Onxy came into my life at age one through my best friend Danny — but I knew her from the very beginning. From the moment she was mine, life had other plans. She tore her rear left thigh muscle, and we spent that first year healing together, bonding in the slow quiet way that only comes from going through something hard side by side. Just when we were close to the finish line she tore it again — off the bone this time. Our first year together wasn't what I planned. It was better.

She came with a story already written into her bones. At just six months old she was in a fight that left her with two pins in her front right leg — which made us something like twins. I have two plates and 16 screws in my right arm. We matched.

She was bred from two world class hunting dogs out of Iowa and every single day she proved it. When Danny and I would scout new hunting land she'd range out about 30 yards ahead, check that we were safe, then circle back to wait for our slow butts. She found deer trails nobody else would have spotted. She helped me find the exact spot where I got my first bow buck. She loved the water but she was most at home in the woods — nose down, tail up, absolutely certain of her purpose.

Off the trail she had a whole other life. Pup cups from Culver's. Long car rides with her head wherever she could fit it. Sleeping in bed like she owned the place — because she did.

But her favorite thing — the thing that was truly theirs — was their walks at Riverside Park in Janesville. The seasons only gave them a few months a year to be there, so they made the most of every single one. Three hours minimum, usually more. No rush, no agenda. Just the two of them and whatever the park had to offer that day. Most of the photos in this gallery were taken on those walks. You can see it in them — the ease, the trust, the way she moved through that place like it belonged to her. Because it did. It was theirs.

She was also something I never trained her to be — a protector. When a stranger walked uninvited into my place in Albany one day, she made absolutely sure they understood the mistake they'd made. On a walk not long after, we crossed paths with a policeman who had his hand on his firearm. She stepped in front of me and started backing me up, barking to let him know she saw the threat. He stopped and asked if she was trained. I told him to remove his hand and she'd stop. He did. Then asked again — was she trained? Potty trained, I told him. That's it. Everything else was just her.

She was with me through my highest moments and my lowest ones. Two years ago I went through the darkest period of my life — severe depression that took me to the hospital and through months of classes to find my way back. She was there through all of it. And it was during that time, with her beside me, that I found photography. That I found live music. That I started finding myself again.

She didn't just share my life. She helped save it.

Onxy. 12 years. Not enough. Never enough.

"Sometimes you MUST HURT in order to KNOW FALL in order to GROW LOSE in order to GAIN Because most of life's GREATEST LESSONS are learned through PAIN"