Living with Animals: Hardy's Vengeance

By Nellis C. Boyer

Frustrated by animal abuse that goes unpunished in his community, beloved town veterinarian,Hardy Johns, turns vigilante and takes matters into his own hands, wielding swift and deliciously appropriate justice on behalf of the abused. Estelle Greenwood,
Hardy's wife helps, as sheriff, Mitch Downey looks the other way. This time however, the action attracts the attentionof the FBI, and
Estelle's friend, handyman, Jack, the Ripper, takes over from there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440114748

Nellis C. Boyer

Nellis Boyer lives with her husband Jerry and an assortment of animals on a seventeen acre ranch in Northern California. She has long been an advocate for animal welfare and is an active participant in rescue and adoption activities.

Book preview

Chapter One

Hardy followed the blood spatters on the leaves, tracking the wounded. He knew his prey couldn’t go far—too much of the precious fluid lost—and he cursed himself for not delivering one fatal first shot. He didn’t give a damn about the suffering victim, in fact he found that part of the chase supremely satisfying, but he hadn’t planned on a nature hike. At sixty three, he wasn’t up to such nonsense. Too late now, the shit had hit the proverbial fan. A branch snapped, cracking like a rifle shot, and he dropped to a crouch, his .22 cradled in his left arm, the palm of his right hand sliding into a pool of warm blood that shimmered on the red-orange foliage. He could smell him now, the foul, putrid, body odor polluting the pristine, country air.

Hardy wiped his hand on his pants and moved forward through the dense undergrowth, silently parting the branches with the barrel of his weapon. As he approached a small clearing, he saw the crumpled body lying in the red dirt, blood spitting in halting spurts from the neck wound, each faltering heart beat pushing life from the doomed vessel. His shot had nicked the cartoid artery. Hardy was surprised the chase had lasted as long as it had. He approached cautiously, wary, but when he peered down at the victim, he knew Pinkus was done. Red foam bubbled from the old man’s mouth as he gurgled and choked on the last of his own blood, dying a fittingly dismal death. Not dismal enough, thought Hardy. Not enough to compensate for the years of unspeakable pain he’d inflicted upon the innocent. But then the deaths were never enough. One relatively uncomplicated death could not compensate for a lifetime of cruelty. Compared to what Pinkus had done to his victims over the years, his own death had been a cake walk. Hardy took his pleasure in knowing there would be no more torture from this one. He kicked the corpse, muttered a few choice four letter words, and checked the wound. The bullet had gone clear through, probably buried in the bark of a tree. The wolves could have him. By tomorrow this time, there’d be only a scattering of bones. Hardy tucked his .22 under his arm and began the long trek back to the creek that separated his property from the wild woods and the secrets they kept.

Bella, his devoted Border collie companion waited for him on the far creek bank, wagging her tail and woofing as he waded toward her. She had delivered seven pups this time last year after almost drowning in the fast running water. Now she stayed a respectful distance from the torrent as her friend approached. Hardy had kept one of the babies, hoping she would teach the youngster that the slow- running summertime creek they loved became treacherous in the winter. The pups were almost a year old, and everyone in the family had taken one. Mr Hollis, of course, had the pick of the litter, being the caretaker of Buster, Bella’s mate. Hardy had never seen two finer Border collies, and during his forty- five years as a veterinarian, he’d seen a few. He often took Bella along on his ‘errands,’ as he called them, but today, fearing for her safety, he warned her to sit and wait for him, and she understood.

Pinkus, the seldom seen recluse had booby-trapped the area around his cabin, and Hardy had uncovered and sprung a moat of nasty, leg- hold traps just to get near the place. The smell of death permeated the ramshackle structure, and when he’d entered, and seen the old man out back skinning a young doe, he’d taken a moment to look around. The trophy heads on the log walls had repulsed him, for they were his friends, the missing pets; cats, dogs, goats, even Myrtle, Doc Bosworth’s pet Hereford cow. They had all been Hardy’s patients. But he’d lost his breakfast on Pinkus’wood floor when he recognized Henry, his neighbor’s horse’s head on the kitchen table, his brown eyes clouded over and vacant. Expecting horrors, but never really ready to acknowledge their extent, Hardy’s being filled with rage, and he flew at the old man, yelled one warning, and fired one shot. The bullet connected—blood spurted from Pinkus’s neck—and the old man stumbled and ran. That he’d had the strength to travel as far as he had was good; it had gotten him away from his house of horrors and all that would be left were the scattered bones. Hardy shuddered to think if Pinkus had gotten his filthy hands on Bella. He patted her head and walked with her to the house. Estelle, his bride of less than a year, saw them coming and waited at the front door, puppy Lily by her side. She would not question him, knowing he’d share when he felt the need, for they had no secrets. These missions drained him. That they were necessary at all left him tossing in bed at night, and instead of growing shorter from his efforts, his list maintained; one name replacing another as cruelty and evil refused to quit mans’ being. But Hardy persevered and the town of Coombsville was the better for it, whether the residents knew it or not.

Hardy’s profession and job as small town veterinarian, along with his son and apprentice, Will, had placed him in perfect position to monitor the community’s animal welfare over the years, and he had become convinced that animals needed their own guardians. Local law authorities tended to react to animal problems with a disturbing amount of indifference, and although Sheriff Mitch Downey, Hardy’s friend and confidant supported him, Mitch, through no fault of his own, often became mired in the murky bureauracracy that stalled justice, allowing bad endings for the victims of abuse. Growing more and more frustrated by the lack of postive action within the community on behalf of his animal friends, Hardy had invoked a remarkable epiphany, awaking forcefully one day to a greater vision that showed him the way. Realizing he could make a difference in local animal abuse cases, Hardy now took matters into his own hands, dispensing justice and compensating for the town’s shortcomings. His vengeance was swift and often exquisite. He could accomplish more justice in a day than a dozen juries could mishandle in a year. And fortunately, he had an ally. The Movement, a powerful animal rights group headquartered locally and run by his good friend and comrade in arms, Marion Myles, was ever vigilant, usually tackling the larger issues that confronted the county. Marion’s facilities and connections were always available to him should the need arise.

He laid his head in Estelle’s lap as they sat by the fireplace that night, Bella at their feet, the cats in their favorite spots sopping up the warmth. The November days had turned markedly cool, a change Estelle welcomed from the sizzling northern California summer, and she confided to Hardy that she was glad he’d decided to remain at the clinic. You should keep working as long as you can. Sixty three is not too old not for a vibrant man like yourself, dear. You need to keep your mind active, and what would I do with you banging around the house all day? You’d drive me crazy.

So it’s a selfish thing, this desire that I keep working? You don’t want me here during the day? he teased, peering up at her as she ran her fingers through his thick, grey hair.

How would you know what’s going on if you gave up the clinic? You’d lose your conduit to the pulse of the town."

And that’s why I’ve stayed, but it’s becoming more and more difficult to put up with people, Estelle. I’m afraid I’m going to screw things up for Will—cuss someone out and lose my temper. Hardy was the epitome of the kindly country veterinarian. For years he had talked the talk and walked the walk. His calm demeanor and reassuring pat on the back had helped many frantic clients through rough times, and his cool blue eyes, and wide friendly smile, had no doubt helped reinforce his status, but now, mentally, he was on the verge of losing it. My patience is non- existent. I could get us sued and loose the practice and then what? Poor Will would have to start all over.

Nonsense. And even if Will did have to start his own practice, he and Lois are perfectly capable of doing just that. You’re not the only one who can run a veterinary clinic, and Lois is good with the books. She could take over in no time, as long as she doesn’t get pregnant. That might put a crimp in the picture.

Will and Lois haven’t even been married a year, and I don’t think a baby’s in the plan this soon, at least not according to him. Hardy snorted and laughed. They have all they can handle with a puppy and the two cats. He sat up and thought about what he’d said. Have you seen the puppy play with those cats? That’s really something fun to watch. She takes after Bella all right, a cat lover through and through. He furrowed his forehead and cleared his throat. I saw Otis’s Henry today—on Pinkus’s kitchen table. It made me throw up. He buried his head in his hands.

Estelle put her arms around him, rocking him, petting him. She was a tiny woman and her short cropped grey hair flapped against his cheeks. You did good, Hardy, and it’s finished now. Try to let it go. You’ve stopped that awful Pinkus, that’s the important thing. She petted and shushed as he wept quietly, his body shaking with the terrible memory. Are you going to tell Otis?

He looked into her big grey eyes, tears staining his cheeks, and he groaned, "Lord no, it would cause him terrible pain. No, I can’t tell him, Otis loved that horse. I have to make sure he never finds out what Pinkus did to his friend. He raised Henry from a foal. I delivered that horse twenty- five years ago, right next door in Otis’s barn. What I need to do is get Henry outta there. I should have done it today, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ll have to go back and bury him."

Isn’t that risky?

No one ever goes into those woods. I sprung most of his traps, and the house is open. I have to do it, for Otis.

I’m going with you then, she said, softly. Henry was my friend. I fed him carrots over the fence.

Aw, honey, I don’t think you’d want to see that. Why don’t you not push me on this one, okay?

I’ll be all right, Hardy. I can help you dig. I can carry a shovel. You’ll need some help. Don’t argue, you know what we decided… partners.

He had pledged to be honest with her regarding his ‘list’ when they married. Okay then, he shrugged, tomorrow, daybreak.

They rose in the dark, both of them having tossed restlessly all night; he with the reality of what he’d seen, she with horrific images her mind conjured. They commanded Bella to remain behind, hurting her feelings but assurring her that this was no adventure for a new mother.

Take care of baby Lily, said Hardy. We won’t be gone long. That’s a good girl.

They crossed the creek in the same place as he had done the previous day and Hardy led the way, the.22 under his arm, a shovel in his hand. She carried a second shovel and walked behind, letting him break the trail, the dense undergrowth showing no sign of his past visit. Follow in my footsteps, he warned, there may be traps I missed. When they reached the cabin, they stopped and listened, the only sound the buzzing of flies attacking the carcass of the doe hanging out back. He shoved his foot against the door and it swung inward, releasing a foul odor into the air around them. She recognized it as the smell of rotting flesh. She had smelled it when her cat’s injured leg had turned to hamburger, requiring amputation. Hardy stepped forward and she followed, staring in disbelief at the mounted heads on the walls—transfixed by the static expressions of animals she recognized from the clinic; Hardy’s clientele staring back at her through vacant eyes of glass.

He had brought a large, black plastic garbage bag, and he quickly threw it over Henry’s head and she turned away, not wanting to see her old friend like this. He tied the ends of the bag and let it drop from the table, a heavy bundle in his hands, and she followed him outside. They walked away from the house of horrors to a spot in a small clearing and began to dig. When they had a hole that was deep enough to protect its contents from wild animals, he set the bag at the bottom, and she pulled two sugar cubes from her pocket and dropped them in, and then they returned the dirt to its place. They piled rocks on the ground covering the grave, and stood away, tears streaking their dirty faces, and she said a prayer for the horse. They made their way silently back through the woods to the creek and although the water was achingly cold, they sat on the rocky bottom letting it run over them, cleansing them of the filth of the cabin in the woods.

I’m glad I helped, she said. Henry would have wanted me there.

He thought the remark a product of her poet’s soul and said nothing. She grieved mysteriously and that was her right. He just got angry and raged.

Chapter Two

They shared a comforting moment in the shower, changed clothes, and gathered their little herd of animals together in the near pasture beside the house. Montrose, Hardy’s huge mule, nuzzled his shirt looking for a treat, and the horses, Dusty, Big Jim, and Lucky, stood shoulder to shoulder like a chorus line, their tails switching away flies. Flicker, the little goat, baaaed his way across the field, his head thrust forward as if to say Wait for me, I’m coming. Buford, the big St Bernard that had haunted Estelle’s dreams until the old couple brought him to the clinic to be put down stood beside her, and Reinhard, the abused German Shepard lay at her feet, dozing, The outdoor cats sprawled in their usual postures on the top fence railing, paws dangling, while the inside cats watched from the sofa back at the living room window. Lily and Bella stood beside Hardy, eyes alert, ears pricked forward, waiting for whatever came next.

Hardy and Estelle held hands and smiled at their little flock. She acknowledged their kind attention, gathered herself, and bowed her head. When she spoke, her words were soft and full of emotion. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she addressed them. Thank you for being near to me, to share the things I feel and see. To have you here at each days end, my strength, my weakness, my true friends. For the quiet peace of words unspoken, for promises you’ve never broken. You’re all I need to face each day, you are the sun that lights my way.

Montrose nodded his big head and raised it high, curling his upper lip, showing off his big teeth. I think he liked it, said Hardy, patting Estelle on the back.

I wrote it for all of them, she said, wiping her cheeks. Thanks for indulging me.

And you did good honey. I can’t think of a better day to say those words. Not after what we’ve just seen.

As long as they were all together doing this, and what the hell, he didn’t know how much they understood, Hardy addressed the assembly too. So, listen up you guys. There are a lot of bad humans out there and I want all of you to watch yourselves when we’re not around. Estelle and I love you, and it would hurt like hell to lose any one of you, so be careful, okay? Don’t take sugar cubes from people you don’t know. Auntie Lois and Uncle Will are good humans though, and so is Uncle Mitch. You don’t have to worry about them. Just stay in you own pastures and mind your p’s and q’s, and you, Flicker, stay away from that creek. Estelle and I might not be around next time you decide to drown yourself. Now, we’re going to the clinic, so take care. Go along, you’re dismissed. The little group stood like clay figures in a manger scene, transfixed by the sound of his voice, so he waved his arms and yelled, Git! Go on and play, and they took off, running and kicking up their heels.

Just like a bunch of kids, she said. I really felt the need to let them know how much we care.

He put his arm around her and led her to his truck. And they do know, darling, I could see it in their eyes. Animals have a sixth sense about these things. They know right away if someone cares about them. And you have the touch.

I know, so do you, she sniffed.

I know.

Will met them at the back door of the clinic. It was a small, one story building two blocks from downtown. They could walk a block to the corner market, a few blocks more to the 24 hour diner, around the corner to the movie theatre, everything was close and tidy. Townsfolk were friendly and as a general rule took good care of their animals. There were those yet- to -be exposed trouble-makers, but that was a given in any town, Hardy surmised. He hoped they wouldn’t surface this day however, for he’d seen enough to hold him for awhile. The clinic was quiet, no patients waiting, and Will picked up on his father’s mental exhaustion. What’s the news? You two look like you’ve been through the ringer. It’s been slow here.

Hardy fully intended to tell his son about Pinkus, for there were posters on the clinic’s bulletin board and all over town begging the return of the lost animals, ‘No Questions Asked,’ and he had to tell somebody. Sit down, son. Let me tell you about my day. He spilled the details of what had happened in the woods, and they agreed he couldn’t tell the pet owners, the circumstances were too gruesome. He could tip Mitch, he’d done that in the past—a secret reveal—but finding the animals like that would do more harm than good, so they decided against any disclosure. Someone will stumble on them one day, and by that time this will have been forgotten, hopefully. You have a heavy cross to bear, dad.

Yeah, another one, Hardy grumbled.

Estelle banged around in the little laundry area, trying to find towels to fold, the magic cure for soothing jagged nerves. She threw a wet load from the washer into the dryer, turned on the machine, pulled a load of clean towels off the shelf, threw them in the washer and began the process anew. This was not