Page 12 of Fruit and Flash

The sound of another coffee can with food shaking comes up behind me and I find Kai there, mimicking my movements. “You really named your pets Slim, Jim, Pinky and the Brain?”

“Not pets,” I insist, rounding the row of cherry trees towards the berry bushes. “Plus, you run out of names when they get butchered every year.”

“If they aren’t pets, why do you name them?”

“My niece says they need names. Though my brother in law named these ones,” I shrug.

We pass the area that is a pond in winter through spring and I spy my missing livestock. Shadow drops his head like he’s spotting our prey, and I wish I’d trained him on herding more.

“Now what?” Kai asks like it didn’t occur to him there would be actual pigs and goats at the end of our search for pigs and goats.

Good question.

Chapter seven

Kai

WhenIaskedHayesto film content on his farm, I thought it would be a good excuse to spend time alone with him. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it might involve engaging with the farm life.

In theory, I like animals. Chickens are everywhere in Hawai’i, and the roosters can be mean. Hell, I have cousins with farmland. Still, the closest I got to a pig was at a luau. Kalua Pork is delicious, but I never considered what the pig eats.

With an old, metal can filled with some type of grain in one hand, my phone in the other, I’ve been filming since I followed Hayes out of the barn. I may not post this, but it will be fun to watch later. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as my heart practically beats out of my chest with the adrenaline of hunting down Hayes missing creatures.

We’ve got the creatures in our sight, and now I’m wondering what we do next. “Do we lasso them or something?”

Hayes snorts and shakes his head. “I wear a cowboy hat for the shade, not because I carry rope with me everywhere.”

“Oh, right,” I nod, though I have no clue what rope has to do with my question. “So…”

“Shake your can until they start coming towards you, then we’ll lead them back to the barn.”

“That’s all?” I ask, feeling like I’m missing something.

“Well, they might start chasing you for the food,” Hayes explains and I can hear the laughter in his voice. He thinks I can't handle this.

The bigger of the two pigs, the one without spots I am guessing is called Pinky, turns towards me and snorts a grunting sound followed by a squeal. His nose is red like he just killed a small animal and I can’t help the yelp I let out when he picks up speed in my direction.

Running in the opposite direction, I look back to see the other pig and the goats have joined in. Tossing some of the food out as I go distracts the goats, but not the pigs, who are making god-awful noises that I imagine mean, “You look tasty, we’ll eat you!”

Okay. Maybe I can’t handle this.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Hayes calls out, and I swear he’s laughing at me again. “Circle back towards me.”

Rounding a tree, I run towards Hayes. He’s walking slowly backwards with the goats following and making cute bleating noises. Why do I get the demon pigs while he gets the adorable, fluffy animals? Here I thought goats were the wild ones.

“Your pigs want to eat me,” I yell as I pass him, panting heavily.

Hayes does laugh at that as he turns to jog beside me. He’s not breathing hard at all, only a light sheen of sweat glistening from the hot afternoon sun. Damn. I work out regularly and I’m soaked. It’s important when your brand is wearing clothes andoccasional modeling. But maybe my trendy exercise routine isn’t as cardio-focused as it should be.

When we’re at the back entrance to the big white barn, a pig lets me know I’m paying too much attention to his farmer daddy by goosing me. Jumping into the air at the butt intrusion, the rest of my can of feed goes flying along with my phone.

“Fuck, shit,” I cuss, rushing to hide behind Hayes as I scoop up my phone and tuck it into a pocket for safety. “Do they have teeth?”

Hayes opens a wooden gate and leads the goats in. “Of course. But they like their feed better, and it makes their teeth more blunt.”

“How do you know? They’ve bitten you before, haven’t they?” I exclaim, following him to open the pin for the pigs but keeping my distance.

“Sure, but no serious injuries,” he insists, closing their gate and tossing the rest of his feed into a big bowl inside.