Ad copy

I counted my dog photos. I have 1,247 photos of my dog on my phone. He is four years old. That's roughly one photo of him every single day for his entire life. I have done nothing with any of them. I bought him a custom portrait once. It sat in a closet. I bought a custom mug with his face on it. I broke it in the dishwasher. I follow approximately eleven other dogs on Instagram and every one of them has a more curated digital presence than my actual real-life dog. So I tried something different. I picked twelve of my favorite photos of him — him as a puppy, him sleeping with his tongue out, him on the beach, him with his stupid tennis ball, him on the couch giving me the side-eye I love — and I uploaded them. A week later a real printed colouring book showed up. Every page was him. I cannot describe how funny it was to open. Twelve pages of my dog. As outlines. As a colouring book. Like a children's book starring my idiot golden retriever. I started colouring it that night. I did three pages. He sat next to me on the couch the entire time, completely unaware that the literal book in my lap was about him. I love this book more than I should. It's funny and it's stupid and it's also genuinely the only physical record I have of him at this stage of his life. If you have eight hundred photos of your dog — finally do something with them.