The important part, though, was Titan himself. In my Dream Factory work, there is one cardinal rule: the dog in the final artwork must look like the dog I photographed. Not “sort of like an Akita.” Not “a handsome generic dog.” Titan had to look like Titan.

So I gathered the images from his portrait session and used them as reference. His coloring, his markings, his expression, his build — all of that mattered. The whole point was to take the real dog and place him into an imagined world, not replace him with some AI mystery mutt wearing an Akita costume.

From there came the less glamorous part: several iterations, a good bit of experimenting, and yes, spending compute credits. These things ain’t free, as much as we all wish the robot elves worked for biscuits.

Eventually, I got a base image I liked. But as I worked, a little story began to appear.

Here were all these serious men packed into a ramen shop, eating after work. And there was Titan, seated among them like a regular customer. No explanation. No chaos. Just Titan, perfectly at home.

But it needed a little humor.

So one diner became the focus: noodles mid-slurp, eyes sliding nervously toward the very large dog beside him. Titan, meanwhile, is giving him the look every dog owner knows.

That look says, “I noticed you have food.”

It also says, “I am prepared to be patient, but not forever.”

Once the story clicked, the rest was refinement. I added and adjusted small details in Photoshop, worked the light and focus, and made sure the viewer’s eye went exactly where I wanted it to go: to Titan, the noodles, and the poor man realizing his dinner may have attracted professional interest.

And there you have it.

A Dream Factory creation: Titan in Tokyo.

A little heritage, a little humor, one very handsome Akita, and one man who should probably order an extra bowl.