9/27/26

What Losing a Dog Taught Me About Photography

I’ve always loved photographing dogs.

After all these years, I’ve learned how to find the light, how to get the expression, how to capture movement and personality. But losing a dog taught me something about photography that no camera, lens, or editing technique ever could.

It taught me just how much a photograph can mean.

When Axe died, I found myself going back through photographs of him. Some were beautiful portraits. Some were show photos. Some were images I had taken simply because he was there.

And those ordinary photographs became some of the most important ones.

There was one particular photo from October 2023 that I keep coming back to. It wasn't a planned session. There wasn't perfect light or a carefully chosen location. It was just a fall evening, a walk, and my dogs being themselves.

At the time, I had no idea how much that photograph would eventually mean to me.

That's the thing about photographs. We don't always know which moments we're going to miss someday.

We think we're photographing a dog.

But really, we're photographing a season of our lives.

The muddy walks. The gray faces. The ridiculous expressions. The way they look at us when they think we have a treat. The dog who always has to be touching you. The one who runs ahead and then turns around to make sure you're still there.

Those are the things we think we'll always remember.

And then, one day, we realize how quickly time moved.

That's changed the way I photograph dogs.

I'm less interested in creating a "perfect" photograph and much more interested in creating something that feels like your dog.

Because someday, that photograph may be more than just a pretty picture.

It may be the photograph you hold onto when you would give anything for one more ordinary day.

So if you have a dog beside you right now, don't wait for the perfect moment.

Photograph the goofy moments. Photograph the quiet ones. Photograph them doing the things they do every day. Take the picture even when the light isn't perfect or they're covered in mud.

Because someday, those ordinary moments may be the ones you treasure most.

And when you're ready, I'd love to help you create something more than just another photo on your phone — something you can hold onto, hang on your wall, and come back to for years to come.

Because our time with them is never long enough.

And I think that's why photographs matter so much.