“Dearly beloved, we are gather-shed here,” the priest begins, and, eek. Eek. He’s slurring. And swaying slightly.
I glance at Dante, and his brows are low in a dark scowl and tilts his chin up as he looks down at me.
It’s a silent, almost invisible acknowledgement, as though we understand each other.
Is there anything we can do about a possibly inebriated priest? No. But we’ll be ready if this escalates. Dante gives me a tiny smile, and I give him one back. We’re on the same team. We’re connected.
Which is ridiculous, of course. But the feeling persists.
“He sounds funny,” says a boy in the third row of the groom’s side of the guests.
His mother hushes him, but the kid isn’t wrong.
It takes approximately two minutes, and Alpi is restless. He gets up and sits down, then whines. Perhaps this wedding is a bit more for him than anyone expected.
Thankfully the priest is talking, so no one hears.
I seriously contemplate walking off with Alpi to give him a leg stretch, but flicking my gaze to the bride, I think better of theidea. She keeps looking between her husband-to-be and Alpi, as though the little dog is emotional support.
And what would I say? I took the pet away because he seemed to have “needs a walk” vibes? I’m not a dog trainer, I’m a junior hairdresser who mostly sweeps up and makes cups of tea. Plus, I’m right in the middle of the guests, at the front. Everyone would see.
A reading begins by one of the groom’s aunts, and I’m happy to see her hair is still looking as good as I left it.
“Love is not grand gestures,” the aunt says.
Alpi finally sits down, and I think we’re in the clear.
Until he rolls slightly, cocks his leg in the air, and starts licking his bum.
“Helping each other…”
The noise is… not ideal. He’s slurping. There’s an audible—maybe even loud—wet sound as he really gets involved.
Dante glowers down at Alpi, and I gently tug on his leash, which he ignores, pausing only to switch to nibble the fur around his anus. I can smell his dog breath from here.
“Finding joy in ordinary moments…”
And then I notice it. Not only is he sucking his balls, Alpi is also giving an anatomy lesson about boy dogs.
“Love grows with us together…”
He has his lipstick out. A small, pink, and unmistakable little dog penis pokes up. In the middle of the wedding, at the front.
The parents of the groom in the row opposite have definitely noticed. Amber and Daisy have identical expressions of disgust. Amber has her hand over her mouth, as though the bottom sucking might induce her to blow chunks. Again.
Lucia is studiously ignoring Alpi, eyes glued to her daughter, even though I know she can hear. And see.
“…A safe place to land…”
I tug on the leash again, which interrupts the butt licking for ooh, about half a second.
Then I remember the cheese. I quickly fish it out and, casual as you like, drop one for Alpi.
The effect is immediate.
His balls are forgotten. The public wanking is forgotten. Instantly, Alpi has gulped down his treat and is sitting beautifully. He could be in a toilet roll advert, he’s that cute, gazing up at me, little white ears pricked and big dark eyes focused.
When the aunt finishes the reading, there’s a short silence. No Alpi licking his balls. It’s perfect. The bride and the groom gaze at each other. The guests sigh over how romantic it is.
