Yet again time has passed since the writing of my last newsletter. Days, weeks, then months drifted by with nagging thoughts of throwing myself into some kind of literary composition outlining my photographic adventures (which I will get to next time). As the subtitle of my newsletter reads “the life of a street photographer” I am not sure that my writing should include only photography while bypassing life. The reality is my everyday existence isn’t captured on one of my Fuji cameras, then consigned to Lightroom for the appropriate (though limited) adjustments, but rather on an old iPhone 10, the edition before multiple lenses graced the back. Within the gap from my previous newsletter to this, life happened, as did death.
I had always wanted a dog, a canine companion that I could walk for exercise, play with for fun and cuddle and smooch once my children no longer allowed me to cuddle and smooch them. This was a childhood dream that was never realized in my youth, and appeared as if it would go unanswered in my adulthood as well. My husband was adamant about not being saddled with a being that would require so much attention and potentially invite destruction to our shoes, the legs of our furniture and our baseboards. He was as uninterested in a dog as my parents were. As a mom of three, I was perpetually occupied with child matters preventing those ruminating thoughts about the four paws that would never patter through my home. Then my kids were grown, my youngest in her early years of high school and my husband approaching his 50th birthday.
Henry and I planned a trip to Budapest, no kids, to celebrate this half century milestone. It was the first trip we took without at least one child in tow. We walked the city, toured the sites, sat in cafes and dined in the best of restaurants, including a Michelin starred gem with mouth watering food and a flight of wine complimenting each course with palate stimulating perfection. It was during this culinary journey that I looked at my content husband who may have been slightly buzzed by food and drink and said, “I need to have a dog, one time, from beginning to end.”
We returned home and within a few months Frankie, a six month old American Staffordshire terrier/Neapolitan mastiff mix was curled up, 25 pounds underweight, in our dining room. Slowly she came to love us and trust us. She became an integral part of our family, and continues to hold the title of beloved pooch. As a matter of fact she is snoring peacefully by side as I compose the narrative that lies within the time lapse from my previous post to this one, a storyline that sadly leads to loss.
And then came Hugo. We decided that Frankie needed a sibling, a companion when home alone, a buddy to romp with, a fellow canine with whom to share her treats and toys. Though Hugo, a profoundly traumatized dog who had the emotional range of a pet rock, ended up not being the sidekick for Frankie that we had hoped, he became a much loved part of our family. He was a stunning head-turner, muscles that made Arnold look like a wimp and a head larger than the four gracing the top of Mt. Rushmore. He was two or three years old at the time of our adopting him, but alas, a short four and a half years later and Hugo was gone, yanked from our hearts by the failure of his.
Thank you as always for taking the time to read. Please feel free to comment and should you enjoy the content, to subscribe and share.
Till next time…
Ciao
Talya Amati Lewis
Photography is a language we all speak. No translation needed…📸
What a beautiful tribute to Frankie and Hugo — beloved family members. We will remember Hugo fondly.
Much loved and never EVER forgotten!