What's a Soul Dog, Really? One Photographer's Answer Is a Schnauzer Named Remington

Every time I sit down to tell the story of my life and career, the thread always leads back to Remington.

Yes, Remington's a dog — a feisty miniature schnauzer, not the rifle brand.

I can still picture searching for a puppy and nervously choosing a three-month-old salt-and-pepper schnauzer to bring home. I was terrified of wrecking my routine. I was in my late 20s, clueless about caring for anything alive, and this was years before I had kids of my own. What a ride I was in for.

Through house-training, sleepless nights, and oceans of unconditional love, Remington stirred me to grow my photo-restoration business into professional pet portraits. He was a born poser and the reason I reached for my camera daily to sharpen my craft. I began shooting adoptable dogs at rescues and shelters, which led to photographing friends' and family's pets. I realized I had a gift the moment my love of editing portraits collided with wrangling wriggly animals to create art no matter the lighting or temperament.

Remington and Jennifer

As word spread, pet parents started begging me to photograph their senior or critically ill dogs. That's how Going with Grace© was born — a way to honor and celebrate animals at the edge of their lives. Most sessions are booked just as someone faces their hardest decision: the final, selfless gift we can grant a beloved pet. End-of-life photography is an emotional minefield. I'm grateful to help people find peace through pictures, even as I carry a sliver of their pain — especially once they've said their last goodbye.

Remington shaped my career, but he shaped my love life too. At a local dog park in 2012, I met the man of my dreams. Abby — a rescued Vizsla who we lost in 2018 to Cushing's Disease — wandered up to me and Remington, her dad trailing behind, and we fell into talking about pet portraits. I casually handed him my card so he could 'check out my website,' and the rest is history. Aaron told me early on our love story would read like fiction. Two years later we were on the front page of the Kansas City Star and featured in People Magazine's 2014 'Amazing Pets' spread.

Almost two decades on, I'm still living both my personal and professional dreams. I've been gifted a beautiful family — two small kids and a rotating cast of furry critters. But Remington will always be my soul dog. I can't imagine where I'd be if I hadn't taken that leap into puppy parenthood.

Remington fought chronic bronchitis, a heart murmur, and degeneration in his brain and spine, and carried a softball-sized lipoma on his chest for years.

But every beautiful story with our pets ends too soon. My first 'baby,' my companion of fifteen years, crossed the bridge days before my 43rd birthday. For months I begged the universe not to make me choose when to let go, because I couldn't. His final gift was sparing me that unbearable decision.

A little while after Rem left, my family found this heart-shaped rock on a trail in Branson, Missouri. 'Look, it's a heart!' my daughter said. Through tears, I snapped a photo — because even in sorrow, capturing memories is what I do.

Days later, scrolling my camera roll, I spotted a schnauzer's profile in the bottom curve of the heart.

We carried the stone home and set it in our backyard. I look at it every single day and think of Remington.

After a pet crosses over, I honestly believe they come visit in spirit. Not long after I lost Rem, I dreamed I followed a younger him through a crowd. I remember resting my hand on his chest and, for the first time, not feeling that giant lipoma. I've always been fascinated by dreams — and I know he sent me that vision as a comfort.

I'm endlessly grateful for the signs my boy sends, and I urge everyone to keep an eye out for signs from the ones they've lost.

Living on the other side of pet loss has shown me how deep grief runs — and how much a kind word from friends or even strangers can mend.

Working through my grief, I've come to treasure photos and video more than ever. I'd forgotten how young and carefree my soul dog was. Revisiting old memories reminds me how old he'd gotten, how much wear his body had endured, and that it truly was his time to go.

I've helped many dogs earn their wings, but letting you go was the hardest. Fly high, my sweet boy. I love you always.