Goodbye My Beautiful Broken Buddy

We saw the signs of abuse and trauma the first day we brought Buddy home, but we never imagined those demons would keep him from flourishing in his new home.  I was sure I could fix him over time and gain his trust completely, but in the end he couldn't overcome those fears and anxieties that controlled his actions.  In a series of escalating, aggressive incidents over a 15 month period, Buddy eventually lashed out in devastating fashion, causing me severe facial trauma that signaled the end of our time together.

After we picked Buddy up from the shelter in August of 2017, we introduced him to his new home and I immediately saw the first signs of past abuse.  I let him run through the front door and he instinctively lifted his leg and began marking the couch.   I lunged for his collar to direct him outside and he immediately flopped to the floor in a motionless heap, scared and anxious.  I was able to get him outside with the use of treats, but that incident stayed with me for the rest of our time together.

As we got to know him better, we noticed he had multiple nicks and scars on his face, likely the result of being a hunting dog, or at least trained to be one.  As we explored his neck, we noticed the unmistakeable puncture wounds of a prong collar, little circles equally spaced.   Although we can only speculate, this certainly pointed towards being tied up for long periods of time with the collar around his neck, or excessive use of force in trying to train a physically strong and stubborn dog.

Buddy first showed signs of aggression in our bedroom, when  I entered the room long after my wife and Buddy were asleep.  As I walked through the door, he sprung to a crouched position, ready to lunge, and gave me the full hound wall of sound.  Treeing Walker Coonhounds are bred to hunt, among other things, bears and mountain lions.  They are fearless, relentless, focused creatures and getting the full treatment from Buddy was alarming.  I had to stand still and wait for my wife to talk him down because any talking or movement from me agitated him even further. Although terrifying, I wasn't overly concerned about this incident because I startled him while he was sleeping and the term "let a sleeping dog lie" was coined for a reason.  This same scenario played out several more times, in several different places.  It was always directed at me and indicated he had a genuine fear of males.

After this incident, we moved both dog beds into our spare bedroom to avoid this stimulus.  One of the most difficult things about adopting a dog is the need to treat both of them the same.  Although Olive didn't have problems, she had to sleep in the spare bedroom with Buddy. He enjoyed this new solitary space, but we noticed over time that Olive was apprehensive about entering the room when Buddy was already asleep, although he never directed his aggression at her.  As a result, we moved both beds down to the living room where there was lots of space and we could still contain them in one area.  The downside is that I had to walk on eggshells for the rest of our time together while walking past his bed to get to the couch.

The first physical contact incident occurred around October 2018 after my wife and I returned from a weekend trip and picked up Buddy and Olive from our friend's house.  When we got home we all laid on the floor for a love-fest that quickly turned ugly.  When I adjusted my position, I nudged Buddy's leg, and he sprung on top of me, mouthed my skull, and then assumed the crouched position I described above.  The speed with which he moved was awe inspiring.  He was on the floor next to me, then he was on top of me.  It was instantaneous.  Thankfully, during this incident, he modulated his bite.  I shudder to think what might have happened if he didn't.

The next physical incident occurred in April 2019 when Buddy lashed out and bit my arm after a rainy walk, leaving bruises and bite marks, but not breaking the skin.  When we returned home from the walk, I took him to the garage and as I began toweling his right hind leg, he whipped around to bite.  Fortunately, I was able to use my arm as a shield.  Again, he modulated his bite. For the last time.

In June of 2019 I was getting Buddy prepared for a walk and couldn't get his collar secured.  As I fumbled around his neck, hovering over his face, he sprung upwards and bit my face, breaking the skin for the first time.  Although he modulated his bite to some degree, he clearly clamped down, causing a laceration below my eye and two puncture wounds.

During this time we worked with a trainer and a behaviorist, and based on their recommendation, we did an X-ray in August 2019 to determine if he had any physical ailments.  The scan showed he had hip dysplasia in his right hind leg and arthritis in his back.   We put him on a regimen of chondroitin, turmeric, and occasional pain killers, when required.  Though not great news, it gave us hope because at least we understood pain was a part of the equation to Buddy's reactions.  It certainly helped explain the leg toweling incident.

Over the next several months, we noticed a decline in Buddy's activity level.  Sometimes he asked to go home, other times he limped around the house after a walk, and in Lake Tahoe in December, he couldn't lift himself off the floor all day after vigorous exercise.  Managing his pain was a challenge because the only thing he truly loved in life was off leash running in the hills.

The final and devastating incident happened on the morning of April 2nd 2020. Olive and Buddy had just eaten and we were having our morning love fest of scratches and rubs.  I long ago learned to only touch Buddy when he came to me voluntarily, without prompting, so I could be sure there was no fear on his side.  Buddy put himself in the "rub my belly" position on the floor, with a goofy, playful face,  and when I bent down to rub him (as I have many times),  he lunged upwards and bit my face.  There was clearly no modulation, he clamped down and tore my lip and cheek to shreds.

Besides the physical devastation, the bite was shocking because I felt I hadn't broken any rules of engagement and approached him at his beckoning.  This bite was completely unpredictable and there was no way we could live like this anymore.  I can speculate about hovering over him, or touching his back, or 100 other things, but this response was completely irrational. We subsequently made the decision to euthanize Buddy with absolute clarity and peace of mind.

The decision is never easy of course, but Buddy was suffering physically and mentally.  Much of his time in the house was spent alone and withdrawn and he was often unsure of himself and anxious.  Running in the hills was the only thing that seemed to bring him true joy, and that was causing him more and more pain.  We could have surrendered him to the shelter, but he would have languished in a crate while they made a determination if he was adoptable, which didn't seem likely. Even if it were possible, I'm certain he would have bit the next person.

I'll always look back on my time with Buddy fondly.  He was a spectacular physical specimen and I was completely fascinated watching him climb trees and hunt coyotes and be a hound.  I'll miss his incessant howling and giant, floppy ears.  He was a genuinely sweet soul, but he couldn't overcome the trauma he experienced before we adopted him.  I'll always be sad that I couldn't fix him like I thought I could, with love and trust.  I'm not mad at Buddy, I loved our time together roaming the hills.  He was extraordinary.

Good night, sweet boy.

Blue Hour Composite

Final, composite shot.

The warm orange glow of halogen lights coupled with a "blue hour" sky is one of the classic complementary color scenarios and shooting at blue hour can result in some of the most aesthetically satisfying shots.   Additionally, this scenario offers the opportunity to use your imagination and create a shot that doesn't exist, which is my favorite part of photography.  When I got the opportunity to shoot this custom mid-century modern home built in 1959, I jumped at it.

In this case, the backyard didn't have any lighting so shooting the existing scene resulted in at least a third of the shot being a big black hole (below).  Knowing this in advance, it's important to envision the final scene and add light accordingly.  

The light was in my favor, actually, because I only had to expose for the interior of the house and wait for the blue sky to drop into my exposure (ISO 400, f6.3, 0.3s).  If there had been flood lights in the backyard, I would have turned them off because they would almost certainly be a different intensity than the interior of the house and that would create a "hot spot" nightmare scenario.  In this case, I simply set the power of my flash to match the camera's exposure settings.  Once the flash was set, I didn't have to change any settings (camera or flash).

Here are the basics for getting the final shot:

1. Compose shot
2. Set exposure for house interior
3. Wait for sky to drop to your exposure
4. Light trees (camera exposure remains constant, so once appropriate flash power is dialed in, it doesn't change)
5. Composite shots in Photoshop

This is the base shot I used for the composite, the combination of blue sky and orange interior I'm looking for.  You can see how much of the photo is complete darkness.

Exposure is set to the interior of the house, waiting for the sky to drop into my exposure.  Meanwhile, I start lighting the trees. I also used this grass in the final shot.  Also notice the reflection in the windows.  That fades significantly once the light drops into a nice blue.

Lighting the tree on the left.  You can see the sky is starting to drop into my exposure.

  

Lighnting tree on the right.  The sky has actually gone a little too dark in this shot.  No worries, I already have the base shot established.

A little more light on the tree.

My Worst Photography Experience

I saw a dramatic sky developing and quickly rounded up my camera and gear from the office and headed downstairs to get the dogs ready.  Thank goodness the rain finally stopped, I thought, as I finished putting their collars on and headed out the door.

It was much colder than I thought when I reached the access gate.  I released Buddy and he scrambled under and through the barbed wire like an elite athlete as if it weren’t there.  I’ve never understood how he gets his body low enough to sprint under the lowest wire at 6”.  If I try to make him wait while I open the gate, he jumps into multiple wire strands like a WWI soldier on the battlefields of Somme.  After witnessing this several times I concluded it was safer (for him and I) to let him go under.  I reached for my beanie as I watched Olive chase after Buddy, who had a 5 second lead.  When she caught up to him and chomped his neck I chuckled at the thought that I used to be the target of her biting bitchiness. 

When I reached the halfway point up the hill I noticed the wind had picked up quite a bit and was thankful I brought the small umbrella with me. The gigantic one I used last week would be destroyed in 3 seconds, I thought to myself.  I made my way to the top and began unpacking the gear at my favorite spot, excited at how great these shots would be with the dramatic skies.  I hooked up the lighting gear and as is often the case when I focus on something else for 30 seconds, Buddy was gone. 

He disappeared for the first time a month after we adopted him. When I called him back using his e-collar he back-tracked to our starting point, underneath the barbed wire, and to our house.  Our neighbor picked him up and called me to let me know he was safe.  (I’ve since learned that Buddy has a terrible sense of direction and may be the reason he’s a failed hunting dog).

I jumped up, beeped the collar, and started looking for him.  Almost immediately I saw him only a few yards away and was relieved he hadn’t gone back to the gate.  I’d never seen him roll in the grass like that, but I instantaneously knew why.

Dogs roll in shit for a number of reasons.  One of the most popular theories is that it masks the dog’s scent for hunting purposes.  They all do it, it’s universal and natural, but a muscular, energetic hound dog fully covered in fresh cow shit makes most humans irrational and angry, even if only for a few seconds.

Fuuuuuuuuuu…I screamed from the hilltop (literally) and scolded Buddy like a third grader who has torn his pants before class on picture day.  Lots of  “I can’t believe…….what are you doing……why…..get over here now……sit down”  nonsense came out of my mouth.  For 5-7 seconds I was my mother until I regained composure and realized I was talking to a dog.  I walked back to my gear and disgustedly ordered Mr. shitty pants and Olive to sit on the rock.

I picked up my gear and lowered the light into place at the same moment a gust of wind caught the umbrella and blew it 90 degrees to the right.  Olive promptly jumped down and ran to my pocket for a treat.  Every shutter click means a reward and she’s a genius at starting her forward motion a nanosecond before the shutter clicks.  Her movement caused Mr. Fecal Fur to amble over as well, his manure covered collar coming within inches of my face, causing me to stifle a gag. I got them set again and got into position so we could continue. 

Moving Just Before the Shutter Clicks

At this point, I think It’s appropriate to step back and take a snapshot of what being “in position” and ready means.

Whereas there are three distinct roles in this endeavor, there is only one of me in these hills and I must dutifully cover all three in order for a photo to be taken.  In no particular order these duties include photographer, lighting assistant, and dog wrangler.

In this scenario my left arm is the lighting assistant, holding a 5’ light stand at a downward angle with a 5 lb weight and windsock attached to the top.  Despite Lefty’s best efforts, he’s failing at keeping the windsock directed into the wind at the dogs.  My right hand and legs are the photographer.  This gaggle of limbs is holding the camera with one hand, while doing deep knee bends for 30 seconds at a time to get the correct angle.  Lefty is screaming in the photographer’s ear like a distressed boat captain that he can’t take much more and we’re about to have a catastrophic light failure.  Meanwhile, my dog wrangling consists solely of my voice and I can vaguely hear it screaming at Olive and Mr. Dung Diver to please “Just sit the f&ck down and stay”!! (Not approved by the National Association of Dog Trainers).

I think we lost the light, Captain

Suddenly I hear Lefty Scream “She’s coming down!”

A gust of wind had caught the umbrella and it swung to the right, striking my face. 

“Are you OK?” he screamed again.

“Yes, a small flesh wound, but we have a severely wounded soldier”, I replied.

The light stand had fallen and the umbrella took the brunt of the impact, the spines bent and splayed like an octopus gasping for air out of water.  I must have clicked the shutter because Olive and Mr. Manure man came running over for a treat.  Another gag.

Time for a treat, right?

“What did I tell you guys about sitting and staying?” I said, channeling my mother one more time.

I did a quick assessment and decided it was time to leave.  I packed up the camera gear and realized there was no chance the umbrella could be sheathed in its mangled condition, making it impossible to carry out.  I gave a quick invocation and then abandoned it like a dead hiker on Mt. Everest.

As I made my way down the hill and the rage began to dissipate, I had a chuckle about the whole experience.  There was Buddy gleefully running about, sniffing the drainage inlets.  There was Olive, nudging my pockets for treats, stopping for a quick bite of shit, then making her way towards the gate.   Seeing their joy quickly brought things back into focus and reminded me of why I go into the hills in the first place.  It would have been nice if they’d sat on that rock for a photo, though.