“Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring – it was peace.” – Milan Kundera.

I love to sit on a hillside with my dogs, but are they my ticket to paradise? Is that all there is to it?

Kundera was a genius and a brilliant writer, but I might well argue that how we deal with evil or jealousy and discontent are the same paths to heaven. Without those challenges, we are no more spiritual than stones on a wall.

I suppose Kundera’s vision makes a lot more sense than the loopy notion of the rainbow bridge, where our dead dogs have nothing better to do than wait for us to die, so we can reunite and spend all eternity chasing balls we throw and walking with us in some canine heaven.

We can’t replace the people we lose, but we can always get another dog. That is a part of what is so wonderful about them. We can do it again and again.

I love my dogs much too much to want so little for them in the afterlife. The last thing I want to do for all eternity is thrown balls for many crazy border collies and addicted Labs.

Whatever happened to the notion that we get to heaven by being good? Even the notoriously cynical Mark Twain lost it over dogs: “Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out, and your dog would stay in.” Even then, we were starting to lost respect for humans and began to see dogs as perfect and saintly.

My idea of heaven is that we get there by handling our mistakes and imperfections and troubles with grace, not from being perfect.

Since they know no wrong, no dog would get turned away in Kundera’s heaven; it would have no meaning to be there.

This idea of paradise is a heavy load to put on a four-legged animal who can’t think, has no conscience, doesn’t understand self-improvement, and has no words.

I believe it is easy to lose perspective when loving dogs, to slip over that very personal line where the love of a dog is no longer about them but for us.  After all, dogs do not need heaven; they have no notion of what it is. I think I fall over the line when I can no longer separate what the dogs need from what I need.

As our disappointment with humans grows, our love of dogs becomes a kind of worship, something beyond love. Winston Churchill, as usual, kept some perspective: “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.”

I am eager to captured lovers’ emotional impact and depts, the human-animal bond that is so important in so many lives with my photography.

Maria, a deep and genuine animal lover, is a perfect subject for a photographer as her emotions are rich and she has no guile. Her photos with the donkeys, sheep, cats, and dogs are among the most genuine and meaningful pictures I’ve taken.

This is because her emotions are on the surface. Animals can see, feel and sense them; they are genuine. Dog love is a beautiful thing, especially in a turbulent world where human beings struggle to be gentle and compassionate with one another.

When dogs and humans began living together thousands of years ago, the relationship was purely transactional. Dogs helped humans hunt; they warned and fended off natural predators, they offered companionship in a dangerous and lonely world. Humans gave dogs food, purpose, shelter, and survival.

They did not sleep in bed, have human names, or were loved as much as human beings.

Today, the relationship has deepened almost beyond understanding. As we become more and more disconnected from our families,  communities and one another – think of social media – we turn to gods in greater need and stunning numbers.

There are now more than 80 million owned dogs in America.

We seem to care less and less for human beings all the time and more and more for dogs. They sleep in bed, vacation with us, and are rescued in ever-escalating humans while millions of Americans sleep on the streets. The dog is not just fun.

They reflect the erosion of our values and our disconnection from one another. Instead of turning to each other for connection and warmth, more and more people are turning to dogs.

It has become an almost sacred and acceptable declaration for people to say: We love our dogs more than we love dogs more than people. It is okay now to say dogs are than humans.  It’s okay to say losing a dog is more complicated than losing a human.

It’s okay to say we love dogs so much we can’t bear to leave them behind on vacation. It is okay to say they have all of our emotions. To say they are jealous if we touch other dogs. Or that they can’t handle a few hours alone at home. It is okay to tell our dogs are like our children, only better. It is okay to say, as Will Rogers did, that if there are no dogs in heaven, he wants to do where they went.

It is a beautiful thing to love a dog; I do it every day of my life. It is sad and troublesome to love our dogs more than we love ourselves and more than we love other people. There are no rainbow bridge stories out there for humans. In the end, we only have each other; dogs can’t carry all that weight.

I love my dogs because they are different from people, not because they are better or worse. If there is a heaven, I don’t think we get there by being a dog. I think we get there by learning to love people and treat them as lovingly and empathetically, and compassionately as we treat dogs.

These pictures touch my heart. They show me what Bud means to Maria and what Maria means to him. I have no photos of Maria, and I am holding each other in bed, curling up together on the sofa, or hugging and kissing when we part. That would be invasive and embarrassing. I don’t think too many people would want to see it.

But images of dogs are everywhere, ubiquitous and endearing and very, very lucrative.

I sometimes think those images, including my tilt our compassion and feeling away from people. Loving photos of us are just not as popular. I’ve had friendships that could not last with people who adored every single thing about their dogs. That did not seem healthy to me.

Bud and the other dog’s place here is not to surpass or supplant our very human love.  That’s important. We don’t go over the line; we keep the focus of our love on each other.

Watching the news, seeing our leaders fight, hearing our representatives lie,  it’s so easy to give up on people and love our dogs all the more. I don’t wish to go there.

Dogs are straightforward, loyal, and most often loving creatures. I let my dogs be dogs; that’s hard enough. They can’t save our world, heal our wounds, force us to be kind and gentle to one another.  They are not shrinks, social workers, or people replacements.

They can’t protect our planet from the challenges it faces.

I love the photos of Maria and Bud because they are simple. No arguments, resentments, misunderstanding. Loving people is more complex and more challenging. That’s why it’s so important not to give up on it. Maria doesn’t love Bud more than me, or than her art, or than her friends. That is precisely what it is so beautiful to see.

I don’t wish to love my dogs more than my wife or fellow humans. It’s not good for them, and it’s not good for me. I have enough love in me to include the dogs and people as well. I want them to be dogs, not angels or tickets to the parasite.