Sanders ditched his smile as his face reddened. “I’ll tell you what they did, Mrs. Sass-back. They fookin’ came into my yard! All these fookin’ animals better stay out, eh? The porcupines, the rabbits, the deer, the possum, the raccoons, the wolf, the coyote the bear, all of ’em! I’m tired of them eating it all up. The Goddamned rabbits ate half the garden this summer. The deer come in here and eat up my greens and shit all over the place. Even the fence ’round the garden doesn’t keep them away, eh?”

Melinda handed Matt a cold beer, her lovely bangs caressing her face as she leaned over. “Here you go, hon.”

He cracked the tab and swallowed the foamy mess. Delicious. A cold beer always tasted better in the Northwoods. As Melinda passed him, he smelled orange fragrance.

Sanders slapped Matt on the knee, then stood and motioned for him to follow. In the adjoining room, Sanders went to the window and pointed outside with his long and skinny arm. “See that? That’s my garden. Do you see what’s behind it?”

Matt peered out the window into the yard. A tall woodpile was set up in the shape of a “V.” Contained within the “V” space was a pile of bruised apples.

“That’s what I call my do right, eh?” Sanders said, chuckling. “The deer or bear step in my yard, go to eat those apples and I do ’em right there.” Sanders pointed to another compound bow in the corner. Next to the bow leaned a .308 Winchester and on the floor a Colt Python .357.

“I just open this window here quite as can be, and shoot on ’em. With an arrow in ’em they try to run straight ahead. This is where the wood pile comes in, eh? They run right into it and I have time to shoot another arrow into their bee-hind.”

Matt clenched his fists. He knew Sanders had issues, but never figured him as a poacher. But now was not the time to say or do anything. Sanders was clearly losing it and a confrontation with such a person wasn’t the brightest idea—especially with all this weaponry laying around.

“Those poor deer,” Melinda said from the kitchen.

“Too many of em anyway, eh? Fook ’em.”

Sanders strode into the kitchen with great, long steps and grabbed a beer from the cooler. He cracked the tab and took several gulps, then burped. “These animals up here, Matty, You gotta show ‘em who’s boss, eh? Sooner or later they’ll run the place if you let ‘em. You give an inch and they take a mile. They’ll come back with their buddies like teenagers at a kegger. Especially the damn rabbits.”