When I was a mortal pup I hated having my picture taken. Sometimes I posed but mostly I bobbed and weaved so my Mom could never get a good shot. This is a growing concern amongst dogs everywhere. People used to have to own a camera to take a picture. Now they can take it with their phones, their watches, and, I believe with glasses.
It is harassment by camera. Our foredogs Moms used to have to say: “Oh look, she’s doing the cutest thing. Oh honey get the camera! Hurry get the camera! She’s still doing it! Hurry! Get the lens cap off. Focus! Focus it! Oh crap, she’s not doing it anymore. Maybe next time.” And we would win.
And we were gland. But along came Steve Jobs. People say he was a genius but he was just a guy trying to get a picture of his dog playing with a stuffie.
He created a phone that you could take pictures with because people were more apt to carry a phone all the time than a camera but by the time humans got the phone out of their pocket we had stopped being cute. Then he made a phone that humans could text on so it would be in their hands more often. But it wasn’t in their hands all the time and when it was in their hands we stopped being cute. Then he put a computer on the phone, it was in human’s hands all the time, and we couldn’t stop being cute fast quick enough.
Twenty five years ago a dog may have his picture taken ten times. Now we get our picture taken 10,000 times. It was very frustrating when I was on the mortal side of the the Bridge but now that I am on the immortal side I realize I should have made myself more available for posing because once you arrive here your parents will never have another picture of you.
All of us dogs here have parents who keep that one last picture of us. Sometimes they knew it was the final picture, sometimes they didn’t. But every time the look at it they know that’s the last one.
Mine was after I had left for the Bridge. It was at the doctor’s after I was gone. My body was still in my Mom’s lap. My little tounge out like it always was. It looks like I was sleeping. Just sleeping that’s all.
There are two other pictures: One of me in my oxygen tent, on my back legs, begging to be taken out, even though, if I had, I would have crossed over in less than a minute, and one before that, of me and Pocket on the steps. That’s the one that bothers my parents the most because they look at it and see how much my fur had changed, the pain in my eyes, the things I had hidden from them through my illness.
But the rest are happy pictures. It is like they could reach into the picture and once again stroke my soft fur,So next time your Mom turns the phone/computer into a camera try to keep being cute. Because like heartbeats, there are only so many pictures they can take of you, and someday those pictures will mean the world to them.