I can't fit her in my hands, but she rests her chin comfortably in my palm. She places her paw on my arm, a symbol of love, respect, and honor. Chelsea is patient, loving, and kind. Following me from room to room is what she likes to do, carrying her ball, grabbing my ankle, wanting to play, wanting attention. I throw the ball, I pet her, we play. In the evening she's my dad's running partner, my mom's friend and protector during the day, and my sisters' and my "best friend."

But...there is another side to Chelsea...she's a huntress. My loving pet's personality changes one hundred percent when she goes hunting. She is a mean, lean, killing machine! As she finds the bird after I shoot it, she runs and retrieves it. The hunting instinct is strong, and she's ready to go again. Chelsea is as excited as a person winning the lottery.

After a long day of hunting, she hops on the top of my bed and falls asleep in less than a minute. Her small, thirty-pound body curls up in a round circle, white and orange in color, as she rests quietly. Suddenly, I know she is dreaming; her legs twitch, and her muzzle trembles. Whether she is dreaming of her hunts or of our playing games in the leaves or snow, I don't know. But I do know that Chelsea is my "important thing." She is, Chelsea Alaskan Huntress, my dog, a Brittany.