Hi, I’m Cheryl!
That's Socks, our Great Dane.
I don't remember what she did to make me laugh like that. She does something every single day that earns it
This is why I do this work. The dogs. The moments you didn't see coming. The ones you'd give anything to hold onto.
I photograph dogs the way family portrait photographers photograph children — like it matters. Because it does.
Before you trust me with your dog, I think you should know the person behind the camera.
So here's how I got here.
Where It Started
I've had a camera in my hand since I was about eight, and remember the wonder of the first picture coming out of the Polaroid camera. I captured a moment and created something that never existed before that. But that was several years after I learned what photographs are actually for — as a young girl in my grandparents' living room in Tennessee.
Twice a year we made the long drive from Chicago to visit. Every trip, Grandpa took new goofy photos of four kids. And at the next visit, he would project the archived slides and the additions from the last visit onto a formidable white screen — it was the slideshow we had all anticipated during the drive. We'd giggle at how silly we looked, delight in the way he captured our antics, and cringe when we saw how our haircuts and clothing had aged — while gathered around a big bowl of popcorn. And then we would slowly flip through the photo album that was wide enough to span the laps of at least two kids, looking for the favorites Grandma had added and read her carefully written comments.
That was when I understood what a photograph really does. It isn't decoration. A photo is how you hold onto people, place, time, and the feeling of being together. Since then, the camera gear has changed and my skills have evolved, but this belief has been the one constant.
This is a picture from Grandma’s album, with her note “David is pretending to be a monkey and the kids are feeding him popcorn”.
The Great Danes
In 2008, our first Great Dane puppy arrived — and everything about how I used a camera changed.
The same subject in different light, different places, different actions and reactions. My eye was already trained and now I understood what made each moment special.
But the why never changed — it was always about joy and connection.
Five Great Danes have shared my life. Maiya was the warmest soul I've ever known. Who knew that the second fawn puppy, Monty — a companion we got for Maiya — would grow to 203 pounds, absolutely love sticks, and be gone at nearly five. Shadow chose me in the first ten seconds we met, and then followed me everywhere for the rest of his life, when he wasn’t leaping for balls. Sawyer was so full of energy that it made his illness all the more apparent — we lost him at four and a half, well before his time.
And now there's Socks, whose birthday happens to be the same as mine.
I have loved five Great Danes. Four of them are gone.
Great Danes don't get long lives — seven to ten years, if you're lucky. I've driven home from the emergency vet with only a leash and a collar beside me. I know exactly what the portraits on my wall are worth, because I've stood in a too-quiet house and been grateful for every one of them.
After the last loss, we weren't sure we could do it again. So we told ourselves we'd only foster. Socks had other plans. Foster fail? Hardly. A win-win.
When Someday Became Now
In 2015, I was asked to photograph Pearl — the matriarch of our Marymoor Park Great Dane walking group — while she was fighting bone cancer. Sometime during that session, I knew that I’d be photographing senior dogs after I left my corporate career. I just didn't know when.
The answer came in the summer of 2025. I'd photographed a stranger's dog at a local brewery — Blue was doing nothing but being completely himself beside his owner. Two days later, editing that image, it struck me: this is my happiness. This is what comes next. So in August, on World Photography Day, I made my intent official. And in 2026, Love Your Dog Photos became real.
My Wish for You
Your dog deserves to be celebrated, not just photographed. And you deserve artwork that looks like them — their real personality, their particular quirks, the bond that only the two of you understand. Not images buried in a phone or in folders on a hard drive. Something on your wall, bringing back good memories. An album you pick up when you want to hold something.
I care about this because loving five Great Danes — and losing four — taught me that time with our dogs is finite, and it moves faster than we expect. The graying muzzle. The slower walk. The quiet dignity. These aren't signs of decline — they're the marks of a life lived well, together.
I framed most of my own dogs' portraits while they were still padding around the house. When they were gone, I wasn't scrambling for one decent picture — their portraits already graced my home.
I want to give you that same thing: the quiet relief of having done this while there was still time. You can have both security and joy today that will carry you through tomorrow.
Supporting Responsible Breeding & Rescue
Dogs entered our lives both ways — through thoughtful, ethical breeders and through rescue — and I respect both, done right. I volunteer as the photographer for Hearty Paws Great Dane Rescue, and I support the breeders and rescues who put health, temperament, and a lifetime of care ahead of profit. It's a small way of giving back to the world that keeps sharing these dogs with me.
Dogs make you a better version of yourself. And they know you far better than you think they do.
A Few Other Things
I keep a running calendar of the dog world's National Days — not just National Great Dane Day, but every breed's day, Spoil Your Dog Day (ummm, isn’t that every day??), all of it — and share it with pet shops and veterinary offices around the Eastside. If your’s doesn’t have one, let me know and I’ll drop it off on my next visit.
Since 2015, I've curated a list (with photos) of vanity plates I’ve seen, purely because the data delights me and it was awesome to explore various data visualizations My own two read ICREATE and GOLDNHR — creating being the entire point, and golden hour being a photographer's favorite light.
And for most sessions, I do something I call Haiku Photography. I honor one image with a haiku. The haiku for Blue is with his image at the top of the Portfolio page.
A good day, though, is simple. Outside. Fresh air, birdsong, a dog nearby, good light, a camera in my hand. Time in the garden. Listening to a podcast on gardening or cooking or photography while I walk the dog or cook a meal worth pairing with a glass of wine. Editing photos after dinner, watching the smiles come back. Somewhere in there, a moment that gave me goosebumps. That's it. That's the whole day.
Most mornings, you'll find me walking with Socks in one of the region's many dog parks, like Marymoor Park — light filtering through the trees, dogs running free and leaping into the river, people and their companions becoming instant friends. It reminds me to take a breath. It reminds me why I do this.
Want to Work together?
Your dog won't be this age again. When the time feels right, let's talk about how to celebrate the two of you — while there are still walks to take, memories to share, and photographs to enjoy together.