On the other side, in a clearing on the outskirts of the ceremony area, several dogs were tied up. They looked like pets but were acting like sentinels, which was a bit creepy in a Stephen King fashion.
“It Was A Wedding That Went To The Dogs!”
No, how about: “Hope They Weren’t Dog-Tired By The Time They Got Married!”
Or this: “Forecast For Tonight’s Nuptials: No Cats, but Raining Dogs!”
I’d be a great headline writer for a crappy Sunday newspaper magazine.
Recently, we had an event in southeastern RI, the part of the state that makes you wonder why everyone makes such a big fuss about Martha’s Vineyard. It was a picture-perfect summer evening. H and I drove down a long driveway which skirted a rundown barn then turned toward the water and headed through a cornfield. On the other side, in a clearing on the outskirts of the ceremony area, several dogs were tied up. They looked like pets but were acting like sentinels, which was a bit creepy in a Stephen King fashion. The ceremony was in progress, so we sneaked over quietly (sentinel-dogs watching our every move) to watch the vows.
The ring-bearer was a greyhound.
I finished setting up my equipment during cocktail hour and there were at least a half-dozen other dogs running around, which we assumed belonged to the guests. Those I met personally (in other words, the ones that came up to the bandstand looking for food) were a St. Bernard, a beagle, twin spaniels, and the one we came to refer to as “Hot Dog dog.” This was a chihuahua wearing a costume like the old Oscar Meyer wiener car, whose owner kept throwing him up in the air as if he were some kind of yippy beach ball. I kept expecting him to look at me and announce, “Yo quiero Free Bird”. “A Reception Fit For The ‘Dog Days’ Of Summer!” Or, “All Dogs Go To …Weddings!” At one point the St. Bernard passed behind the band, very deliberately stopped and looked at DC, then peed on a tent pole. We were hoping that one of the demon-sentinels would reprimand him, but they were oddly preoccupied with the band. The twin spaniels spent most of the night by the buffet table, probably wishing in vain that someone would let them climb inside the roasted pig. The rest of the unleashed dogs camped out on the dance floor, but somehow the guests all escaped serious injury.
On our way out we passed a couple of rusted-out cars, half-buried in the weeds. H remarked that one could easily dispose of a body in such a place, just as we saw one of the sentinels disappear into the cornfield.
