Photography wasn’t always a part of my life. It wasn’t until after I lost my golden retriever, Becky, that I picked up a camera in the first place. Becky was my best friend, my constant companion, and losing her left a void that I struggled to fill. It was only after she was gone that I realized I didn’t have any truly good photographs of her—nothing that captured her spirit, her joy, her essence. The photos I did have were mostly blurry snapshots, taken without much thought or care.

They didn’t reflect the bond we shared or the incredible dog she was. This realization was a hard one to swallow, and it was the spark that eventually led me to where I am today.

Becky came into my life during a time when I wasn’t focused on photography at all. She was full of energy, curiosity, and that unbreakable golden retriever spirit. We spent countless hours together, exploring the great outdoors—hiking, playing fetch, or simply enjoying the sunshine in the backyard. Our days were filled with joy, yet I never thought to document those moments in a meaningful way. At that time, I didn’t understand how fleeting those moments were, or how much I would want to revisit them later.

When Becky passed away 14 years ago, the pain of losing her was compounded by the lack of memories I had to hold onto. I often find myself wishing I had more—more time, more memories, and especially more photos. Photos that I could look back on and feel her presence again. Photos that would bring her back to life in my mind’s eye, even if just for a moment. But I didn’t take those photos, and that’s a regret I carry with me every day.

It was this regret, this deep sense of loss, that inspired me to pick up a camera and eventually become a dog photographer. I realized that dogs are never with us as long as we think they will be. Their time with us is short—so much shorter than we want it to be. They come into our lives, fill it with joy and unconditional love, and before we know it, they’ve grown old. The gray hairs begin to appear, their steps slow down, and their once-vibrant eyes take on a softer, wiser gaze. It’s in these moments, as they move from puppies to seniors, that we realize just how fleeting our time with them is. And it’s in these moments that capturing their spirit becomes even more important.

I want to help other dog owners preserve the memories of their beloved companions, to give them something to hold onto long after their dog has crossed the rainbow bridge. I want to capture the unique personalities, the quirks, and the love that each dog brings into our lives. Whether it’s a young pup full of energy or a senior dog with a lifetime of wisdom in their eyes, every stage of their life is worth remembering. Every moment is worth capturing.

Before focusing on dog photography, I dabbled in landscape photography. I loved capturing the beauty of nature—the vastness of mountains, the serenity of lakes, and the tranquility of forests. It was an escape, a way to connect with the world around me. But what I didn’t realize was that my focus on capturing the perfect landscape shots was causing me to miss something far more precious.

Combining my love for the outdoors with my love for dogs was challenging. When you’re trying to capture the perfect landscape shot, you need to be completely focused on the scene in front of you—the light, the composition, the timing. But when you’re out with your dog, you need to be focused on them—what they’re doing, where they’re going, how they’re interacting with their surroundings. It became clear to me that I couldn’t do both at the same time, at least not in the way I wanted to. So, I made a choice. I chose to focus on the dogs, to let them become the center of my photographic journey.

And what a journey it has been. There’s something truly magical about photographing dogs. They are so full of life, so present in every moment. They don’t worry about the future or dwell on the past—they just are. And that’s what I strive to capture in my photos—the pure, unfiltered essence of a dog’s spirit. Whether they’re running through a field, lying lazily in the sun, or giving their human a look of complete adoration, every moment is worth capturing because every moment is precious.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my journey, it’s this: don’t wait. Don’t wait to take that photo, don’t wait to capture that memory. Because one day, all you’ll have left are the memories, and you’ll wish you had more to look back on. Our dogs are with us for such a short time, but the love they give us lasts a lifetime. So, take the photos—take them early and take them often. Capture the moments, big and small. And when your dog becomes a senior, don’t shy away from the camera. That’s when the photos become even more important because they remind us of the journey we’ve taken together, and they help us hold onto the love long after our furry friend is gone.

For me, becoming a dog photographer wasn’t just a career choice—it was a way to honor Becky’s memory and to ensure that no one else has to live with the regret of not capturing the moments that matter most. It’s a way to help others preserve the love and joy that their dogs bring into their lives and to give them something to hold onto when their time together comes to an end. Because, in the end, it’s not just about the photos—it’s about the love, the memories, and the bond we share with our dogs. And that’s something worth capturing.