They said I was insane. They said I was crazy.

Yeah. Crazy like a fox.

I’m not strange or anything. I just figured that a guy wedding his dog would be a great news story. I had dreams of becoming an instant celebrity, and parlaying my new found fame into decent seats and backstage passes for Dogstar or Ratdog.

Of course, it’s not easy finding a judge willing to do the ceremony. We had to go all the way to Bakersfield. Did you know Snoop Dogg is playing there on July 28? I took it as an omen.

Well, sure enough, Leno got wind of the guy from Fresno who married his dog. I shared the green room with Dog Fashion Disco. I got their autographs, while my “wife” piddled on the floor.

Of course we did “Stupid Pet Tricks” on Letterman. That’s when I met Three Dog Night. I shook Cory Well’s hand. My “wife” bit him on the ankle. Cory said she must be a Chuck Negron fan.

All in all, I managed to stretch my 15 seconds of fame into a week. My friends thought it was a hoot, and my girlfriend liked to joke about how I “left her for someone on my own level.”

My parents, however, that’s a different story.

I thought they were cool with it. I thought they understood. I tried to tell them it was just a joke, just a chance to meet Old Blind Dogs or The Love Dogs. Unfortunately, I don’t think they realized that I married my dog for the publicity. Even so, I don’t mind the strange looks I get every time I visit them, or the sullen expressions on their faces when I mention “the little woman.” However, there’s one thing that’s really starting to bug me.

I just wish they’d stop pestering me about grandchildren.