Heirlooms and Courage- Why I Became a Dog Photographer

Today- May 20- is my grandmother’s birthday. She would have been 110 years old. Grandma was an avid reader and gardener. She loved to cook and can. She was proudly 100% Norwegian and held pragmatic ideals in high regard. She laughed only sometimes, and it was music to my kid ears whenever I heard it. She was my playmate, advisor and biggest fan, for my entire lifetime. “Of course you can!” - she said this to me whenever I doubted myself. Which was, and is, often.

What does this have to do with dog photography? For me, everything.

Living on a farm as we did, dogs were not as much pets as they were working farm dogs who helped herd the cows. They slept in the barn and ate with the cats and rode in the back of the pickup with us when we went to check the hayfields. With the exception of a holiday photo - bath first in the laundry sink - dogs were never in the house.

When I was a kid my grandmother lived across the road from us. Our houses were on the corner of a major highway and we often had random strangers drive into our farm in need of help. Filling empty gas cans and pulling a car from the ditch were common occurrences. Often people threw their cats into our yard, I guess in the hope that farm people would take care of them.

Grandma also valued a clean house.

When I was about nine a stray dog showed up at my Grandma’s house. Having had many stray cats, nobody raised an eyebrow. Grandma fed the dog some scraps and hoped to keep it alive until its rightful owners appeared. She kept feeding it and the dog kept coming back.

Soon they became friends, and to my great surprise, Grandma started talking to the dog and petting the dog and wondering aloud whether the dog was OK. I knew better than to suggest that the dog take up residence in her house, so I waited with fingers secretly crossed behind my back that the day would eventually come when the dog could snuggle on the couch next to me and share my macaroni dinner and keep me company while I read the “Little House in the Big Woods”.

Winter came, and the poor dog was still living outside. It was a bitter Wisconsin winter, long, dark and cold enough to freeze the dog’s food dish solid. The dog moved into Grandma’s house for the winter so he wouldn’t starve. From then on, Grandma decided that dogs were great companions. They bonded. She loved that dog, whether or not she would admit it.

I don’t know long the dog lived with Grandma. It seemed to me to be a long time. Many months, a year maybe.

One day the dog owners came back and claimed their dog. I held my breath that she would fight to keep the dog.

My Grandma did what she thought was the right thing and returned the dog to the owners. Without warning, her companion was gone and she was alone again in her farm house. Her stoic Nordic self never did show much emotion about loving and losing a companion, at least not to me. I know that she loved the dog and enjoyed his company, and the loss must have been awful. I was devastated.

Even today, decades later, the unfairness of my Grandmother having to give up a dog that she had fully, albeit reluctantly, loved, makes me sad and more than a little angry. I resisted getting a dog of my own for many years because I didn't want to put myself through the grieving process when the inevitable happens.

I have looked many times for a photo of my grandmother with the dog, and sadly I don’t think one exists. I think it would have given her peace to have something tangible from her experience. A few years later I picked up my first camera and started documenting my life and the life of all those around me. I learned that photographs and art in general are one of the few things that remain.

That is why I encourage my clients to take photos with their dog, and to buy wall art and albums - so they have something tangible to keep forever.