Lessons From A Soul Dog

a picture of the photographer's soul dog on a rock in the woods in Fall. Jill Brammer Photography

Soul Dog Life Lesson

You know the look. Not the one where your dog glances over to see if you dropped a potential snack. The other one — where they hold your gaze for seconds that make time feel like it stopped, like they’re checking on something deeper.

That’s your soul dog.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. A few friends have lost their dogs recently — cancer, old age, quickly, slowly. All of it hard in its own way. And when I’ve sat with them in those first raw days, not one of them talked about what their dog looked like or what breed they were or whether they were perfectly trained.

What they said — every single one of them, and I said it too when I lost Tedie — was some version of the same thing:
I can’t believe he’s gone. I wish I had more photographs of the two of us together.

Not professional headshots. Not posed portraits with everyone sitting still. Just real pictures — of the hikes, the beach days, the ordinary Tuesday afternoons that turned out to be anything but ordinary. Images that prove the life they shared together was exactly as good as it felt.

Does your phone have all your dog’s pictures?

Tedie has been gone since April of 2024. He lived sixteen years and made the most of every single one of them. I have somewhere around 625 images of him on my digital frame. My phone was pointed at him constantly, which he tolerated with the quiet dignity of a dog who knew he was loved. But I was barely in any of them. A handful. And that’s a real loss — not just for me, but for the record of what we were together.

That’s why I take people and their dogs to the beach and into the woods and onto paddleboards. Not to make pretty portraits. To make the kind of photographs you’ll want on your walls in fifteen years, when you’d give anything to be back in that moment.

No Sit-Stay Required

If you’re waiting until your dog sits still, or until you’ve lost the weight, or until the timing feels right — I’d gently say: the timing never feels right. And your dog is perfect right now, exactly as she is. Unruly and muddy and herself.

You don’t even need to be the focus if that’s not your thing. Just your hand on her back. Your boots beside hers on the trail. The back of you both, looking out at the same water. There are a hundred ways to be in the picture without being the subject.

If you’d like to talk about what a session looks like — where we’d go, how it all works, how much fun you’ll actually have — send me a message with your dog’s name and a photo. I only take a handful of sessions each season. Don’t wait too long. Click this link to go to my contact form.

P.S. If you or someone you know is navigating the loss of a pet, this resource from Best Friends Animal Society has been helpful to many people I know: https://bestfriends.org/pet-care-resources/grieving-loss-pet-resources-coping

https://bestfriends.org/pet-care-resources/grieving-loss-pet-resources-coping