Most bridesmaids carry bouquets.
Mine carried a pug.
And not my pug. I don’t have a pug.
I have two wonderful large dogs, Bette and Oscar, whom I love dearly but who were not invited to my wedding.
“Your dogs aren’t coming to your wedding?!” people would gasp.
“No, they’re not,” I’d reply.
My dogs require too much of my attention. They’re emotional. And Bette (bless her) has strong opinions about crowds and new people. She’d be growling at new cousins from across the aisle!
Plus, so many of my days are about my dogs. This one was a celebration of human love! I wanted to focus on my groom, our guests, and the once-in-a-lifetime experience of being a bride.
“Wow, so no dogs at your wedding?” friends would say.
I grinned. Who said that?
Dogs are my life and my career. How could I not have canine representation at the wedding? So I texted my friend, influencer and New York icon Kuma the Pug (yes, he is saved in my phone as Kuma the Pug). Kuma is not like other dogs. He walks around Manhattan without a leash and knows where he’s going. He’s met The Dogist twice (and was so chill about it). He’s traveled to Tokyo and Seoul. He dines at West Village restaurants most dogs would never get into.
I thought long and hard about what his wedding role should be. Kuma wasn’t a bridesmaid, exactly, but he was more than a regular guest.
Then it hit me: Kuma would be my Honorary Wedding Pug. Yes! That’s it! Forget that something borrowed, something blue crap—let’s add something pug to the list! Every bride should have one of these!
So there we were, lining up on the corner of Houston and Ludlow for my wedding.
Nothing about this moment was ordinary.
It was black-tie, with an all-black dress code. Kuma nailed the look.
My brother—my bridesmaid—wore a (very–Carolina Herrera) silk ball skirt, my “something pug” cradled in his arms, as we stood outside the deli where I was getting married.
Not just any deli—Katz’s Deli. I was about to become the first person ever to say “I do” at Katz’s Deli. And not to the question, “Do you want the pastrami on rye?”
The deli was closed for our private ceremony. Our wedding planner wove through the lineup (which was, naturally, beside a dumpster on Ludlow), adjusting flowers and fixing my dress. “Does everyone have a kippah? Is the Honorary Wedding Pug in place? Remember: the chuppah goes underneath the salami sign!”
She straightened Kuma’s black bow tie. He was so relaxed in my brother’s arms he was practically asleep. As I stood there in my white wedding gown—arm hooked through my dad’s, heart pounding—I tried to channel Kuma’s energy. Okay, Fernie. Focus. Relax! Channel your Something Pug. Breathe. Breeeeathe like the Something Pug—just quieter. And less nasally! Yes. Good.
Soon, my bridesmaids began walking through the deli door—past the mountains of pastrami toward my groom.
People are right: there’s no other day like your wedding day. When I was planning, I was so worried about making everyone happy. In the end, I was grateful I listened to myself. We danced. Kuma ate corned beef. I drank Negronis and ate an entire pastrami sandwich in a wedding dress. It was the prettiest, happiest, wildest day of my life. Thank you for coming, Kuma! Thank you for coming, humans!
When my husband (husband!!) and I finally got home, we pushed open the door. Bette and Oscar were waiting—tails wagging, clearly excited to celebrate our new titles of husband and wife.
Sure, our dogs weren’t there for the ceremony. But they were here to support us for the next important part: the marriage.
“We’re married! Can you believe it, Bette and Oscar?!” We all jumped up and down, spinning in little circles.
