Page 18 of Vetted for Vengeance
My parents worked. They provided good food every day, clothes when I grew, but they were never really there. I loved animals, so I got my first job at a pet store. I adopted all the stick insects with missing legs and kept them in jars in my bedroom to recover. When I realized they bred like wildfire, I started selling them for pennies online. I moved out, did animal care in college, and started my job search.
When I read an advert looking for someone to play with puppies, with board and lodging included, I took the train there. Got a lift to the interview. Moved in a week later.
I pause, glancing around the car, hoping I'm coming across as normal enough. Likeable after the world realizes I work on a puppy farm.
“Dr Calder, maybe you could ask a few questions about what the farm is like. Noah, you come across as trapped, only staying for the dogs rather than the money. We're going to paint you as the trapped kennel hand, not the villain. Viewers will love you.” Travis guides the conversation
“What money,” I chuckle to myself.
We obey Travis, with Rhys asking gentle questions. When did I realize it was a shady puppy farm? Why didn't I leave? Did I know it was wrong?
I reply with the truth. Nothing fake or pretend. Once I started there, I was trapped at the bottom of a mile-long dirt lane. I stayed for the dogs.
Then the question that hit the hardest. Why didn't I do anything before the owners went missing?
“I don't know.” I confess, hugging my knees. “I wanted to, but I was scared. When I realized I was alone, I didn't feel scared anymore. I had my chance, and I wanted to do it in the loudest way possible.”
Loud enough that no one could pretend they didn’t know.
Chapter eleven
Rhys
We’ve arranged to meet the police early because they are struggling to find the farm.
Noah straightens as they approach, shoulders tense like a dog waiting to see if the hand coming toward it is friendly or not.
He answers their questions quickly and confidently.
I realize I’m holding my breath. They need Noah to give directions, which means I'm at the front of the cavalry line. This place wasn’t too difficult for me to find alone, but I approached it as an owner looking for puppies, rather than someone trying to find a hidden business. Noah shouts directions at me as if each one is a reminder that I shouldn’t already know them, but before long we reach the top of the winding road. This is where I pull over and let the cops go first. The kennels look smaller from the outside than they did last night.
Quieter too.
The morning air carries the faint smell of wet straw and disinfectant, but underneath that is something sharper. Fear has a smell when enough animals share it.
In the car park at the bottom, I position my two ambulances. They are really just vans with dog crates built in, used more for transport than treatment, but the floor space at the back of each one is dressed with blankets and a few other props so my nurses can run checks and pose for the camera.
Noah stays in the car, rocking back and forth as he waits. Then the police approach him. I want to be there, partly to protect myself from any accidental or deliberate slips from him, but another part of me wants to protect him. To hold his hand as his life, terrible as it was, is ripped away.
It's obvious he hated this life here, but the alternative is the man who killed his bosses.
There aren't many people who would consider that an improvement.
After waiting an hour for the police to explore, and then for Noah to show them around, finally we are called in to check on the dogs. My role is oversight. I watch my team from the ambulance, bringing out the adult dogs one by one. My main ambulance, which has done nothing but transport animals from the branch surgery to the main hospital, is now a triage center for nervous dogs in various stages of reproduction.
Each dog is accompanied by a Post-it note from Noah, stating her pregnancy status. The handwriting is small and neat, the kind that comes from writing the same information hundreds of times.
He’s been tracking every cycle, every birth, every litter. The work of a man trying to impose order on something fundamentally cruel.
Bitch 1. Mated 2 weeks ago. No scan done. Age 4 years.
Bitch 2. Whelped 2 weeks ago. Nursing 8 puppies. Age 3 years.
Bitch 3. Puppies removed for sale 4 days ago. Awaiting next season for mating. Around 5 years old.
Bitch 4. Pregnancy at full term. 12 pups on scan. Approx 6 years old.
I pay more attention to her. Twelve pups in a six-year-old dog is a lot for her poor body. No wonder Noah was particularly worried about her. She's at high risk of needing veterinary support during labor.
