How To Photograph (Our) Dogs

I’ve been working on a Very Serious Essay, but this past weekend I was too distracted to dwell in the abyss of soulful reflection, despite my having pitched a tent there ages ago.

So, I thought I would respond to all the readers who, over the years, have asked, “How do you get your dogs to look at the camera?”

As I write this, I am again temporarily away from our boys Franklin and Walter, and I really miss them. I can easily imagine little Walter pawing at my hand to get me to stop typing and scoop him into my arms like a baby. At such moments, Franklin, who is 20 pounds heavier, sits at my feet. He looks up at me with those big brown eyes as if to ask, “Tell me again why we have Walter?”

From the day we adopted Franklin in October 2011, I’ve been sharing photos of him on social media. Five years ago, Walter joined him. So often, someone will see a photo of one or both and ask, “How did you get them to look at you?”

I’m here to offer tips, but first I must ask a question of all you dog owners out there: How much of your dignity are you willing to sacrifice?

You’ll want to think about this.

For this photo, I spread a big dollop of peanut butter on the tip of my nose and leaned in close enough to capture them with my iPhone’s portrait setting.

One caveat: Maybe wipe off the peanut butter before greeting the UPS delivery person at your door. “Everything ohh-kay?” he said, slowly, as he handed over my package. I had no idea why he looked so concerned until I sat on the couch and the dogs tried to eat my nose.

Next question: How’s your singing? Don’t fret. The worse, the better. Especially if you’re going for a look of slight confusion.

For this photo, I sang Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On.

Every night in my dreams

I see you, I feel you

That is how I know you go on…

As you can see, Franklin fell in love all over again. Walter insisted on singing along. The ego on this guy.

Getting both dogs to look at the camera at the same time can be a challenge. Sometimes, Sherrod stands behind me with two slices of cheese—always cheddar, never pepper jack—and waves them near my ears. He is an enthusiastic man and occasionally flaps the cheese against my cheeks. I don’t particularly enjoy this, but again I ask: How much of your dignity are you willing to sacrifice?

Look at our boys, dressed for their news conference. I’m tempted to add that Mom would have said they were wearing their Sunday best, but I can hear her exasperated voice: “Are you out of your mind?”

Occasionally, you might want the windblown look. Our dogs hate fans, but floor vents are fun. Only after I sent this photo to Sherrod did I remember that I hadn’t told him I’d had a little trouble cutting mats out of Franklin’s fur.

Our text exchange:

Sherrod: “What happened to his ear?”

Connie: “What ear?”

Sherrod: (After drawing an arrow to The Ear) “The ear on the right. The one that’s missing all its feathers.”

Connie: “Oh, that. Lol, lol. Probably the way the air is blowing.”

Pause, with an undulating dot-dot-dot. 

Sherrod, finally: “I can see those short little hairs. Just admit that you cut his hair.”

It took fifteen years of marriage for Sherrod to notice a haircut in this house, and it wasn’t mine.

One more tip for photographing dogs: If you have no children in your life, consider borrowing one.

Our grandson Clayton, then three, met 9-week-old Franklin on the day we adopted him. Their relationship is a love story without rival. Sherrod always offers a tight smile when I mention this. He is Franklin’s Number One—unless Clayton is around.

This is my favorite photo of the three of them. It’s not the best, quality-wise, but it perfectly captures the fickleness of puppy love. Franklin was padding down the hall at Sherrod’s heels and then— vroom! —here comes Clayton.

See ya, pops.

This is Clayton and Franklin, ten years later. I always grab my camera when these two are together. In this photo, Franklin is making sure I don’t interrupt his boy. Clayton was in the process of assembling the LEGO U.S. Capitol. It is displayed behind Sherrod’s desk in Washington, in the same room ransacked by the mob that broke through the windows on January 6. Every family has its stories. This is one of ours.

Walter is devoted to granddaughter Ela. She thinks they look alike. He follows her around from the moment she enters our home, and will pose for every photo as long as she is at his side. After this visit, Ela returned to school and told her teacher she had two dogs: One of them, Mouse, lives at her house; her other dog, Walter, lives at Grandma’s.

One final tip: Be willing to break your own rules. For example, I insist that no dog belongs at our table. Clearly, someone in this house doesn’t agree. No names, but we have pictures.

That’s yogurt on Franklin’s nose. Sherrod was reading aloud Inside of a Dog by Alexandra Horowitz. A Franklin favorite.

In this photo, Sherrod typed as Walter dictated. Walter is writing a memoir about how he survived life on the streets until we adopted him. Working title: When Curly Met Curly.

Please note that, in each of these photos, only one of them is wearing the face of someone who knows he shouldn’t be there.

I leave you with my favorite story about photographing one of our dogs. It was late afternoon and I opened the back door to discover Sherrod lying on his back on the deck with Franklin sprawled on top of him, neck to knees.

“Who’s Daddy’s good boy?” Sherrod cooed as he buried his hands in Franklin’s fur.

“Who’s going to stay right here until Daddy gets up?” he said, kissing his nose.

“No offense, honey,” Sherrod felt the need to add, “but I think we can agree that I’m Franklin’s favorite.”

“Is that right?” I said, standing in the open doorway.

I held up my left hand and said, “Franklin, treat!”

With my right hand, I snapped this picture.

Bye-bye, Daddy.