Taking Butter Photos

Butter is a lovely fellow with his yellow (almost white) fur and his big, boxy head and even bigger sweet eyes and soft wet nose and ... oh goodness, do you see where this is going? I could go on and on.


Anyhow. Butter is pretty handsome, so much so that people stop us on our walks quite frequently and comment on how pretty he is (and wonder what the heck kind of dog he is because he's just not quite lab).

So that got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, Butter could be a doggy model. Can't you see him bounding through a field toward a man whose life is restored thanks to Levitra? Or tumbling down some steps, the grownup version of that yellow puppy that makes my heart melt in the toilet paper commercials? Or the regal fellow that greets you when you flip through your magazine and land on an ad for flea and tick medicine?

Oh yes. He'd be terrific.

Except I hate the thought of making anyone—dog or person—be a model unless they really really want to. I was a model once for an hour or two. Let me tell you, it was quite a gig. I modeled step-by-step decorating projects for a Home Depot book I was working on.

Yes, that's right. I wore safety goggles and pretended to use power tools. It was hard work because somehow you have to look like you are enjoying yourself while working a giant saw, but at the same time you can't be grinning because who stands there and cuts boards with a big grin on her face? Plus, you want your hair to look good. And my hair never really looks photo-worthy, especially when it has to be pulled back so it doesn't get chewed up by the big power tools.

That was the day I confirmed without a doubt modeling isn't for me. Heck, I don't even like having my picture taken half the time. That's why a good portion of our family photos taken during my late elementary school and junior high years show me slouched or sticking my tongue out defiantly. My thought: If I'm not going to look good in photos, I might as well make it look intentional.

But I digress. We're not talking about me here. We're talking about Butter and the other reason that I won't pursue his doggie modeling career. As attractive as the thought of fame, big-dollar contracts, and infinite supplies of dog food are, the truth of the matter is I don't think Butter is cut out for the modeling business. He will look absolutely adorable, resting his head on his little paws, gazing up at you. Or he'll sit, all regal, surveying the landscape outside his window (that's what he's doing right now, in case you're wondering).

But the second I approach with the camera, he moves. He doesn't necessarily run across the room, but he moves just enough to make the photo completely blurry.


Or to give me a great shot like this.


And this.


I would say the number of photos I've taken like these are in the hundreds now. And the good ones? Those are few and far between. He thwarts my every attempt at capturing just how adorable he is, almost as if he knows even one cute photo will ruin the rep he's trying to create when the mailman walks to the door.

Butter, you're not fooling anyone with that big, mean bark. Now sit down and be sweet and let me take your picture.

He could use a few lessons from his uncle Walker. The King? The King could be a doggie model. The last time I got out my camera and pointed it in his direction, he ran straight for Conservative Mom and Dad's bed, jumped up, and posed as if he'd been posing all his life. Now that's one photogenic dog. You can see for yourself here.

But not Butter. Butter just wants to play. He wants to lick my face, my camera.


He wants to stick my hand in his mouth and wrestle. He wants to do anything besides sit still and look handsome, which he's good at as long as the camera is turned off.

He's such an attention hound, you'd think he'd want me to take photos to share with you all. But I guess he only wants attention when it's in person, when you're here rubbing his belly.


And apparently he's going to force me to get a new digital SLR camera like I've been coveting for over a year. I'm pretty sure it's the only way to capture him in film (or, rather, in pixels)—because then at least I can stay a few few away from him and use my trusty lens to zoom in on his model potential, without disturbing him. Although I'm sure he'll still have moments when he can't be bothered by the paparazzi. And then I'll be nice and give him some space.

Maybe.