When I was nine, I begged my family for a camera so that I could take photos of all the things I loved. I have boxes full of photographs of all my pets. My family didn't understand at first why I had to take so many photos of our dogs and cats and horses... when one of our pets died, everyone knew where to go for a photograph to remember their furry friend.
I love dogs. I've had dogs in my life since I was a tiny baby. First, there was Grizzly Bear, a huge St. Bernard/Husky/German Shepard mix that my parents bought as a puppy for a friend of theirs. Their friend couldn't take him, so my parents kept him. Grizzly was a beautiful dog with a huge heart. He would let our litters of kittens climb all over him, and he loved snuggling my sister and me. My first memory of heartbreak and tears was the day he died. I was three years old. My parents were cutting down huge trees to clear land for our road, and Grizzy Bear (that's what I called him), was chasing the trees as they fell. I'm sure you can guess what happened. It was a very sad day. My dad buried him under his favorite tree on our beach, and made a cross with his name on it. He had a rubber duckie toy that he had chewed the bill off of. We put that under the cross. That duckie stayed there for years afterward. I remember it still being there when I was a teenager.
A little while after Grizzly's death, we decided we needed a new puppy. My dad and sister went to the pound to pick one out, and I awoke with a little dalmation on my bed. We named him Spot. I remember the first moment I saw him. That is the only memory I have of him as a puppy. The rest of my memories of him are when he was big, and not the greatest dog for children. He would chase us when we went outside, and would jump on us and playfully bite. He was out of control. I don't remember how long he stayed with us, but one day he wasn't there anymore.
The night before I turned five years old, I was watching a movie about a boy and his pony. I was sucked into the film because I was a horse crazy girl. I almost didn't notice my family coming into the living room with a tiny basket. In the basket was a tiny puppy. A Pomeranian puppy. He was the most adorable little ball of fur I had ever seen. He was my birthday present. The coloring on his nose was just like my first dog, Grizzly's nose, and when my family asked what I wanted to name him, I knew it was going to be Grizzly... Little Grizzly. Little Grizzly turned out to be one of the best dogs I have ever known. He didn't know how little he was. He would chase big dogs away from our home, ran alongside, and underneath our horses when we went on rides down the beach, and he absolutely LOVED riding in the truck. He was hit by a car one day, and his tail was paralyzed. It didn't stop him from chasing cars up the hill, until he was hit again. He was with us for 9 years. We buried him next to Big Grizzly under the tree. I helped my dad make the cross.
By this time, I was in high school, and not having a dog at our house was a very strange thing. My sister and her boyfriend at the time had adopted a German Shepard/Malamute Husky mix puppy from the Humane Society about a year before Little Grizzly died. His name was Mufasa. He was the goofiest dog you ever saw. My dad and I wanted to get a new puppy to be friends with Mufasa, so we headed out to the Humane Society. There was a litter of Pit Bull mix puppies, and we picked out two. One was a boy, and one was a girl. The boy was white with light and dark brown patches. The girl was solid light brown. The girl puppy had been adopted, so we ended up adopting the boy. About a week after we got him, he got really sick. We took him to the vet, and found out it was Parvo Virus. He stayed overnight at the vet hospital. The next day we got a call from the Humane Society telling us we needed to bring him back and have him put down. The entire litter had been infected, and everyone was bringing them back. We said no way, we had already taken him to the vet, and he was going to be fine. I was heartbroken that the little girl puppy was going to be put down. We decided to name the puppy Nick. Because we got him just in the nick of time. The day he came home from the vet, I accidentally dropped his medication out the window of the truck while we were driving down the highway... it ended up being a good thing because Nick later got into some Apache fly bait, and got really sick. The vet sent a shot along with new medication so Nick wouldn't die. It was all very traumatic... but everything turned out fine. Nick and Mufasa became best friends. They were inseparable. When I was home from college for Christmas, Mufasa went missing. My best friend and I went searching for him, but never found him. Three months later, our neighbor found his body. It was devastating. He was such a great dog. Nick was alone after that. In 2007, my dad sold his house, and bought a new place. Nick died before the move. I didn't get to say goodbye.
My parents divorced when I was eight. They both remarried, and got new pets. When I was 9, my mom got a Basset Hound puppy. We named him Bo Diddly. He was hilarious. My mom bought an old farmhouse, and Bo Diddly would roam all around the farmlands. One day he never came back. He wasn't neutered. It was quite a while before my mom got another dog that stayed. His name was Bingo, and he was a Blue Heeler puppy. He was the runt. He was shy, but so very loving and loyal. He loved all of us so much, and we loved him. One day, he started losing weight quickly. My mom took him to the vet, and found out he had some sort of genetic disorder that affected his intestines. They operated on him, and he got a little better for a while. I remember my mom telling me that she hadn't realized how much she really loved Bingo, until we almost lost him. It wasn't long after that when we did lose him. The next year, my mom and brother got another Blue Heeler puppy named Rocket. Rocket is exactly like his name. He is hilarious, and loving, and the biggest baby ever! He has a blanket that he sucks on, and when my mom isn't home, he steals one of her hats and a pair of gloves and drags them to his bed.
Five years ago, my life changed when a furry little Siberian Husky came into my life. My little Kerouac flew on a plane from Maryland to Seattle into my arms. She has been my baby girl, and the light of my life. We have a silent language between us. She understands me, and I understand her. About six months after she came into my life, another husky joined us... Kerouac and I drove down to Seatac to pick out a puppy. Cohen is a pure white Siberian Husky. When we first brought him home, Kerouac thought he was her play toy. He didn't like that. She picked on him even after he got bigger than her. She still does. They are best friends. When Cohen had to wear a cone after getting neutered, I would come home from work and the cone would be in the middle of the yard with teeth marks on it... and when Cohen and the cone would get stuck under the shed in the backyard, Kerouac would come yelling that he needed help. She always looked out for him. Then she would kick his butt. My dogs have lived at my dad's for the last year. It has been hard not waking up with them near every morning, and not coming home to them after work. Soon, that will all change because we are having a fence built for them. It is going to be the best day when they come home. It will be like I am coming home.
I realize that this blog entry is HUGE, and if no one reads the whole thing, that is fine. I think I wrote it more for me, so that I could remember all the dogs in my life. They are the reasons why I find something in every dog I photograph, and capture it in my own way. They are the reasons why I am the best damn dog photographer around.
These are some of my recent photographs of dogs.
