Many years ago, near the wave-like dunes, a mud-rolling buffalo stepped on a pear-shaped spider. The sticky soil buffalo went about chewing the yellow grass while swearing at the hairy-legged spider for toy-toying in its footpath. 

“We’re not called the Big Five for nothing,” mooed the cow-like beast. A minute later, a dark-brown ant loafing the hollow footpath came across the lifeless spider. 

“What a mountain of meat?” said the charcoal black ant. The tyre-black ant vroomed to tip off other ants’ taxis. The 24-hour taxis must transport this meaty load home. “There’s well-done meat on the sun-grilled sand!” said the smoke-black ant, choking on his saliva. “I’m chewing softwood,” said the white ant. “My diet consists of creamy wood,” said the purplish-white ant. 

The black ant approached a reddish-brown ant. “There’s braai meat for everyone,” said the black ant, blocking his drooling saliva. 

“Is the meat honey-flavoured?” chuckled the red ant, sniffing the sticky yellowish honey. The sweat-dripping ant spotted two green ants surf-riding on the ankle-deep dunes. “Stop playing, let’s get meat,” said the black ant. “This is the best dune s

urfing experience,” sang the two ants, sailing up and down the sponge-soft sand. The ant called his friends underneath the black acacia tree. 

“There’s meat to last us forever,’ said the black ant. “A winter-long stew,” scolded Queen Ant, giggling. Soon trillions of sooty ants surrounded the spider’s carcass. “How do we transport this lorry-size meat to our burrow?” asked a dwarfed ant. “By cutting it into pieces,” snorted the black ant. “This butchered spider is taller than the eighteen-wheeled truck,” said Little Ant, tiptoeing. 

“Your ear-splitting noise is attracting spoonbill birds, ‘let’s get the meat out of the buffaloes’ path,” whispered the black ant. The ants nibbled the spider into easy-to-carry pieces. Then each ant pulled a chunk of meat twice its size towards the burrow. “Let’s hurry!’ the ants yelled, crawling to and from the Spider’s Meat Market. “The microwaving sun will burn the meat to a crisp,” said the black ant, panting. 

The army of ants worked day and night shifts and pulled the take-away chops inside the wind-fanned burrow. Finally, a Trans-Kalahari Runway of meat-carrying ants levelled a two-spoor road cutting through the reddish-brown dunes. That icy winter, there were tons of spider steaks for the army of flesh-eating ants.