Not the Mother of the Bride chronicles

We have found a reception place (that welcomes dogs of the family), set a date, booked the minister and made arrangements for the dress. Phoebe and Andy will be married on December 18th

Liz will be a Mother of the Bride.

She’s started a diet, joined a gym, and made secret enquiries about foundation garments (just in case).But she's been reluctant to blog about it.

‘Go on,’ I said, ‘snuffling up to her with the idea. ‘You could call your blog the Mother of the Bride (MOB) chronicles. ’

‘No,’ Liz shook her head. ‘I want to focus on my novel.’

‘Yes, but sometimes you need a break,’ I said.

‘I’ve had too many breaks,’ she said, scratching my ear just the way I like. ‘I want to finish this draft. Besides, it would be unscrupulous to capitalise on Phoebe’s happiness. Look what happened to A. A. Milne. Christopher Robin ended up resenting all those Winnie the Pooh stories.’

‘But, Liz, I said, ‘How will the world cope without the nitty-gritty of our pre-wedding lives?’

She laughed and said: ‘The world will cope, Biskit.’

I went away and thought about this, stretched out on my mat beside the fire, my legs twitching with doggy dreams. But even after a long nap, I woke up worried. For a start, Liz writes about everything. Finishing the novel must be weighing on her terribly.

Secondly, I thought: Liz is wrong – the world does need to hear about our wedding.

Then, I had another thought. Perhaps I could help Liz. She wants to work on her novel, and I like to write. In fact, if I’d done better at Alpha Dog Training I might have gone on to be a journalist. I have a way with words, the other dogs tell me. They like the way I whine at the door, and bark at the window. When I moan with a squeaky toy it is apparently breathtaking.

But what about this scruples thing?

I had another nap (you have no idea how hard a dog’s life is), and woke up still worried. I mean, is it wrong for a dog to capitalise on its owner's happiness?

Fortunately, at that point, Liz suggested a jog.

I’m not a great jogger (although, I’m faster than Liz), but I do find it clears my head. As I raced around the streets, with my ears back and my tail streaming, wondering if I might have a touch of greyhound in me, I began to feel more confident. Never mind Winnie the Pooh, I thought, I am a wordsmith – a Dog of the Bridie. The world needs me. As for scruples, I couldn’t think of a single case in which an owner resented their dog blogging about their wedding. Why would Phoebe be any different?

I stayed awake for a long time that night, wrestling with my destiny. I have great owners, I thought, they are like a litter of puppies. I have a warm bed in the laundry, fresh water in my bowl and an endless supply of Porkettes to chew on. But it is not enough. I want to do something with my life. Give a canine view of things. I want to be the first dog in history to keep a blog of its owner’s wedding.

Yes, I thought, that is my destiny.