Have you ever wanted to create a pet portrait? How about using a 4×5 camera to do so?

Back in 2005, Polaroid was still selling its beloved Type 55 P/N (P55) 4×5 instant film—a favorite among large-format photographers, myself included. While it wasn’t the most straightforward film to work with due to the holder and chemical pods sometimes causing issues, when everything aligned, the results were stunning. It was a dream for dedicated 4×5 black-and-white shooters.

When Polaroid announced its final sale, I stocked up on about a dozen boxes of P55. Today, my last remaining box sits in the hydrator drawer of my refrigerator, with six frames left. I plan to shoot the rest in the studio this year. The last time I used a sheet was last year, and both the film and chemical pods performed well. However, I won’t be purchasing more from eBay or other sources—without knowing how it was stored, it’s just too much of a financial risk.

With a background in studio portraiture, I dabbled in pet portraits, with an emphasis on dabble. And only because my well-to-do clients had me on retainer as their family photographer, which apparently included their fur babies. Back in the film days, I used my trusty Hasselblad for the job. While I love animals, I never chased after pet portraiture as a career.

Cats? Absolute chaos. Herding squirrels might have been easier. Dogs? A delight—most of the time.

I once gave some students a foolproof business idea: find an older woman who dyes her hair to match her poodle, knock it out of the park with a stunning portrait of them together, and watch the referrals roll in. She’d show her equally dog-obsessed friends, and boom—instant clientele. Strangely, none of them took me seriously, but I know it could’ve been a goldmine!

Rusty Rocket

Rusty was a soul full of sorrow, and when I shared my life with him, I found myself writing poetry about him in my heart.

My son was in middle school when Hurricane Katrina struck, followed just weeks later by Hurricane Wilma. We were living in Redland, Florida, at the time, and while New Orleans bore the worst of Katrina’s wrath, South Florida was not spared. Redland, Homestead, and South Miami took a fierce beating. We lost power and water for over 45 days—living in a rural area with a well meant that without electricity, we had no running water. Thankfully, we had access to a condo in Miami, which became our refuge for showers and a brief return to normalcy.

One afternoon, weeks after Wilma screamed through and caused havoc, I picked up my son from school. We took a detour not far from our home to visit a favorite horse boarding ranch. We always enjoyed parking for a little bit and sharing time with whatever horses were grazing when we spotted a small dog on the side of the road, looking like he had been through hell. My son had a bag of tacos, so we stopped to see if the little guy would eat. He devoured them—paper and all. That was all it took. He climbed into our car and into our lives.

The following day, the vet confirmed what we suspected—he had once belonged to someone but had suffered terrible neglect. The lacerations around his neck suggested he’d been tied up and somehow broke free, likely at one of the many plant nurseries in the area. He had wounds, was severely malnourished, and carried the kind of fear in his eyes that spoke of deep, lasting trauma. He had survived the hurricanes, probably tied up and left alone, only to find himself wandering the rural roads in search of food.

He had been through so much. But from that day on, he didn’t have to endure alone.

Rusty never barked—but he did let out a loud woooo whenever the cat strolled by. He spoke in other ways.

He loved car rides more than anything, so I took him with me every chance I could. Whether it was a landscape shoot or scouting locations for future projects, Rusty was my steadfast companion. Though I had four other dogs, he was the one I chose to have by my side. There was a quiet understanding between us.

His name, Rusty Rocket, came after witnessing his sudden bursts of energy whenever our cat, Jellybean, strolled past. Despite his usual stillness, something about that cat sent him into motion—like a rusty old rocket launching into the air.

I have no doubt that I gave Rusty the best years of his life, and I miss him all the time since his departure due to old age in 2018. He carried a sadness with him, one I believe was deep-seated—a quiet kind of depression. Lord only knows what memories haunted him. His nightmares were frequent—more so than any animal I’d ever known. But through it all, he had me. And he knew it. He knew I would always take care of him.

When the time came to make his portrait, he understood. He cooperated completely as if he knew it was something important—something he was giving to me. That moment, captured forever, is a memory I hold with love and tenderness.

Rusty spent his days trying to be the best dog a human could have. He gave me his quiet loyalty, his steady companionship, and a trust that took time to build. And I knew it. More importantly, he knew that I knew it. That understanding between us was unspoken but unbreakable—a bond built not on words but on the simple, unwavering presence of love.

This is one example of why some pet owners want to have a portrait of their beloved pet—to honor their companionship, preserve their memory, and celebrate the unconditional love they shared.

The Shoot

I posted this image of Rusty shortly after I created it on an online forum. At the time, it had the Polaroid frame around it—because that was the cool thing back then. These days, I prefer it cropped out.

After sharing Rusty’s portrait online, I soon discovered that his image had been copied and reposted across various platforms. Some photographers told me they used it just for the Polaroid frame, while others admitted they referenced it for his pose. It was strange to see a profoundly personal image repurposed in ways I hadn’t intended—but in some way, it also reinforced just how special he was.

I honestly can’t remember whether I used my Ebony or Arca Swiss 4×5 for Rusty’s portrait, as I was actively shooting with both at the time. But I’m going with the Arca Swiss because I know I used the Cooke PS945 lens, and if memory serves me right, that lens, with its Copal 3 shutter, was a bit of a beast for the small wooden Ebony. So let’s call it the Arca Swiss 4×5 Field Compact—not that it really matters since they both shoot the same way.

Rusty barely fit on the wooden stool I had him sit on, and given his deep-seated fear of thunder and lightning, I opted not to use my studio strobes but instead used a rear porch wall and available daylight. So what you see is what you get. The aperture was wide open, with the focus locked on his eyes, which naturally meant that his longish snout drifted softly out of focus at the tip. But that was a small price to pay for such a soulful portrait.

And here’s the thing—I’m the customer here. I know what it took to create this image. Rusty was so cooperative! He knew he was giving me a gift.

I took only three shots, and this one—the first—was my favorite. Afterward, Rusty and I jumped into my Land Cruiser, rolled the windows down, and took off for a ride, him sporting his Doggles like the cool dude he was. He may have been a tough little survivor, but for me, he was always a mama’s boy.

Technical Notes

I store my Polaroid film in the refrigerator drawers—never freeze instant film! In preparation for Rusty’s portrait session, I placed a few sheets of P55 on the kitchen counter for about 30 minutes to warm up. Once they reached room temperature, I brought them into the shooting area to load into the Polaroid film holder. I kept the remaining sheets close by because, when photographing an animal or a child, I’ve learned always to be ready for a fast-paced shoot.

The session was uneventful and over quickly—Rusty was incredibly cooperative, which I never took for granted.

The film developed just fine after being released from the holder and processed. I shot three sheets and felt confident I had what I wanted.

Back in the sink area, I had a Perma Wash mix prepared to remove the purple stain from the negatives. Once thoroughly cleaned and dried, I stored them in Print File sheets for archival preservation. Today, those negatives are as good as they were when I created them in 2006.

If I had it to do over again, I would have taken the time to try brushing Rusty. He never liked being touched much, and he always went to a professional groomer for baths. Unfortunately, because of his trauma, he had to be muzzled during grooming—being brushed, picked up, or bathed was overwhelming for him. He trusted me, but I was always careful, reading his eyes to gauge his comfort. I likely brushed him a little before the shoot, but not as much as I would have liked.

In the end, it doesn’t matter because I am the customer, and I am so grateful to have his portrait. If this had been a paid client, that would have been a different story. I would have made it clear that grooming and prep were their responsibility—not my job!

Closing Comments

Rusty Rocket’s portrait is more than just an image—it’s a testament to resilience, trust, and the unspoken bond between a human and their dog. Whether using Polaroid Type 55 film or any other medium, a pet’s portrait captures the love and companionship they bring into our lives; these images become cherished memories, preserving the spirit of our beloved animals long after they’re gone.

If you’re considering a portrait of your pet, remember that it’s not about technical perfection—it’s about capturing their essence. And if you ever have the chance to give a rescued animal a loving home, know that they will, in return, give you a lifetime of quiet gratitude.