Before you say goodbye: what to record while you still can.

If you are reading this, a vet has probably said something you cannot unhear, and you are trying to figure out how to spend the time that is left. This page is one small, practical answer: the photos, videos, and sounds people are always glad they captured — and quietly grieve when they didn't.

Nobody wants to be the person holding a phone up at a time like this. You will be glad you were. Take the footage, then put the phone away and be with them.

This page sells nothing. Print it, save it, or send it to someone who needs it.

The sounds — record these first.

Photos get taken anyway. The sounds are what people lose, because nobody thinks to record them until the house is quiet.

Their sounds

The bark at the doorbell. The meow at the can opener. The snore. The sigh when they flop down. The tags jingling when they shake. Thirty seconds of voice memo each. You will play these more than any photo.

You talking to them

Say their name the way you always say it. The nicknames. The little call-and-response you two have. Record yourself doing your side of it — someday you will want proof it was real.

The walk-in

Video of what happens when you come home. Even the older, slower version of the greeting is the greeting. This is the single most re-watched clip people have.

The moving pictures.

Ten-second videos, shot horizontally if you can remember, in decent light if you can manage it. Do not stage anything. Ordinary is the whole point.

The everyday route

The walk around the block, or whatever is left of it. The specific tree. The mailbox they investigate every single day like it might have changed.

Dinner time

The dance, the spin, the sit that vibrates. The routine you could set a clock by.

Their spot

Wherever they actually spend the day — the sunny patch, the couch corner, the window. Film the room the way it really is, with them in it.

The thing only they do

The head tilt. The single ear. The way they carry that one toy. The weird sleeping position. Every pet has two or three signature moves. Get all of them.

The two of you, together

Hand someone else the phone, or prop it against a coffee mug. Most people discover, afterward, that they appear in almost none of the photos. Be in the frame.

The still photos.

The close-ups

The paws. The nose. The gray on the muzzle. The eyes, up close, in window light. These are the details memory blurs first.

Your hand on them

One photo of your hand resting on their side or head. Years from now this is the one that undoes people, in the good way.

The face they make at you

Not the posed portrait — the look they give you when you ask if they want to go outside. Say the magic words, then take the picture.

The whole family

Everyone in the household, with them, once. Including the person reading this page.

Beyond the camera.

A paw print

Clay kits cost $10–$30 at any pet store, or ask your vet — many will take one for you as part of end-of-life care. Ask now, not after.

A clipping of fur

In an envelope, labeled. It feels strange to do and right to have.

Write down the details

The nicknames and their origin stories. What they were afraid of. What they would trade you anything for. Five minutes with your phone's notes app. The details are the love, and they fade faster than you think.

Plan the last day, if you have the chance

Many families are given the hardest gift: knowing when. If that is you, ask your vet about home euthanasia if that matters to you, and give them the burger, the beach, the forbidden couch. Take one photo. Then put the phone away.

Keep everything in one place. Tonight, make one album on your phone with all of it — sounds, videos, photos, notes. Back it up somewhere that is not the phone. Losing the phone should not mean losing them twice.

Why we wrote this.

Furry Friends Records makes tribute films from families' real photos and videos, so we spend every day inside people's camera rolls. We see what people wish they had. It is never more photos — everyone has photos. It is the sound of the tags. The greeting at the door. The voice memo. This page exists so you will have them, whether or not you ever make anything from them.

If someone you love is the one facing this, send them this page — and when the time comes, our guide on what to say is here. If you ever want the memories you gathered turned into something, that is what we do. But that is for later, or never. This week is for them.

Nothing on this page is sold. Last updated August 25, 2026.