In my home, there was once a Scottish Sheepdog named Duke, renowned in the neighborhood for his fluffy, lustrous coat and soulful amber eyes. Duke was a strikingly handsome dog, admired far and wide.

Duke was incredibly intelligent, effortlessly understanding complex commands. Yet, he was endearingly clueless at times—like when he struggled to eat boiled corn and needed someone to peel the kernels for him.

Duke knew how to indulge himself. As the sun began its slow descent, he would continually shift on the floor of my studio to ensure he was always basking in the warm sunlight. However, he could also be quite stubborn. If any family member returned home late, he would leave the cool bedroom, station himself at the front door, press his belly against the crack, and endure the summer heat, waiting until everyone was safely home before he could relax.

Duke had his share of minor ailments, such as an inflamed nail that he would incessantly lick, making that part of his paw redder. Despite these small troubles, he remained remarkably healthy, able to walk and eat up until his final day.

Duke was not fond of having his picture taken and would quickly shy away from the camera. I have many photos of him lying on the floor, soundly asleep, his fur dazzlingly white from the sunlight, like a thick, warm carpet. Yet, capturing him looking directly at the camera was a rare feat.

One day, as I posed a doll on the floor to capture its gaze toward the sunlight, Duke unexpectedly came over, plopped down with a thud, and extended a paw toward us. This resulted in a surprising and delightful snapshot—a small doll and a large dog, warm paw and cool resin hand, seemingly engaging in a silent, shy, yet friendly first encounter.

Dear Duke, you may not have enjoyed being captured by a lens, so I will paint you instead. Don’t be shy; look over here. You truly are my most cherished and handsome dog.