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Source: Zero Creatives / Getty. 72 January 5, 2024 73 Share 74 Save 75 Illustration of a man walking his dog 76 77 Listen to this article 78 79 [54][0 ] 80 81 00:00 82 83 09:16 84 85 Produced by ElevenLabs and NOA, News Over Audio, using AI narration. 86 87 Peggy was my first dog—the dog I waited 28 patient years for. I finally met her 88 on August 15, 2015. She was eight weeks old, covered in filth after a 14-hour 89 ride from Georgia to New York, and inexplicably still adorable. Floppy ears. 90 Jet-black muzzle. Meaty little forepaws. We didn’t plan it this way, but my 91 partner and I rescued her on the same day we moved in together. Peggy 92 represented a new phase of my life: the beginning of my chosen family. 93 94 As soon as I brought the chubby, squirming ball of fur home, I felt compelled 95 to capture, however clumsily, the joy she brought into our lives. You can see 96 the change in my iPhone’s camera roll: Two-thirds of the way through 2015, the 97 mosaic of images shifts away from the drab tones of a poorly lit Brooklyn 98 apartment and is infused with a new vitality. She was a junkyard dog—a stubborn 99 scrapper that loved eating garbage off the street, and one that had a 100 supernatural ability to charm humans. Once, in South Brooklyn, I left her tied 101 up for an instant to purchase a coffee and came out to find she’d seduced an 102 old Italian pastry chef to procure some breadcrumbs. People remarked that her 103 face felt familiar, like an old friend was in there somewhere. Her mystique was 104 compounded early on, when an unfortunate accident left her with three legs, for 105 which she compensated by becoming comically muscular. Of course I was obsessed 106 with documenting Peggy’s life. 107 108 She was a constant, as any dog would be, through cross-country moves, 109 quarter-life crises, career changes, new presidential administrations, and a 110 pandemic. Then, one day last May, quite unexpectedly, she was gone. 111 112 We let her go in the middle of the night, so quickly that we weren’t able to 113 say goodbye. Until then, I’d been lucky enough to avoid this type of tragic, 114 sudden loss. My grief in those early moments felt like the emergency exit on an 115 airplane had opened mid-flight, the sudden loss of cabin pressure violently 116 sucking everything out of the hull that isn’t bolted down. For days, my 117 fuselage was empty, the contents scattered and falling from the sky. I went on 118 walks, laughed and cried at random, and tried to stay busy. But all I really 119 wanted to do—the only thing that felt appropriate and sustaining—was [58]look 120 at pictures of Peggy on my phone. I lost hours inside my camera roll staring at 121 her reddish-brown fur centered in the frame, while watching us become a family 122 in the background. My device, normally a wasteland, became a refuge. 123 124 [59]Read: There are no “five stages” of grief 125 126 On the day she died, I set my phone’s wallpaper to my favorite photo of 127 Peggy—appearing to smile on a ridgeline trail in Missoula, Montana, the 128 bright-yellow balsamroot flowers in bloom behind her. But a month later, I told 129 myself that it was time to stop wallowing. Instead of a memorial photo of 130 Peggy, I opted to try a newer, “dynamic” wallpaper feature called “Photo 131 Shuffle.” Every so often, my iPhone would change my wallpaper and home screen 132 to an image it had grabbed from my camera roll. To help it along, I could offer 133 parameters for the photo choice. Knowing that Apple’s Photos app uses 134 image-recognition software to identify cats and dogs in the camera roll, I 135 chose a “Pets” filter. 136 137 Grief is not linear, and neither is Photo Shuffle. Over the next few months, I 138 watched the photos change in and out at random—always with a dog in focus. Many 139 of the stills were pictures I didn’t remember taking, ones I’d passed over or 140 missed in my melancholic, late-night scrolling. So many were chaotic, blurred 141 streaks of fur and tongues curiously sniffing a lens or bounding out of frame; 142 a lot were objectively bad photos, which I found made them especially funny as 143 iPhone wallpaper. Peggy wasn’t the only subject—our other dog, Steve, a winsome 144 and serious-faced cattle dog, shared screen time—but being First Dog meant that 145 Peggy had been photographed much more. She took on a starring role: Peggy wet 146 from a beach swim, regal Peggy posing under the Christmas tree, puppy Peggy, 147 manic post-fetch Peggy with a yard’s length of tongue sticking out of her 148 mouth. Sad photos inevitably cropped up: Peggy in the hospital, Peggy’s last 149 car ride, Peggy and Steve side by side on our lawn, enjoying what would be 150 their last sunset together. 151 152 My partner turned on Photo Shuffle, too, and we developed a new ritual. Look at 153 this new Peggy, one of us would say, holding a phone up to the other’s face. 154 We’d usually laugh or smile; occasionally one of us would tear up. Sweet girl. 155 Miss you, Pegs. Mostly, though, we’d take a moment and orient the photo in our 156 lives, remembering a trip or a random ordinary Wednesday on a trail or at the 157 dog park. The photos opened up little windows of reflection and a moment to 158 express some gratitude—for Peggy, and for our lives together. 159 160 Devotees of note-taking apps such as Notion and Evernote have a term for the 161 mass of musings, links, documents, and projects they store on the cloud: the “ 162 [60]second brain.” If you organize your data the right way, these programs will 163 allow you to recall an extraordinary amount of information, in the same way 164 your mind might. I’ve never been very good at using these apps, but I’ve found 165 that my camera roll functions similarly. It is like a digital appendage of my 166 mind, functioning in a complementary, Proustian way—triggering and dredging up 167 memories that have been long filed away. My camera roll is a diary, a mood 168 board. Thanks to the ability to screenshot, it is also a place for sundry notes 169 and clippings. When I scroll through my photos over a long enough period, I 170 find they are a pretty decent archive of my life. 171 172 [61]Read: Please get me out of dead-dog TikTok 173 174 The dynamic wallpaper, however, adds a new layer to this experience. It is a 175 curator, maybe even a biographer. And, however inadvertently, the feature has 176 become a counselor, allowing me to grieve on my own timeline. Right now, Peggy 177 is the dominant face on my screen, but, over time, I imagine the ratio of Peggy 178 pictures to others will change. I will get older, get new dogs, do new things, 179 and take more pictures. Peggy will still be there, popping up when I least 180 expect it, but her presence will gently recede as I learn to live without her. 181 This complex universe of grief and moving on is playing out on my phone screen, 182 but also in my own behaviors. This summer, we added Beverly, a new puppy, to 183 our family. I’m not sure why but, since the pandemic, I’ve been less inclined 184 to take photos than I was in Peggy’s halcyon days. But recently I’ve found 185 myself consciously pausing and grabbing my phone to document Bev’s adolescence. 186 My renewed interest is simple: I need photos of Beverly so that she may join 187 the wallpaper rotation with frequency. 188 189 A photograph of the author's dog in front of flowersPeggy resting in Missoula 190 191 The more I scrutinize this small feature on my device and the way it became a 192 load-bearing part of the past year of my life, the more I encounter some 193 resistance from myself. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to think too 194 hard about what this all means, because doing so forces me to wrestle with just 195 how important this brick of ceramic glass really is. We can snark about being 196 addicted to our phones or worry about inflated screen-time numbers or the way 197 we pull out our cameras to document moments we should instead be present for, 198 but acknowledging the positives is equally disorienting—to do so suggests a 199 certain unknowability about a technology we live with every day. What are our 200 phones doing to us? A lot, it seems. Perhaps more than we realize. 201 202 So much of the information I consume through my phone is jarring, presented in 203 an overwhelming, intrusive fashion—via push notifications and design tricks, 204 all vying for my attention. The dynamic wallpaper offers something else: quiet 205 moments in my day that stop me in my tracks and promote reflection, rather than 206 engagement. My phone’s operating system has taught me how to grieve. 207 208 That doesn’t mean it’s been easy. It’s always the little things—the memory of 209 the crimped hair behind her velvety ears, the image of her panting softly while 210 sunning herself on the porch on a crisp summer morning, or the phantom feeling 211 of the heft of her body, pressed against mine as I read before bed. These 212 memories used to be painful; now they bring gratitude. Perhaps that’s because 213 they’re not static—they’re alive, both in me and on the silly little device I 214 take with me everywhere. There’s a three-legged hole in my heart, but I see 215 Peggy every day. 216 217 218 [62]Charlie Warzel is a staff writer at The Atlantic and the author of its 219 newsletter [63]Galaxy Brain, about technology, media, and big ideas. He can be 220 reached via [64]email. 221 222 223 References: 224 225 [1] https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2024/01/iphone-grief-dynamic-wallpaper/677034/#main-content 226 [2] https://www.theatlantic.com/ 227 [5] https://www.theatlantic.com/most-popular/ 228 [6] https://www.theatlantic.com/latest/ 229 [7] https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/ 230 [8] https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/ 231 [9] https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/ 232 [10] https://www.theatlantic.com/category/fiction/ 233 [11] https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/ 234 [12] https://www.theatlantic.com/science/ 235 [13] https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/ 236 [14] https://www.theatlantic.com/business/ 237 [15] https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/ 238 [16] https://www.theatlantic.com/projects/planet/ 239 [17] https://www.theatlantic.com/international/ 240 [18] https://www.theatlantic.com/books/ 241 [19] https://www.theatlantic.com/podcasts/ 242 [20] https://www.theatlantic.com/health/ 243 [21] https://www.theatlantic.com/education/ 244 [22] https://www.theatlantic.com/projects/ 245 [23] https://www.theatlantic.com/category/features/ 246 [24] https://www.theatlantic.com/family/ 247 [25] https://www.theatlantic.com/events/ 248 [26] https://www.theatlantic.com/category/washington-week-atlantic/ 249 [27] https://www.theatlantic.com/progress/ 250 [28] https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/ 251 [29] https://www.theatlantic.com/archive/ 252 [30] https://www.theatlantic.com/free-daily-crossword-puzzle/ 253 [31] https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/ 254 [32] https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/ 255 [33] https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/backissues/ 256 [34] https://accounts.theatlantic.com/products/gift 257 [38] https://www.theatlantic.com/projects/dear-therapist/ 258 [39] https://www.theatlantic.com/free-daily-crossword-puzzle/ 259 [40] https://www.theatlantic.com/archive/ 260 [41] https://accounts.theatlantic.com/accounts/subscription/ 261 [43] https://www.theatlantic.com/most-popular/ 262 [44] https://www.theatlantic.com/latest/ 263 [45] https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/ 264 [46] https://www.theatlantic.com/ 265 [47] https://www.theatlantic.com/ 266 [48] https://accounts.theatlantic.com/login/ 267 [49] https://www.theatlantic.com/subscribe/navbar/ 268 [50] https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/ 269 [51] https://www.theatlantic.com/author/charlie-warzel/ 270 [58] https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2023/10/smartphone-camera-ai-photo-editing-fakery/675710/ 271 [59] https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2022/10/five-stages-complicated-grief-wrong/671710/ 272 [60] https://www.buildingasecondbrain.com/ 273 [61] https://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2023/03/dead-dog-tiktok-algorithm-pet-loss-grief/673445/ 274 [62] https://www.theatlantic.com/author/charlie-warzel/ 275 [63] https://www.theatlantic.com/newsletters/sign-up/galaxy-brain/ 276 [64] mailto:[email protected]