It was a bright, beautiful Saturday afternoon. The birds were singing. The flowers were blooming. Somewhere, someone was dramatically overpaying for a three-tier cake covered in edible glitter and questionable fondant roses.
And Athena had already chewed through the leash.
It all started with a simple, innocent plan: the humans were going to a wedding in the local botanical garden. It was outdoors. Dogs were technically allowed. The bride loved animals. There were promises of "keeping them calm" and "not letting them eat anything expensive."
All of those promises would be broken within the hour.
Athena arrived at the wedding venue with her head held high and her floof perfectly styled. She was wearing a tiny white floral collar. She looked like she owned the place and would sue you if your shoes weren't up to code. Her mismatched eyes glimmered with the kind of energy you only see in royalty or raccoons about to knock over a garbage can.
Obito, on the other hand, arrived wearing a tiny black bow tie and the kind of goofy grin that could charm the taxman into forgiving your debt. He was thrilled. There were people. Food. Fancy tablecloths. Bushes he hadn't peed on yet. It was, to him, what Disneyland would be if it were made entirely of bacon and friendship.
For ten blissful minutes, they behaved.
Athena sniffed politely at bouquets. Obito gave small children the kind of enthusiastic kisses that required a towel. They posed for selfies. A bridesmaid called them “angels.” This moment would go down in history as the last recorded use of that word to describe them.
Then the harpist began to play.
Something about the elegant, tinkling notes of “Canon in D” awakened something ancient and feral in Athena. Perhaps it was her noble bloodline. Perhaps it was the ghosts of wolf ancestors past. Perhaps she simply thought the harpist was suspicious. Either way, Athena threw her head back and howled. A long, high, mournful note. The kind of howl that echoed through the trees and made three separate squirrels faint in shock.
Obito, never one to be left out, joined in instantly. But his howl was… wrong. It cracked halfway through and turned into a sneeze. Then a fart. Then a bark. It sounded like someone sat on a trombone.
The wedding paused.
Athena took that as her cue to launch.
The leash chewed halfway through during the car ride, snapped like a dollar store shoelace. She galloped down the aisle with the grace of a racehorse and the intention of a hurricane. Obito followed, dragging an entire folding chair behind him.
Guests screamed. The flower girl yeeted her basket into the air and ran for her life. A groomsman dove for cover behind a potted ficus.
Athena made a hard left at the altar, leapt clean over the cake table (clearing all three tiers with Olympic-level precision), and landed squarely in the champagne fountain. Bubbles flew. She stood in the middle of the splash zone like a soggy goddess of mayhem, bi-eyes blazing and fur soaking wet.
Obito tripped over a string of fairy lights, rolled three times, crashed into a table of crudités, and emerged with an entire cucumber sandwich stuck to his forehead.
The bride stood frozen. Her veil blew gently in the wind. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.
Athena stepped delicately out of the champagne basin, spotted a guest holding a plate of tiny meatballs, and charged like a cavalry unit. Obito, thinking it was a game, bellowed a happy bark and bolted after her.
The meatballs were gone in four seconds. The guest cried. The plate was shattered. Obito licked the shards gently, apologizing with his eyeballs.
By this point, half the guests were hiding behind chairs, three children were chasing Obito in hopes of riding him like a pony, and the officiant was Googling "how to exorcise dogs."
Athena, soaking wet, covered in petals, and proud of her work, did one final loop of the venue, pooped behind the bar, and then returned to the front row as if nothing had happened. Obito, panting happily, sat down beside her and accidentally crushed a decorative lantern.
The ceremony resumed. Shakily.
The couple got married, slightly traumatized but legally bound. The kiss was accompanied by Athena sneezing into a pile of baby's breath and Obito farting with enough force to knock over a program stand.
Later, the bride approached the human parents of the furry offenders. She was still picking dog hair out of her bouquet.
"That was… something," she said.
Obito licked her veil. Athena placed a single stolen canapé at her feet like an offering.
The bride sighed. "You know what? Let them stay for the reception."
And so, Obito and Athena danced the night away—literally. Obito slow-danced with the grandmother of the groom. Athena passed out on the dessert table. A groomsman swore he saw Athena doing the electric slide, but no one believed him.
To this day, in that garden, there's a tiny plaque by the rose bushes. It reads:
“In memory of the wedding of Jamie and Eliza: Ruined by dogs. Saved by love. And meatballs.”


©️Lainey Green — intwined.blog