When I was in college, in between my English and creative writing classes, I would race a few blocks downtown to volunteer at an animal shelter on the east side of Manhattan.
Getting lost in books and spending time with shelter dogs were the twin pillars that held together the chaos of my twenties, and what kept me sane and motivated day after day. The north star of my career has been telling stories about animals in need.
My first job out of college was working for a dog photographer. I followed him around New York City, and then the country, and then the world, helping to carry camera equipment and making notes of all the dogs we met that day. I didn’t make good money, but I loved it.
After seven years, I was unexpectedly let go.
It was the eve of my 30th birthday, and I was suddenly without a job. I had two options: I could find another position, or I could try to make it on my own. The choice, for me, was simple. I had to at least try to make a name for myself, doing what I loved most, which was helping dogs.
