by K E Osborn
Oh, she seems to like that.
“I don’t know what to tell you, bella. I definitely don’t have a goat. It must have walked off the street and jumped in while we were processing your payment.”
“Okay, thanks, Gino. I’ll figure something out.”
“If you need to, bring it back here, and I’ll make good use of it.”
I know exactly what that means.
Gino’s a wholesaler. Not just of flowers but grocery and meat products too.
No way Pixy’s going back there any time soon.
“Thanks for the flowers, Gino. Gotta go.”
“Ciao, bella.” He ends the call.
I glance back at the goat. How in the world am I going to find anything out about your parents, Pixy? The thing is, I have Valentine’s Day to contend with. And, worse than that, I’m back to my initial problem—a distinct lack of flowers.
Great job, Pixy.
Finding Pixy’s parents will have to take a back seat.
With a quick sigh, I stand, loop my fingers through Pixy’s collar, and lead her to the edge of the truck. She comes willingly. She’s actually super tame and easy to work with. I know whoever’s misplaced their goat is going to be upset and missing her. I’ve known her for all of five minutes, and I can already feel myself becoming attached.
“C’mon, miss, let’s get you out the back.” I walk with her in tow around the rear of Love and Lavender. She’s a little wobbly, almost like she’s drunk, and I wonder if she’s going to pass out again. I can’t tell if she’s blind, or maybe she’s blind drunk on the flowers of love she’s eaten. But then again, if she were blind, how would she have gotten up into the truck to begin with? Maybe it was the scent of the flowers she’s now had for breakfast.
Luckily, the shop is based out of an old townhouse, so it has a nice big backyard where I can store Pixy until I can figure out what to do. In the meantime, she can roam around and not have to worry about bumping into much out there if she is blind.
I open the tall wooden gate and walk us through onto the grassy patch. I let her roam free for the moment while I find a bucket to fill with water. Leaning over, I grab one of the larger ones from yesterday’s deliveries, empty the leaf debris, rinse it out thoroughly, then fill it with fresh, clean water. I call Pixy over and splash the surface showing her the liquid. She dips her head in immediately, lapping up some droplets. It makes me feel better knowing she understands. Maybe she isn’t blind after all?
“Okay, little Pixy, I gotta go to work. But you stay out here. Don’t you go anywhere, okay?”
Baa.
“Good girl. I’ll come get you after work, and we’ll find your parents.”
Baa.
“Okay, deal,” I agree, petting her on her cute little head.
The back door is open, Paisley’s standing there with a big toothy grin on her face. She’s wearing her Hufflepuff-inspired striped, tight-fitting sweater and tartan skirt. Her makeup is done to perfection. She’s a walking contradiction. Total nerd, yet glam squad queen at the same time. I have no idea how she pulls off her look, but she always does. Her short, black bob frames her thin, pale face as she stares at me, oozing curiosity.
“So, I send you out for flowers, but you come back with a goat?” she quips.
I groan. “Oh, wait till I tell you what just happened to me.”
Chapter Two
Our day’s been hectic.
We ran out of flowers as we knew we would, but nevertheless, the day’s been a success. Now, I’m on my way home with a goat in the back of my truck.
What in the world am I going to do with said goat? Should I take her to a vet and get her checked out for her little episode earlier in the day? Or do I try to find her parents right away?
What is the correct goat protocol here?
Pulling up at my uniquely designed home on Alberta Drive, I smile. I love how the architect Dad hired to build this place designed it to fit the look of the street. It still has a rock-star vibe but also has some of me, which was what I wanted. It’s the most expensive house on the street—not that it matters to me, but it does to Dad.
He wants me only to have the best.
So that’s what I got.
The best—even though Dad wasn’t happy with me choosing to live here.
Dad wanted me somewhere more protected like the Hills or Beverly Park in some sort of gated community. But Culver City is a class I’m more suited to.
I’m not like the rest of my family. I’m more down to earth and love the boho look. My home has floor-to-ceiling windows, including a giant bay window in the living room that lets the morning sunlight in, giving my home its warmth for the day. Fancy moldings decorate every wall, giving it a modern feel. Artistic wall sconces lead the way down the hall in different shapes, colors, and textures sending various sparkles of light in all directions. I love the effect. It’s unique and so very me. Tiffany lamps fill the spaces in the living room, a tip of the hat to the more affluent side of my life, and a centerpiece of cobblestone runs up the center of the outside façade. But it’s quite different in all aspects compared to the lavish mansions my family lives in.
The outside sensor light comes on first thing—a security measure my father insisted on having installed as well as a patrol car driving by each night to check on the house and me.
Sliding out of my truck, I shift my neck from side to side, my body aching from the stress of a full day’s hard work. With quick steps, I walk to the back of the truck. Pixy’s waiting at the tailgate, and just like before, she’s smiling at me.
I can’t fight back the giddiness as I lower the tailgate and untie Pixy from her restraint, then hoist her into my arms. “C’mon, little Billy Goat Gruff, let’s get you inside. Gotta figure out what to do with you, huh?”
I lower Pixy to the ground. She wobbles a little, but I keep my eyes on her. Last thing I need is to chase after a runaway goat. But, she walks beside me smoothly to the front door. Stepping inside, I flick on the lights as we go. Pixy’s little hoofs click and clop on the floorboards, making the weirdest sound as she stumbles through the house while bumping into random objects.
“Maybe you are vision impaired,” I mumble to myself as I lead her past the yellow armchair onto the plush carpet of the living room. She lets out what sounds like a humming noise as if she’s pleased to be here, especially when her hoofs hit the soft gray floor covering. She sniffs the air, taking everything in. Pixy’s beaming like she’s on the adventure of a lifetime.
This little goat is so adorable.
Perhaps I could keep her? No, that’s bad manners. I should at least make some sort of effort to find her owners. She’s someone’s pet—I know that for sure. I also know her owners must be missing her terribly. I need to do the right thing and find her home.
“Well, Miss Pixy, would you like to meet my housemate?”
Pixy’s head shifts up. Baa.
“All right then. Follow me.”
She does so with ease while I walk with her through to the back sunroom. The sun’s almost set as the last remnants fade behind the amber and dusty pink clouds hanging in the sky.
The sunroom is a long rectangular shape, perfect for entertaining friends, or if the option called for it—rock stars. The glass ceiling lets you see the sky so clearly with see-through walls that look out to the backyard. The sandy-colored patio shines against the glistening of the aquamarine swimming pool. The California fan palms sway gently in the breeze making the entire area seem something more like a scene from Hawaii than a backyard in LA.
The floors are covered in rich gold-textured white marble, giving it a cool feeling. White wooden sun lounges with tropical-themed beach towels draped over them are placed sporadically, with cute little side tables between, ideal for holding a refreshing cocktail.
All perfect for basking in the warm Californian sun.
As I pull my sweater up higher, I shudder slightly while looking at the calendar on the wall—February. I can’t w
ait for the warmth to come back so I can use the sunroom to its full potential again.
I walk farther, Polly Parton’s sitting on his open-top play stand, the wooden swing still moving to and fro from the overhead bar, where he’s obviously been having a ride. Evidence of his feast scattered all over the bottom of his cage as I turn up my nose at him in annoyance. He brings his foot up to his mouth, pulling apart another sunflower seed. Casually, he peeks up noticing me and drops the seed to the floor of his cage. His green wings open wide in greeting as he stretches then shakes his head vigorously, his usual ritual when he first sees me. His feathers fluff up, making him seem bigger than he actually is. He truly is a stunning parrot. The green and yellow plumage shimmer as he lets out a small whistling tune. I gaze down at Pixy to see her tilting her head from side to side in curiosity, but it actually looks like she’s dancing to Polly’s song.
My heart warms seeing the two of them getting along already. “Naw, you guys are friends,” I say, rubbing the back of Polly’s neck.
Polly flaps his wings, ready to screech. “Rawrr… fuuuck!” Polly screams at the top of his lungs, so loud it hurts my ears.
Pixy jerks beside me with fright, while her eyes bulge out of her head like last time. Her legs poke out straight, and she topples over like a lead weight onto the carpet, stiff as a board.
I gasp.
Polly cackles with laughter.
Glaring at Polly, I rush to my knees to assess Pixy’s state.
Damn! This is the second time she’s, what? I don’t even know what the hell this is.
“Fuuuck!” Polly calls out again as I pet Pixy’s fur.
What the hell do I do?
“C’mon, Pixy. Wake up. Please,” I beg.
“Rawrr… asshole, asshole.”
“Polly, will you shut up? You’ve scared her to death!”
“Ha… ha… ha.”
I groan. “Nice sympathy for your fellow animal there, Polly,” I mumble as I continue to gently stroke Pixy, hoping like all hell something’s going to wake her.
“Piker!” Polly screeches.
“Shut. Up!” I yell in reply.
Suddenly, Pixy’s head shifts. She glances at me, her face having the same smiling appearance she’s mastered so well. Her tongue comes out, licks up the side of my cheek again, and I can’t help but let out a relieved sigh. “What’s wrong with you, hey, girl?”
She stumbles up on her legs and toddles off, bumping into the sofa, then plonks herself down on the carpet in the living room. She’s glancing out the big bay window as if she’s staring at the night taking hold over the city.
If the goat is blind, then how come she can see some things and not others?
Is Pixy playing me?
I need to figure out what the hell is wrong with her and find her owners. Do I need to take her to a vet or something?
Flicking my head around, I give Polly a death stare. “You, mister… you’re a very bad boy.”
“Rawrr… screw you,” he screeches back at me.
Rolling my eyes, I grunt, “Right back at you.”
I leave Pixy in the living room—she seems content in there right now—to fill up a water bowl and place it on the floor in the sunroom. Hopefully, she will know where to search for it. I’ll show her after I’ve looked up what the hell to do with a goat who passes out all the time.
After reaching for my laptop, I open the lid and start researching.
First, I type ‘goats + fainting.’
The search results have me lost in YouTube for the next two hours and my stomach in stitches. Who knew fainting goats were an actual thing? I mean, I know it’s probably not nice to laugh your damn ass off at a goat who faints at any kind of loud noise, but really, this is more than a little hilarious.
Pixy’s asleep, curled into a ball at my feet with a slight snore coming from her stinking mouth. She’s basically pretty damn cute. I guess a bad case of the faints is better than a congenital heart defect. At least now I know I’m not going to kill her every time she keels over at any sort of noise. I can stop panicking and get back to the task at hand—finding her parents.
Though now, it’s getting close to nine, and I have no way of knowing where to start with this. I suppose a single night with the goat wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I know I’m delaying this for my own personal reasons.
I’m attached to Pixy.
I don’t want to let her go just yet.
I’m being totally selfish because her parents will be missing her like crazy. But it is late, and I promise in the morning I will do everything in my power to find them. I swear.
However, right now, after the day I’ve had, I need my bed and some sleep.
It’s Valentine’s Day.
I’ve always loved the idea of sharing this day with someone and having them in my bed for the night—having a connection that truly means something.
In my wildest dreams, I never imagined that special someone would be a fainting goat.
THE NEXT MORNING
Heavy eyelids keep me in a peaceful state. My mind is zoning in that half-awake and half-asleep mode.
My eyes are still closed, but I’m calm and relaxed from the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a hell of a long time. As I let out a contented sigh, my eyes slowly flutter open to see Pixy staring me, her mouth an inch from mine. I gasp, jump back a little with the shock, but then let out a small giggle as I lean over, petting her cute little head. She nuzzles into me, making a humming noise while I let my heart calm back down to a normal rhythm.
“Right, you’re coming into work with me today, Pixy. Seeing as I have no idea what else to do with you.”
Baa.
I slide out of bed to get ready for work. I can look into finding Pixy’s parents there. With the help of Paisley, I’m sure we can sleuth this thing out.
I move to my wardrobe to get dressed. Pixy follows my every move. I kind of like having a goat stalker. I grab my clothes for the day and turn around, my legs bumping straight into Pixy.
Baa.
I let out a small giggle while patting her head. “Sorry, girl,” I tell her and then move back to the bed to get dressed.
Pixy follows.
I smirk as she sits by my feet watching me as I change. Cute little thing. After getting dressed, applying some makeup, and doing something with my hair, we make our way out to the kitchen.
Pixy follows, and I can’t help but feel for her. She’s growing on me far too much. I need to find her owners soon before I have a swearing parrot and a fainting goat. Damn! What a combination.
After grabbing an apple, I slice off a wedge and hand it to Polly.
He promptly spits it out, hurling the piece to the floor. “Get stuffed,” he calls out.
I huff, picking up the piece of apple and placing it on the bottom of his cage. “Eat it, Polly. We go through this every morning. Seed will make you fat. You need to eat fruit as well.”
“Rawrr… fuck off,” Polly screams.
I roll my eyes as I hear the thump. I spin and see Pixy’s passed out on the carpet. Again. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“Ha… ha… ha…” Polly cackles.
“Don’t you start, you menace.” I point at Polly as he turns around, throwing his tail up in the air at me.
I bend down, petting Pixy on the head. “C’mon, Pixy, wake up, girl.” She doesn’t wake. “Shit, I have to head to work.”
I peer around, wondering what the hell to do. I shrug and do the only thing I can think of. I lean over, picking Pixy up in my arms. She’s rigid, and as I hold her body to me, her stiff legs poke straight out from me. It’s like she’s a taxidermy goat.
“Jesus! Pixy…” I keep my grip tight on her as I carry her to the door, then pause.
Great! How the fuck do I open the door with a goat in my arms whose legs are sticking out in front of me? I turn sideways, bending slightly, trying to nudge the door handle with my hip. It latches onto my belt and somehow, I dip awkwa
rdly, trying not to drop the comatose goat as I click the door handle. Of course, I slip, which makes me almost drop Pixy. Fumbling with the goat and righting myself, I hoist her back up in my arms.
Taking a deep breath, I lean back in and try again. Bending, I manage to pull the door handle down with my hip, enough for the door to crack open. I let out a relieved breath as I kick open the door, then walk through. I turn back, hook my foot around the door, and yank, forcing the door to shut. Then I storm over to my truck.
Luckily, I left the tailgate down last night which is so unlike me. I have no idea how the hell I would manage that right now. Slowly, I slide Pixy in on her side, then close the tailgate. I grimace, looking down on her rigid form as I stand back, folding my arms over my chest. “You really do have a fainting issue, don’t you, girl?”
Abruptly, she bolts upright, and I let out a groan. “Oh, so now you’re okay, once the heavy lifting’s done, right?”
Baa.
“Uh-huh, defend yourself all you want, pretty girl. I know you were faking it, so I’d have to carry you.” I let out a small giggle as I make my way back to my home to lock the front door, casually glancing over my shoulder to make sure she’s staying put in the truck.
She is.
Thank God.
I’ve just done my weight training session for the day—I don’t need to add running after a goat to my exercise regime as well.
As I pass the truck again, I pet her head, tie her down to the tray, then make the small drive to Love and Lavender. Pulling up, I can’t help but feel a little lost. I know Pixy will be going home today. No matter what, I’ve had her for far too long. I need to find her parents. They will be worried about her.
The thought of sending her home has me feeling like maybe I’m missing some kind of companionship in my life. Sure, I have Polly Parton, but he’s an asshole at the best of times. Yeah, Paisley’s my best friend, I can always rely on her for support, but that’s different. With Pixy, I feel like I have a connection, and that’s rare for me. I guess that’s what my life lacks.
Ever since Corey—the cheating, lying scumbag—I haven’t let anyone in. I suppose for fear of being hurt again, of being lied to. He told me he was away on a press tour with his band. Really, the bastard was on an Ibizan holiday with his ‘other’ girlfriend.