When Love Goes to the Dogs

Commentary

Hollywood, Cal. — Miss Jenny Lewis, formerly of the musical outfit Rilo Kiley, recently marked her fiftieth birthday by donning a wedding dress, affixing a veil, clutching a bouquet as though it were the last honest sentiment on Earth, and brace yourselves, pledging her troth to a cockapoo named Bobby Rhubarb.

Yes, a dog. A bona fide, fur-coated, tail-wagging groom.

There were cakes, rainbow-striped and inscribed with the pious words “For BETTER or for WORSE I do!” and “JL50!” There were friends in attendance, music, and Polaroids.

And Bobby? He wagged in solemn assent in hopeful anticipation of treats.

Now, one might say, “Ah, a harmless eccentricity! A songstress weary of human foibles finds devotion in a creature who never cheats at cards, never borrows money without repayment, and never argues over whose turn it is to take out the trash.”

Indeed, as Twain once observed, the more he studied human manners, the more he admired those of his dog, saying, “In the eyes of a dog, all humans are either idiots or friends, and sometimes both at the same time.”

Civilization, it seems, might survive the occasional canine wedding, but there’s an odd truth here.

Back in 2013, during the nation’s great debate over marriage equality, Rush Limbaugh warned, “You know that there are people who would marry their pet if they could. I mean, they leave their estates to them. They are just engaging in behavior. So it is a can of worms that gets opened up, but none of that matters”. 

That statement became a punchline for homophobia. And now, here we are, in the year 2026, and lo, the prophecy has arrived.

Not with legal briefs or chaos, mind you, but with rainbow cake, a bouquet, and a very patient cockapoo. Twain would have had a field day.

In the end, Bobby Rhubarb is blameless, having done no sin beyond being lovable and loyal, virtues humans might do well to emulate, but Miss Lewis — er — um — Mrs. Rhubarb? She slid down the prophetic slope of a society that has taken ill.

Twain, ever the gentleman of sardonic propriety, would have happily given the dog taway and scratched behind the new Missus’s ears.