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 Dog Fashion Disco or Pavlov’s Dogs.

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 that is playing there next March? 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 Snoop Dogg. I got Snoop’s autograph, 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 Triumph The Insult Dog. 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.