Dear Audre:

We’ve brought the tiniest puppy home. That isn’t true, but it feels true, as if I could put her into the pocket of my overalls and wear her as a button. She’s no longer Annabelle, nor Bella; the instant my daughter saw her dog, she knew those weren’t right at all. She’s named her Nova, for the pseudo-star that burns immediate and bright. This seems exactly right for the seventeen-pound beast who is all sinew and springs.

My daughter has a learning disability and wanted a dog with disabilities. Enter one milky-eyed pup who moves in operatic gestures. 

We’ve had her two long nights and already she’s halved: half the urine at our front door, half the yipping in the night to go outside. Her teeth are the sharp tearing sort puppies always have, our hands flaring up in pocked redness after play. She’s discovered my braid is the best pull toy, and now my hair is halved.

A nova is a part of two progenitor stars, usually involving a white dwarf in a close binary system. 

We’ve set out divisions: River and Meadow are family dogs, but Nova belongs to Maya. This too has caused division, with my son wanting to hold her leash, putter in her face, make cooing sounds she won’t hear. 

I imagine the newness will wear off and eventually my daughter and this nova will become their own twin stars, circling one another in wide open light.