Saydee was special. I know — everyone says that about their dog. But Saydee truly was.

She came to us on January 29, 2009. It started, as the best things often do, with a chance encounter. Eddie and I were out walking when we met a massive, impossibly fluffy 100-pound Golden Doodle — a cross between a poodle and a golden retriever. I had never seen anything quite like it. Imagine a living, breathing teddy bear the size of a small bear. We were immediately enchanted, and agreed on the spot to look more into the breed.

Some weeks later we came across a litter advertised on Kijiji. Eddie agreed to go and have a look and start the process. He wisely brought his chequebook, because I intended on finishing it.

When we arrived we were greeted by Falcor — Saydee’s father, a commanding standard white poodle — who immediately jumped up and put his paws on my shoulders as if to welcome us personally. There was a litter of seven adorable eight-week-old puppies to choose from. I picked up one small white fluffy girl and she began to kiss me on my neck. I put her down to look at another, and she kept coming back. Same with Eddie. She was choosing us — and so her name, which had flown into my awareness on the drive over, felt exactly right. We called her Saydee.

From the beginning, Saydee seemed to love everyone without reservation. It didn’t matter if it was a pitbull with a spiked collar, small children just off the school bus, or a group of tourists visiting Canada’s north — she was there for all of them, tail going, ready to offer a kiss. She was extraordinarily sociable, but what struck people most was her quality of presence. She was wise, gentle, patient, and deeply empathic in the way that certain rare dogs are — as if she understood more than she let on.

Over the years she travelled with us to Maine, Vermont, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Quebec, Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and the Northwest Territories. She loved beaches and forests above all. After exhausting herself running through the surf, I would often find her sitting quietly at the water’s edge, looking out at the expanse — as if she was simply in awe of being alive in such a world. I understood the feeling.

In 2015 we drove all the way to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Saydee in the back seat, for what would become one of the great adventures of all our lives. While the squirrels were fewer up north, she more than compensated by chasing ravens, hiking the trails around Fred Henney Campground and Tin Can Hill, and sampling freshly cooked fish on an ice fishing trip in a 1968 Bombardier. She preferred the cooked fish to the sushi. She had standards.

She was my muse and my shadow for almost fifteen years — present in so many of my photographs that her absence from the frame, when it came, felt like its own kind of silence.

Just after her thirteenth birthday, we noticed she was aging, losing a little of her spark. So in February 2022 we adopted her a little sister, Marley, hoping it would give Saydee a boost — and it did. What moved me most in those months was watching Saydee’s patience. Here was this elderly, elegant dog, her whole life behind her, and she received this boisterous young sister with a grace that was entirely characteristic. She had always been generous with her love. Even at the end, that didn’t change.

As Marley grew and became a little too exuberant for her aging sister, Marley’s half-sister Hazel became available and joined our family. Saydee accepted her too, of course. That was simply who she was.

On her last day, we took her for a walk. Her gait had been a little off for some time — her body beginning, gently, to let her down. But that morning she came towards me almost running, with a smile on her face that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. She was still entirely herself. Still joyful. Still present. Still Saydee.

She passed on June 10, 2023. It was one of the most difficult days of my life, and I had dreaded it for years. I still miss her terribly. There is not a day I don’t think of her.

A couple of mornings after she left us, we found a single orchid petal in the middle of the living room floor. It had somehow travelled from the arrangement near the front door. We couldn’t explain it. We didn’t try very hard to. We chose to believe it was her — letting us know, in her characteristically quiet and graceful way, that she was still here.

Saydee was an old soul. I hope we meet again.