My dad was the head vet of Operation Noah, a huge conservation project to relocate wildlife when the Zambezi river was dammed, creating Lake Kariba. One morning in May 1962 they darted a female black rhino and unfortunately she moved into the water just as the drug took effect. She drowned before the rangers could get her out. She was lactating, which meant she had a baby, and they found this tiny rhino, no more than six weeks old. Dad brought the rhino home to look after. Rupert [named after Rupert Fothergill, the head ranger of Operation Noah] was shipped up to suburban Salisbury [now Harare] from the Zambezi valley. We put him in a cowshed at the bottom of the garden but that night there was an extremely cold frost and the next morning he was almost on his last legs. Dad brought Rupert up to the garage and made him a nest out of hay bales and used infrared lamps. It became his little haven; we had to coax him out – he was very nervous at first. Then quickly he became part of the family. I think he thought he was just another Condy kid – he would go in and out of the house as he pleased.