The Dogs in Front of My Camera

Our last dog was probably one of my most photographed subjects. Whenever I wanted to try a new light, filter, lens, or some crazy idea I had in my head, she had to pose for me. Poor thing. She did pretty much everything for cookies. LOL

She was a great model, though. Patient, willing, and very passionate about her work.

I miss her.

Dogs Don't Really Care About the Camera

That's one of the things I love about photographing dogs. They don't care about posing perfectly. They don't care about the camera. They don't care whether their hair is in the right place. They're just being themselves. And that can make for some really great photographs.

A look, a tilt of the head, those ears going up, a goofy expression, or that moment when they suddenly decide they absolutely need to investigate something on the other side of the room. You can't always plan those moments. You just have to be ready.

Sometimes the Photograph Becomes More Important Later

I think this is one of the reasons people are so happy when they have a really good photograph of their dog. When they're young, it's easy to think you'll always have another chance. Then they get older.

They slow down a little. Their face changes. Their muzzle gets gray. Eventually, you realize just how much those photographs mean. A good photograph doesn't replace the dog, of course. But it can bring back a moment. The expression. The eyes. The funny little personality that made them them.

And that's pretty special.

They Are Family

For most people, dogs aren't just pets. They're part of the family. They're there when you come home, when you're having a bad day, when you're celebrating something, and during all the completely ordinary days in between.

That's a lot of life together. I think that's why a good photograph of a dog can become so important over time. Looking back at a photograph of my old dog now, I don't see a test shot or a photograph I made while trying out a new lens. I see her. And that's enough.

In memory of Nellie Dog.