Halo the dog

About six months ago we got a dog--a puppy, really, though by that point she was eight months old and nearly full grown. But like most dogs, I doubt she'll outgrow her puppy tendencies until she's 3 or 4, or maybe older. I'm not sure. She's my first.

She's a blue heeler with a docked tail (the previous owners' doing), a mischievious smile, and very little grace to her name. But she can run. Whenever we take her to the dog park, she likes to start a game of tag, where she's the target and everyone else is 'it.' She loves sticks. She'll take a good stick over a ball any day, but we don't expect her to bring either back. She's excellent at fetching, but she's a bit like a racoon. She collects. She hordes. And she's a sneak. She'll steal a stick right out of another dog's mouth, and they just stare, stunned, because they never see her coming.

We named her Halo after the video game. It was meant to be a joke. The other option was Zelda. (Yes, also like the video game.) We were watching a commercial for the newest Halo game on television and I said it, "What if we named her Halo?"

A pause. A smirk. "I kind of like that."

Halo.

Of course, whenever we tell people her name they sort of hesitate. "Like the video game?"

Yes. Like the video game. At least it's a good story.

When Halo gets excited, she wags her whole body. She doesn't have a tail, as I said, just a little nub, and that shakes, too. When she follows us from room to room her body goes U-shaped, she's so damn eager to see what we're doing, whether or not she'll be invited, but she's got to keep moving forward.

After she eats, she digs. In the sofa, on the bed. She rolls around on the floor and groans with pleasure. Really, she looks a little psychotic. It's endearing.

Halo is a bed hog. When I'm alone she sleeps with her back pressed right up against mine, so I'm gripping the mattress to keep from falling off. When I try to scoot her over, she growls. When it's cold, she worms her way between us, underneath the covers. She always manages to find the warmest spot. When we wake, we find her lying there, belly up, staring, as though she never belonged anywhere else.

She loves peanut butter. And cheese. And chorizo. Apples. She's taken watercress before. She enjoys rum, but not Jack Daniels. I'm the same.

She's afraid of the vacuum cleaner. She barks whenever the doorbell rings, even if it's on television. She knows the morning alarm means it's time to wake up. If not, she wakes us. She'd rather have her belly scratched than her head. She chews the insoles out of shoes, but not the shoes themselves. She eats grass. She uproots plants. Just grabs one branch, and rips the entire thing out of the soil. We think she may have been a gardener in another life. She likes to chase ducks. And squirrels. She's scared of cats, though. A scaredy cat. When she's really hyper, she does laps around the apartment. She crashes into walls a lot that way.

She fell out of the car once. We had the windows rolled down, and she was catching the breeze, tongue out, eyes squinted shut against the wind. She got a little too excited. Luckily I was only moving about five miles an hour. She was fine. When I got of the car, she turned and looked at me as if to say What the heck did you push me for?

Like I said, not much grace. Good thing we didn't name her Gracie. That one was my idea.