So I'm up early, as I usually am, and go to let the dog back inside. I spy him lying out on the deck with his nose stuck between two of the balusters, his muzzle resting on the bottom rail and his eyes closed.
"Oh, I have got to get a picture of this." I pop into the other room and grab my DSLR out of my bag. When I come back, something has alerted him and he has his head up. I stay out of range, figuring he's going to settle back down, and I wait.
While I'm waiting, I look through the camera to see something that's out in the pond and realize that this lens is not going to get the shot I want. I'm waiting anyway and go back into the other room to get my longer lens.
When I return, Teddy is back into position. Perfect. I slowly, ever so slowly, step-by-step make my way carefully across the living room to the french doors that lead out to the deck. His eyes look closed but you never know. I raise my camera to my eye, set the zoom, frame the shot and press down gently on the shutter to set the focus.
For some stupid, software-related reason, the built-in flash pops open, making a nice, solid clicking noise as it stops. I have just enough time to think, "No! He'll see the flash and I want more than one shot," before the sound of the flash opening registers in his little brain and he pops his head up to look straight at me as if to say, "Did you hear that? What was that?"
One of those wonderful, rare, Kodak moments... gone in a flash.