Page 1 of Nut Grabber
KYM
"Are you ready to show everyone the even accidental crossbreed puppies can make great sheep dogs?" I say to my Great Pyrenees and lab mix, who's looking at me with her tongue hanging out the side of her head while she pants up a storm. She seems eager, but I've been training her for weeks now, hoping she'll become a valuable addition to the farm, but we don't seem to be making a lot of progress.
As I watch the drool sliding off the end of her tongue, her waggy tail kicks up the dust where she sits, and I can't help but wonder if I've put too much faith in her. It's like the lights are on, but there's just no one at home.
"You're going to do great, Miffy. Don't you even worry about it," I add, more for me than her. Miffy is now giving herself a grand ole licking—she really couldn't give a damn about the flock.
Adjusting the brim of my worn-out baseball cap on the top of my curly blonde hair, I make sure the peak is blocking the sun as I look out across the paddock, scanning the horizon for any sign of my sheep.
"There they are," I say, spotting them chewing grass at the far end. "Come on, girl. Let's get those sheep in before it gets dark." Clapping my hands together, I get Miffy's attention then whistle and point to the sheep just like we've practiced. Miffy jumps up and bounds off excitedly, with me following at a slower pace behind.
My heart fills with hope. She's heading straight for the flock and I'm starting to feel like a sheep-dog trainer extraordinaire. But then all of a sudden she's turning around and bounding back toward me.
"Turn around! You're going the wrong way," I call out, waving my arms while trying to shoo her back. She's not to be swayed though, and as she gets closer, I realize she's found herself a stick to play with. She skids to a stop and drops it at my feet, incredibly proud of her find.
"Miffy," I say sternly, putting my hands on my hips and setting my lips in a straight line. "This isn't playtime. We've got work to do. You need to get the sheep back inside the barn. Go on, get them." I gesture and whistle, but all Miffy does is stretch back on her front paws, her butt waggling in the air as she noses the stick at my feet.
I shake my head in frustration. Sure, Miffy is technically still a puppy, and my brother, Josh, warned me trying to train a mixed breed dog to herd and protect the way a pure-bred Great Pyrenees can could be difficult. But when our faithful dog went and had a scandalous moment with a Labrador that ended in her carrying puppies, I couldn't say goodbye to all of them. They were just too darn cute.
Josh—who manages our family farm—said I could keep oneifI could train it. So far, with the playful exuberance Miffy constantly displays, I don't think I'm as up to the task as I thought I was.
"Miffy, this is serious," I say, trying to sound firm but knowing it's no use. "We can't have the sheep wandering off again. Come on, girl, let's go."
Miffy looks up at me, her eyes bright and eager. I think for a moment that maybe she's finally understood what I want her to do. But then he bounds off again, tail wagging happily as she chases after a low-flying bird.
I sigh, feeling defeated, and lean against a nearby tree, watching as Miffy continues to play and chase after the birds. I can't help but feel disappointed in myself. My whole life I've been told that I'm not that good with animals. That I don't have the patience or understanding needed to train them. And yet when Miffy came into my life, I saw it as an opportunity to prove everyone wrong. To show them I could train a dog, no matter how difficult the task might be.
But as I watch Miffy now, I realize that maybe they were right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this kind of work and I should just stick to the admin side of things.
“Stay inside your box, Kymberly,” I mutter to myself as I close my eyes and take a few calming breaths. Lost in thought, it takes a moment before I hear a voice calling out.
"Hey! Is this your pooch?"
I open my eyes and see a man standing at the fence line, watching Miffy jumping around excitedly. He's dressed neatly in jeans, work boots and a plaid shirt with a wide brim hat on his head that’s shielding his face from me.
"I guess that depends," I say, walking toward him.
"On?"
"Did she do anything weird?"
"Weirder than this?" he asks, a handsome smile playing on his lips as he watches Miffy jump high into the air to catch a butterfly flitting just out of reach.
"She tried to play fetch with sheep dung yesterday," I say, reaching up to tuck a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear to cover the jolt my body just took when he lifted those light blue eyes of his to look at me. He's so damn handsome that my heart just did a flip-flop-thunder across my chest. I feel like one of those cartoon characters with the love-heart eyes bugging out. "So yeah, she gets weirder."
He laughs, and it's a deep, rich sound that seems to match his sun-tanned face and square, strong jaw perfectly.
"Name's Hayes, by the way. I'm one of the shearers who came around for shearing season." He extends a calloused hand out to me and smiles. I notice golden brown tufts of hair curling at the back of his neck, telling me he hasn’t been for a haircut in a while.I like a bit of scruff.
"It's nice to meet you, Hayes," I say, taking his hand in mine and holding back a gasp as an electric shock surges through my body when our skin connects.
He pulls his hand back quickly, a slight frown touching his brow. "Likewise. I'm, uh, guessing you're the boss's wife... Regina, right?"
"What?" I recoil, scrunching my face up in disgust. "Oh ew! No! No, I'm not his wife. I'm hissister.Kym. I'mno one'swife. That's justwrong." I add that last part a little too emphatically. "I mean, I'm not against being a wife. Marriage is great for anyone who wants it. I just haven't done it yet myself. But that doesn't mean that I'm desperate and trying to get married. It just means..." I can see his eyes growing wider the longer I ramble. "I'm just going to shut up."
Hayes chuckles at my blabbering, and I can feel my cheeks turning red in embarrassment. "Nice to meet you, Kym," he says, his eyes still twinkling with amusement. "And for what it's worth, I didn't think you were desperate. You seem like a pretty cool person."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and give him a small smile. "Thanks?" I say with a laugh, feeling a little bit of relief wash over me that he doesn't think I'm some desperate spinster. "I don't think anyone's ever called me cool. But hey, don't me be the person who ruins the illusion. I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own soon enough."
