Understandably, Teddy doesn’t know how to sit for his portrait just yet.
Like many, we decided to acquire our first pup during lockdown. After the trip my partner and I were planning was shelved, and we realized we’d both be around to train a furry baby and lavish it with attention, we put a deposit down on an impossibly squishy-looking, day-old puppy in April. Following the death of my grandfather in May, Ted’s arrival gave me the beacon of joy I needed in the midst of grief. Our black-and-silver miniature schnauzer has already been in the picture for a month.
So far, we’ve discovered he loves cheese, digging, and waiting patiently for pigeons to play with him, though he’s yet to work out that they probably don’t want to play back. He’s small in size, but this excitable, charming, and ferociously toothy goofball (also known as Captain Wetbeard, Monsieur Sausage, and “that bitey bastard”) has, in just five weeks, brought us more happiness than we thought possible at this time.
I’ve become a somewhat obsessive mother, too, worriedly protective on his first outdoor walk; frantically googling a hiccup; taking photos at every given opportunity. When I pulled a Bière Continental—cheap, weak, mostly flavorless supermarket Lager perfect for summer evenings and reminiscent of sneaking bottles from under my parents’ nose as a teenager—from the fridge, I tried to get the boy to pose. Sadly, not even the promise of 18-month Parmigiano Reggiano could get him to stop moving for more than a few seconds.
Words + PhotoLily Waite