hot showers to wash away the invisible imprints of a thousands flies.

Our story began by chance. We had discovered that a part of the Randfontein municipal landfill site, west of Joburg, was being used to dump animals, animal waste and used medical products.

The first visit, three weeks ago, burnt the images into our memories, convincing us that the story needed to be told.

Mounds of animals were scattered across the manmade dunes. Some had scars from autopsies and others looked as though they were asleep.

A 12-year-old boy poked a Maltese poodle's abdomen in a bid to convince us that the animal was alive. In response, blood spurted from the dog's mouth and nose.

The animals were not wrapped or buried, but thrown on top of each other. Many had been, over time, covered by rubbish, their jaws sticking out of the dirt. Some were being eaten by bugs.

Surgical blades, swabs, syringes and half-empty bottles with euthanasia liquid were flung into the mix.

In other parts of the dump, piles of intestines - the size of small swimming pools - were nearing bursting point, blowing up like balloons in the heat.

The human scavengers at the site had gathered a massive collection of ribcages (ostriches, they told us) and were harvesting them near the entrance.

On that first visit we watched as a white truck arrived to drop off a load of pink slime, pouring it out of bins, onto the ground and into the hands of the scavengers.

The flies were everywhere, swarms of them touching you despite your fiercest objections. The ibises were more private, cashing in on the worms until, spooked by a passing resident, they launched into flight and settled somewhere else.

The smell at the dump stabbed you right in the stomach. The nausea came in waves, causing us to gag. Ironically, our first reaction was to gasp for air, inhaling more of the putrid air.

Scavengers at the site were convinced one of the bakkies belonged to the SPCA. Later, a local youth managed to get us a registration number, which checked out to the Randfontein SPCA.

On day one of the stakeout we found a spot on a nearby hill where we were fairly well camouflaged and where the smell was less potent - depending on the wind.

We watched, read, photographed birdlife, fought off the flies and ate mostly snack bars (sealed until we shoved them into our mouths). Each time the birds shot into the air we felt excited. A long camera lens would catch the culprits...

Three days went by without a sign of the SPCA vehicle. There were others, which came to offload regular waste or the remains of animals slaughtered at abattoirs, their skins being flung into the ruby mess.

We waited patiently and documented, knowing there could be a dozen reasons for the mistiming.

Residents of the landfill, or those passing through, stopped at the fresh piles, sometimes digging in it.

Over time we tried several other tactics, such as searching for the bakkie at the SPCA or calling insiders to nail down a pattern of when the drop-offs took place. It was only on Monday that we photographed what we had come for.

The SPCA isn't alone in dumping animals; private vets and abattoirs are also guilty.

Dog and cat carcasses dumped in Randfontein [WARNING: GRAPHIC PICTURES]