Marley: The Dog Who Taught Me About Unconditional Love

There’s no love or companionship quite like what a dog brings into our lives. It’s simple and often unspoken, but it’s always there—quietly felt in the most mundane and peaceful moments. Whether it’s the jingle of their name tag, the tippy taps of their paws on the floor, or the kisses and cuddles they so generously give, dogs have this incredible ability to fill our hearts in ways no one else can.

Simply put, dogs are the best. They offer an unconditional love that we crave and a comfort that grounds us. They don’t care about our bad days, messy homes, or unspoken worries. To them, we’re just their favorite person in the whole world, and they’ll remind us of that every single day.

I’ve been lucky enough to have three amazing dogs accompany me through different chapters of my life. Each one brought its own personality, quirks, and a whole lot of love to the table.

Baby Diz and Barney the Beagle, my first dog who lived 18 years

Teen Diz with Snowball, my first Westie who lived 14 years

My most recent companion was Marley, a West Highland White Terrier—hands down, my favorite breed.

There was something so special about Marley. Westies, as they’re affectionately known, are a unique blend of spunky and sweet. They’re loyal without being clingy, fiercely independent yet always by your side when you need them most. Marley had this way of knowing exactly when I needed a cuddle or a playful distraction. He wasn’t just my dog; he was my little shadow, my confidant, and my constant source of joy.

I rescued Marley when I was 19 years old. My previous Westie, Snowball, had recently passed away, and everything else in my life felt like it was unraveling (I’ll spare you the messy details). In the midst of all that chaos, I was determined to find another little companion to bring some light back into my world. My mom joined me for the trip, MapQuest directions in hand, like two pirates on a mission to claim their treasure.

Our destination? A house tucked away in the woods of Missouri. With spotty cell phone service and a growing sense of adventure (and maybe a little unease), we drove on, our minds focused on picking up the tiny puppy waiting for us—a rescue named Weeble.

The rescue had found him abandoned at a puppy mill, likely the runt of his litter. One of his ears flopped down, and his little frame spoke of resilience despite the rough start he’d had. I’ll never forget pulling up that long driveway. We were greeted by dogs the size of miniature ponies, bounding around the car like an enthusiastic welcoming committee.

Inside the house, chaos reigned in the best possible way. Birds chirped loudly, a cacophony of sound that somehow blended into the hum of life in this animal-filled haven. At the end of a hallway, in the corner of the family room, sat a giant black cage—clearly meant for one of the larger dogs. And in that cage was the tiniest white fluff ball I’d ever seen: Weeble.

I melted the moment they handed him to me. He was so small, so fragile, but his eyes radiated this spark of life. As I held him, I knew right then and there that I had a new little friend to take care of, someone who would bring joy and purpose into my life.

Diz and puppy Weeble aka Marley, the day he came home

As we finalized the adoption and started the trek back to Chicago, my mom and I began brainstorming names for our newest family member. Then it struck me. My mind went back to the walls of the rescue house, covered with photos of Bob Marley. It felt fitting. That adventure in the woods, surrounded by animals and music and love, was where our journey began—and “Marley” seemed like the perfect name to honor it.

The first night home, Marley slept in my room. A quiet whimper broke the silence, soft but persistent. I snuck out of bed and into the spare room, rummaging through a bag of old stuffed animals. After some digging, I found what I was looking for—a stuffed dog. I hurried back and placed the toy next to Marley. Slowly, he shifted, nuzzling into the plush, and finally settled down. He slept soundly like that for months, curled up with his stuffed companion, until he earned his spot in my bed. After that, he never looked back.

Marley, 2 years old

Over the years, I watched Marley blossom into his own little character. He wasn’t just my dog—he became my best friend. He loved lazy mornings and would sit with me for hours watching TV. Shows with horses or prairie dogs were his favorites, and he was a devoted fan of Bluey (honestly, same). Marley wasn’t much for toys, but he had one exception: his Lambies. Those were his prized possessions.

Marley and his Lambie

I’ll never forget when a sitter came over to help during my late shifts. She decided Marley needed new toys and tried offering him everything under the sun, insisting his Lambie had seen better days. But Marley wasn’t having it. He flat-out ignored every single new toy and clung to his Lambie like it was irreplaceable—which, to him, it was.

Marley was my partner in everything. He’d lounge in the sun while I photographed at the park, patiently taking in the sights and smells as I snapped away. For the past 15 years, he was by my side through every triumph, every failure, and all the in-between moments that make up a life. His love never wavered.

About a month ago, Marley was diagnosed with adrenal and bladder cancer. Despite everything, his spirit stayed strong. He fought with a resilience that amazed me every single day. On his last day, he was still the same Marley—brave, loving, and full of the quiet strength that defined him.

The joy he brought into my life is impossible to explain or measure. It can only be felt now in the grief left behind. The house feels different without him—quieter. His Lambies sit untouched on the shelf. The timers I once set for his medications now ring into an empty room. I still catch myself thinking it’s time to feed him dinner or take him on one of our hourly strolls down the driveway.

The sadness is heavy, but it’s a reflection of the love he gave me, the joy he brought, and the memories we shared. Marley wasn’t just a dog; he was family. And though he’s gone, his spirit will always be with me, in every quiet moment and every happy memory.

Dogs have an extraordinary way of weaving themselves into the fabric of our lives, leaving a lasting mark on our hearts. Marley was no exception. From the moment I met him to his final day, he was so much more than a pet—he was my confidant, my partner, and my constant source of unconditional love.

Though the house feels quieter now, I know that Marley’s presence will never truly leave me. He’s there in the stillness of the mornings, in the warmth of the memories we created, and in the love that continues to linger in every corner of my life.

Marley’s journey reminds me of the profound bond we share with our dogs. They teach us to find joy in the little things, to embrace life with an open heart, and to love without limits. For 15 years, Marley showed me what it meant to be loved unconditionally, and that’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever.

While I miss him every single day, I’m grateful for the incredible adventure we shared. Marley’s spirit will always inspire me to see the beauty in the world, to embrace life’s simple joys, and to hold onto the love that makes it all worthwhile.

Thank you, Marley, for everything.

Finding My Footing: Taking Chances and Growing as a Photographer

The past couple of years, I’ve decided to take my photography seriously—building my portfolio, learning everything I can, and honing my skills. I’ve been holding tight to my motto: “Keep going and just do the next best thing.” This year, I felt it was time to step outside my comfort zone and push myself further. No more holding back.

I’ve felt my portfolio grow, filled with photographs that hold meaning to me, but I knew I needed to take the next steps to elevate my work. I had to take a leap into the deep end.

It started with joining the Professional Photographers of America’s International Photography Competition. This yearly competition brings together some of the top photographers in the country, featuring 16 categories and a chance to have work judged live at the Imaging USA event. I knew the competition would be fierce, but I was ready to challenge myself.

After carefully culling through my library, I landed on a quiet night scene from Rome—one of my favorite photos from a series I captured this summer in Italy. It felt like the perfect choice for the landscape category. I anxiously filled out the submission form, paid the fees, and sent the photo off to be evaluated. Weeks turned into months, and on November 7th, the results were finally released.

Pathways of Power: The Roman Road to Capitoline Hill and Caesar's Forum

I logged into my account with my expectations set at rock bottom. Self-doubt and imposter syndrome hit hard. Who was I to compete against the best photographers in the country? As the page loaded, I held my breath, and when the results appeared, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My photo placed 44th out of 241 entries—top 50 in my first-ever professional competition. My jaw dropped, and for the first time, I started to believe that maybe my work is better than I’ve allowed myself to think.

Professional Photographers of America International Photography Competition Results

But I wasn’t done pushing myself.

The Smithsonian Magazine Photo Contest has been one of my “holy grail” goals for years. I’ve submitted photos in the past, but none had ever been accepted. When this year’s submissions opened, I didn’t hesitate to send in my Rome photo, hoping it would finally get my foot in the door. Weeks passed, and the photo stayed in the dreaded “pending” queue.

As time droned by, another photo was prominent in my head. A photo I had taken earlier this month at the annual Día de los Muertos event in Round Rock, Texas—one of my favorite events to photograph every year. The image captured a Danza Azteca Guadalupana performer mid-spin, their feathered headdress flowing, their gaze locked with the camera. It was one of those rare moments that felt like magic, and I’d received positive feedback on it from friends and fellow photographers. I knew it had potential.

Jose, a Danza Azteca Guadalupana performer at the annual Round Rock Día de los Muertos event

There was just one problem: I needed a model release to secure the submission. It took hours of battling nerves, but at nearly midnight, I messaged the organization to ask if they could help me contact the performer. Within minutes, I got a response: “That’s me in the photo! I’ll release it!”

With the paperwork signed, I submitted the photo, titled “Echoes of the Ancestors,” and took a deep breath. I hoped this submission wouldn’t languish in the pending abyss like others.

Hours passed and curiosity got the better of me. I reopened the Smithsonian submission page, and to my shock, the status next to my photo had changed. It no longer said “pending.” It said “accepted.”

My photo was officially in the running and listed on the contest page. While it’s just the first step, this feels monumental to me. Seeing my work alongside so many talented photographers is an honor I can’t put into words.

Smithsonian Magazine Photo Contest website submission page

The results and finalists won’t be announced until spring 2025, so it’s a waiting game now. While I’m not holding my breath, the simple fact that my photo is in the running is a win I never expected.

This year of pushing myself has been full of surprises, but it’s shown me that when you just keep going and do the next best thing, amazing things can happen. From placing top 50 in a national competition to being accepted by the Smithsonian Magazine to be in the running, I’m proving to myself that following your passion and taking risks pays off.

I can’t wait to see where the journey takes me next. Remember, keep going and do the next best thing.

PS. if you’d like to see the submission page on the Smithsonian website, I’ll leave the link HERE

Field of Honor- Veterans Day Weekend

This past weekend, I had the privilege of spending time at the Georgetown Rotary Club’s Annual Field of Honor. If you’ve never experienced it, imagine a sea of red, white, and blue…thousands of flags perfectly aligned, each one honoring an individual. It’s a sight that words can scarcely do justice, a place where beauty and reverence intertwine.

The wind seemed to dance through the field, catching the flags in a delicate ballet. Each ripple and sway told a story, evoking emotions of pride, gratitude, and reflection.

Every day of the event brought something unique, yet all were bound by a shared purpose: honoring those who have served and sacrificed.

• Veterans’ Resources: The event served as a connection point, bringing veterans and their families face-to-face with the services and support available to them. It was heartening to see conversations spark between those who understand the sacrifices of military life.

• Celebrating the Marine Corps’ 249th Birthday: The weekend also marked a moment of celebration as we honored the Marine Corps’ rich history and traditions. The pride and camaraderie were palpable, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Corps.

Marine Corps Birthday cake cutting ceremony. A tradition where the oldest and youngest marine are honored with the first slice and bite of the cake.

• Honoring Veterans: Silence fell over the crowd as we paid tribute to our veterans. There was song, there were speeches, but above all, there was a profound sense of unity and support. It was a reminder that we owe so much to those who have fought to protect our freedoms.

Georgetown Police Honor Guard

As I walked through the rows of flags, I couldn’t help but think of the lives represented here….each one a story, each one a sacrifice. The Field of Honor is more than an event… it’s a living tribute, a moment to pause, reflect, and say thank you.

This weekend wasn’t just about the past; it was about the present and the future, about ensuring that those who serve know they are seen, valued, and supported.

To the Georgetown Rotary Club and everyone who contributed to this event: thank you. Your work transforms a field into a sacred space, a place where gratitude takes form in the colors of our nation’s flag.

Until next year, may we carry the lessons of this weekend in our hearts and remember the countless individuals these flags represent.