Category Archives: Pet Photog

The Starbucks Dog-Thru

On my first morning in South Beach, I googled Starbucks locations on my iPhone (how anyone lives without one of these is beyond me) and I walked around the block to the nearest venerable institution. If you overlook the palm trees and the sun darting lovely rays on the large patio, it looked just like mine. I ordered my regular venti non fat latte with whole milk foam (a compromise latte of sorts), paid a dollar more than usual  for palm tree maintenance, no doubt, and sat on the terrace among the indigenous population and an unusually large number of dogs .

Not one minute after I deployed my stuff on the table (I never travel light even to Starbucks), a guy sitting nearby introduced himself , his friends, and all their pooches. Two minutes later, he was cracking a mildly tasteless joke – something about “hands-on work” (sigh), 5 minutes later he was informing me that his life revolved around making money and making love, and 15 minutes later, I had a new Starbucks family to come home to every morning. Voila!

sobe2_029Bob, Brian, Rich, and Meryl

I was settling in amidst the new compadres when a young guy walked up to the group and asked:

“Hey, can I borrow one of your dogs?”

Now, I thought that sounded a bit strange… until I saw the guy with the borrowed canine walk to the end of the patio, knock on the window which opened 5 seconds later, and get his drink almost immediately… as well as a cookie for the dog. The man had effectively bypassed a very long line of people waiting inside the store.

In light of the dog-thru, several facts appeared under a brand new prism of perception: the reason why so many people brought their dogs to Starbucks, and also the reason why so many dogs seemed so well fed.

In South Beach, if you like coffee and instant gratification, you must own a dog. Here are a few of these lovely Starbucks accessories:

sobe1_066Bentley (no Mike, this is not a Jack Russell! Or if she is, she must have eaten a copious amount of genetically modified dog food!)

sobe1_077Bob’s pooch, Malibu

sobe3_024Rich’s Zeta

sobe3_021Kenneth’s and Tom’s lovely Doberman Diesel

sobe3_028Branching out… A non-Starbucks dog on a wall

sobe3_032A very touching Basset Hound

sobe3_033The back of said Basset Hound… in precarious equilibrium

sobe2_040Yorkie transportation on Ocean Drive

And to end my Starbucks post which I segwayed into being about South Beach dogs, the Oscar goes to Alvaro and…

sobe2_025Alvaro’s seven Italian Greyhounds.

Even the dogs are Italian around here!

note to Razz: non Monsieur, don’t you dare sermon me about going to Starbucks in the land of Cuban coffee – after an incursion in Little Havanna and seven Cuban coffees later, I was unable to sleep for a very very long time.

Not Quite Done with You Lot…

“Hee! Hee!” say I most sheepishly. If I may, I have very good reasons for sheepishness. While your help in selecting the photographs for my children brochure proved in-va-lu-a-ble, said brochure has yet to see the light of day. Furthermore, if I still may, additional sheepishity derives from my audacity to hope for your help in new selections. Grin, grin, wink, pretty please…  🙂

This time, I’m tackling another kind of beast. The hairy kind. I need to pick four animal prints for display and, as usual, I feel undecided, confused, frustrated, baffled, inadequate, and a tad unfulfilled. Not necessarily in that order. I fear that if you help me not, bitterness will prevail.

So ’nuff said, go to work! Please select the four pet prints you would pick if you were pathetic little old me. All the pets must be different.

















Et voila! The last one has chickens in it, I know. I don’t think they really qualify as pets but I like the photograph anyway.

Please, help me out! Do your blogger duty. You’ll feel better afterwards. I’m thriving on making you guys feel good about yourselves. I aim to please… And also, Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

He’s Fierce, He’s Flamboyant, He’s Attack Chihuahua

Soooo, Mister Chihuahua, you are currently seeking gainful employment in the field of law enforcement. You list on your application Homeland Security, police or border patrol, minute men, bounty hunter sniffing partner. Mmmhmmm. Could you give me a demonstration of the ferocity?

Ah very well. Quite convincing. Now, are you aware of the benefits attached to a life of leisure?

Oh I see I got your attention. Benefits include but are not limited to medical, dental, two meals a day, walks, raccoon hunting in the yard, lap time, TV time. Sleeping with a hot babe if you are lucky. Could be a big hairy dude. I won’t lie. There are inherent risks attached to the transaction.

Sign you up? But certainly…

Mighty Pepsi the Attack Chihuahua resides in an animal hospital and is currently up for adoption in Dallas, Texas. The little booger comes quasi-complete (the testicles had to go) with full history of abuse and neglect. The usual. The dog needs a lot of socialization work and could definitely benefit from a foster home environment if a good soul provided one.

If you live in the area and are interested in adopting or fostering Pepsi, please leave a comment and I will contact you with further information.

Camera hog

When your dog is a natural, that makes my job so much easier!

Idefix a Dallas

Idefix in Dallas

Idefix Ikinni

The 3 Cs of Fierce Canine Fashion

Being addicted to America’s Next Top Model and inclined to procrastination, I represent a danger to those living with me: that would be my two ferocious Jack Russell Terriers: Virus the Schnookie Pookie and Peyote the Alligator.

On yesterday’s show, I learned about the three Cs of fashion: Commercial, Catalog and Couture. Well, today, The Schnookie got victimized at my hands. I was working on a new pet photography brochure (“agonizing” would be a decisively more appropriate term), and da dog came beggin’. Needing a little breaky-break, I made him work for his cookie.

Jack Russell on a sofa


Jack Russell for Christmas


Jack Russell in a Burberry raincoat


To those of you who might hint that I should get a life subito presto, I concur somewhat with your position, but you have to admit that it is a formidable quality to be amused by so little.

A tooth for a tooth

I hope Michael Vick enjoys a REAL good time in jail. Details emerged today in The New York Times about the treatment of his pit bulls at Bad Newz Kennels. One of the female dogs has no teeth left, all 42 yanked out so she could not resist being mated (repeatedly and unhumanely so.)

Now I hear – I do not know first hand whether there is truth to the rumor – I hear that sometimes in jail, male prisoners get their front teeth knocked out. If such an unfortunate event should happened to Mr. Vick, I feel that such occurrence would easily fall under “divine retribution” or, at the very least, “poetic justice.”

Dog fight

Here’s to you Michael: in Texas, we like them dogs with teeth…

I know this may have sounded quite uncharitable and totally unforgiving, but honestly, if you harm wee children or animals, I actually do have a problem sharing this earth with you.

The quintessential Cat Lady

17 cats may appear like a LOT of felines to the common folk; it actually constitutes a vast improvement compared to the 40 cats my sister Odile used to nurture when she shared a large mansion with her husband in the outskirts of Brussels.

Bengals, Maine Coons, Ben-Coons and Maine-gals, the rescue cats, the dog Le Iench, the VERY large snake rescued from a lamp maker in Morocco, the mice befriended before becoming reptile food: all lived in perfect harmony… except for the husband who undoubtedly could not compete against so much furry love and left the menagerie to lead a more appropriate lifestyle for a respected banker (Oh how very boring!) In all fairness to him, my sister seems to live in a whole different world than you and I.


In my sister’s reality, her dog Le Iench is not obese, she has an “uncommonly large thoracic cage.” The poor thing spends all of her time on her back, perfectly balanced by generous pounds of fat. The dog is the most humongous dachshund I have ever encountered.


Eventually, my sister had to sell the castle and purchase a smaller house in Waterloo. She moved in with 9 cats, placed the other 31 with loving families. She did not have to worry about the snake anymore since he had escaped from the yard one afternoon (for all of you inhabitants of Braine l’Alleud whose dog, cat, pet pig or wee child disappeared one day, I think the culprit may be Moroccan.)

That was two years ago. The count is currently back to 17 but in Odile’s world, she has only 11.1/2. Hilarious! You see, according to her, one cat belongs to her son Nicolas (who can’t remember which one exactly.)

chat 1

Another to her son Antoine (who does not even like cats.)


A gray kitty now belongs to Antoine’s new girlfriend (the cat won’t let her approach him but that’s just a detail.)


The housekeeper has a cat as well although I’m not sure she knows about it.

chat 4

The dog, yes no typo here, the DOG owns a cat. Finally, one cat just comes home during the night, therefore and in all logic, he merely counts as a half cat. So, really, you see she only possesses 11.1/2 cats!

I’m surprised Albert II King of Belgium does not own one of her cats!


A Very Lively “Near Death” Boston Terrier

Slowly emerging from jet lag induced stupor, I get a call from Mrs. T. to book a photo session for her aging Boston Terrier, Tansy. She underlines the urgency of the matter describing her dog’s life expectancy “in terms of weeks rather than months.” I imagine a pitiful feeble animal wrapped in a little blanket and hurriedly schedule the shoot for the next morning.

Indeed I am surprised to see a robust distinguished terrier show up on my doorstep. Tansy seems more in need of a valium than geriatric care. Does this creature even remotely look like an ailing pooch to you?


I suffer from the same sense of dread when I think of my own two 14 year old dogs. I feel their expiry date is coming any day now, yet, last month, they sacrificed a huge opossum on my nice costly Italian leather couch (re-baptized “the Altar of Death” a long time ago.) I figured that if they made me haul off bodies in the middle of the night, the least they could do is wear ridiculous Santa hats and scarves for my Christmas cards. They are Jack Russell Terriers. Deep down I know they will outlive me… out of spite.

Virus et Peyote