She found the log pretty quickly. Big old piece of driftwood right at the edge of the grass, water stretching out behind it, mountains going soft and blue in the distance. I'll admit it was a good location. She had an eye for it. Ken and Geraldine had driven us a long way and I wanted to make sure it was worth the trip.

What happened next is that the photographer got down on the ground. All the way down. Flat on her belly in the dirt and gravel with the camera pointed up at us like she was shooting from underground.

Marty lost his mind a little bit.

Not in a bad way. Just in a Marty way. He went up on his hind legs and craned his whole neck forward to look at her down there like he was trying to figure out if she needed help. His ears — and I cannot stress this enough — were doing something completely independent from the rest of his body. The wind had them going in separate directions. He looked like he was picking up transmissions from space.

Tia looked at Marty the way a headmistress looks at a student who has shown up to the school play wearing the wrong costume. Silently. Thoroughly. With great patience for a world that continues to disappoint her.

I stepped onto the log and sat down.

Someone had to start.

My solo shots went well. I know they went well because I was present and focused and I gave the camera exactly what it needed which was unflinching direct eye contact and absolute stillness. That's the ride or die way. You show up. You commit. You don't glance away at a seagull like some dogs.

I'm not naming names.

(It was Marty. He glanced at a seagull.)

(Tia saw him do it. She has a catalogue. She keeps records.)

Tia's solo shots were something else entirely. She walked up to that log with the energy of someone who has already won every award and is simply here as a courtesy. She sat. She leaned forward just slightly. She did the smoulder. Fourteen years of smoulder, all of it landing directly in the lens. But here's the thing about Tia that people don't always notice straight away — even while she was being magnificent for the camera, one eyebrow was doing something slightly critical. Like she was simultaneously giving you her best side and quietly evaluating whether you deserved it.

The photographer made a noise that I can only describe as delighted. Geraldine made the same noise from somewhere behind the camera.

Tia accepted this as no more than her due and stepped off the log.

Marty's turn was longer than planned.

This is always true and we all accept it.

It's not that he's difficult. It's that everything is genuinely fascinating to him and he cannot pretend otherwise. The log was fascinating. The grass was fascinating. The way the water moved behind us was fascinating. At one point he tilted his head so far to the side I was genuinely concerned about his neck, but the photographer made a squeaky sound and he snapped back to attention like a little cream-coloured soldier reporting for duty.

Tia watched Marty's entire solo session from a distance with an expression that suggested she was mentally drafting a performance review. Not unkind exactly. Just thorough. Just very, very thorough.

He put his paws up on the log and stared into the camera with those big round eyes and I watched from the sidelines thinking, yeah okay, that's a good photo. Not that I'd tell him. He doesn't need the encouragement. He's already at maximum enthusiasm at all times. There's nowhere to go from there.

Ken was laughing. I noted this. Ken seems like a man who appreciates a good show and Marty was absolutely providing one free of charge.

The group shot was the finale and I want to give an honest account of it.

Tia positioned herself in the centre before anyone else was even on the log. Just materialized there. Fourteen years of knowing exactly where to stand, and frankly a certain satisfaction in being flanked by two dogs she could judge from a position of geographic advantage. Marty came bounding up on the left, ears rotating freely, tongue making a brief appearance, sun starting to drop behind the tree line and turn everything gold.

I took the right.

That's where I always end up. Right side, solid, watching the edges, making sure the whole thing holds together. That's the job. Not the flashiest position but somebody has to anchor the frame. The ones who drove an hour and a half to get us here deserved a proper shot and I was going to make sure they got one.

And then the sun broke through. Really broke through, blazing low and hard right into the frame, and Marty turned to look at it like he'd never seen a sun before in his life, like it was a personal gift delivered specifically to him on this beach on this evening, and the lens flare went everywhere and the photographer just kept shooting because what else do you do when the light does something like that.

I kept my eyes forward.

Tia kept her eyes forward, though I'm fairly certain she spared a brief sideways glance at Marty looking at the sun and filed it away somewhere under classic Marty, further evidence, see previous entries.

Marty communed with the sun.

I heard Geraldine say oh that's gorgeous from somewhere behind us and I thought, yeah. Yeah it is. We came a long way for this and it landed exactly right.

Even Tia, I think, approved. She didn't say so. She never says so.

But she didn't NOT approve either, and from Tia, that's basically a standing ovation.

On the way home Tia was asleep before we cleared the parking lot. Marty pressed his face against the window again, watching the dark trees blur past on the highway, probably still thinking about the leaf or the bird or the sun or all of it at once because that's just how his brain works and it's a lot to be around but also, quietly, one of my favourite things about him.

Ken drove. Geraldine had her phone out, probably already looking at the sneak peeks.

I sat up straight and watched the road.

The whole pack was waiting at home and we had stories to tell. Marty would tell his version, which would be loud and involve significant dramatic reconstruction. Tia would listen, and say nothing, and we would all know exactly what she thought anyway.

That's just how it works.

That's just Tia.