The One Time There Was A Dog I Couldn’t Photograph
Emma spent the first month as our foster dog living under the bed.
We'd slide her food bowl under the frame and leave the house so she'd eat without having to deal with us. She was terrified of people — all people — and the most we could do at first was let her be scared in a safe place.
Eventually, she came around. We could pet her. She'd sit on the couch. She played in the yard with the other dogs.
But I could not take her picture.
Every time I brought out my trusty Blackberry, remember those — she would dive to hide behind anything nearby.
The best photo I managed for her adoption profile was her peeking from behind the toilet.
I am not proud of this. I have searched for that photo many times and I believe I must have deleted it from existence.
What Emma Taught Me
Emma did get adopted. I even got a cute phone photo of her in the car when she met her forever family for the first time — eyes bright, finally feeling safe.
But here's what stuck with me: I had failed to get a decent photograph of a dog in my own home for an entire month.
I wasn't a professional pet photographer at the time. But even so — it bothered me. And it made me realize that technical photography skills were only half of what I needed.
The other half was understanding dogs.
What I Did Next
I started taking classes at Canine Country Academy. I attended canine body language seminars. I started studying the work of trainers and behaviorists — calming signals, stress indicators, what it looks like when a dog is coping versus when they're starting to shut down.
I learned to read dogs the way I'd learned to read light: by paying attention, slowing down, and respecting what I was actually seeing rather than what I wanted to see.
In the fifteen-plus years and thousands of dogs since Emma was adopted, I have never failed to get an image I'm proud of from a session.
That's not luck. That's Emma.
The Two Things This Story Proves
Education when working with animals is not optional. It's the job.
And there's someone out there for everyone — even if the only available profile photo includes a commode.
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