The Hound of the Nature Reserve: My Brush with Professional Sanity

I have a confession to make, and I suspect I am not alone in this particular modern malady. I am, quite hopelessly, a slave to the six inch glowing rectangle in my pocket.

It begins innocently enough, a quick check of the weather, perhaps and before I can blink, three hours of my life have evaporated into the digital ether. I sit there, transfixed, thumbing through a caloric intake of "likes" and the occasional "share," which provides just enough of a dopamine hit to keep me spiraling down the virtual rabbit hole. It is a strange, sedentary sort of demise.

In a desperate bid to reclaim my dignity, I decided to subject my work to a "panel of experts." Now, in my mind, the Society of Photographers, specifically the Society of International Nature and Wildlife Photographers (SINWP) does not consist of people who use emojis. I pictured them as a group of battle-hardened veterans kept in a windowless room, released only when some poor, unsuspecting soul (me) asks for a professional qualification assessment.

The Fridge-Door Ambition

With the kind of unbridled, goofy optimism my dog displays at the mere sound of a refrigerator door creaking open, I gathered twenty of my favorite images. I submitted them with a heart full of hope, metaphorically sitting on my haunches and waiting for a crumb of praise to fall from the judges' table.

I quickly realized, however, that these judges were not handing out treats for simply "being a good boy." They clearly hailed from the Cesar Millan school of photography training. I was not going to get a belly rub; I was going to get a dose of "tough love" that would make a drill sergeant blush.

From Retriever to Retriever (of Details)

The over enthusiastic Golden Retriever in my soul had to be sternly told to "sit." In its place, I had to summon the spirit of a focused German Shepherd. I spent weeks sniffing out every technical flaw, inspecting every pixel for "noise," and obsessing over composition with a level of intensity usually reserved for finding a lost tennis ball in high grass.

It was, I should admit, a grueling process of refinement. But I am delighted and more than a little relieved, to report that the "hard work" command finally paid off.

I am now officially reporting for duty as a proud recipient of a Licentiate of Photography (LSINWP). It turns out that while a "like" button is fleeting, the satisfaction of a professional qualification is, much like a well chewed bone, something you can really sink your teeth into.