The First Wedding

My first account of pastoral ministry took place when I was probably 5 or 6, no more than 8 years old.  I married my basset hound, Gertie, to Private Buckley. 

Gertie was the sweetest, mildest mannered dog in the world.  She was beautiful with sleek black fur like a Zorro mask around her face….a pattern that covered her body and ended at the tip of her tail which was white, and there on her back it looked like her tail had painted a white swipe across her backside.  Just a little stroke, as if accident of a mischievous pup. She had long black basset ears that were constantly crusty from dragging them through the water bowl. She loved M & Ms and wrestling with a sock.  She would drag me across the living room in my red bean bag chair.  To this day, Gertrude Larue was one of the very best pets I have ever had.

 Private Buckley was a big stuffed dog.  He was yellowish-orange and sat up on his haunches.  He had a camouflaged Army hat and a shiny dog tag that said, you guessed it, “Pvt. Buckley.” I have no idea where he came from or how long he had lived in my bedroom closet.  If you asked me what breed of dog he was supposed to be I couldn’t have told you.  But the way his chest puffed out I knew he was strong and honorable, a perfect match for my sweet Gertie.  So, I married them, naturally.

Private Buckley stood stoically in front of the overly large wooden entertainment center, behind the doors of which were Mama and Daddy’s record collection which smelled of the 70s and surely held some secrets of which I did not understand.  After all, the shiny new six-disc CD changer that sat overhead a few shelves up was simply marvelous.  As sunshine streamed through the front window seat, I helped Gertie with her wedding gown.  A white baby blanket with a silky satin trim draped over her head and back.  Only the finest attire would do.  I escorted her into the family room and she sat next to the Private, pretty as you please. 

I don’t remember all that was said, but to the best of my knowledge vows were exchanged and “I do’s” were spoken.  Of course, Private Buckley kissed the bride in the most romantic of fashions.  It’s the way all Disney Princesses gained their happy endings.  For the after-party there was grape juice and we danced around the sunny glow of the popcorn ceiling, the disc changer shuffling to the latest tunes as if I had hired the best DJ, “Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined her black tie affair,” echoing through the speakers.