It was 7:00 AM in Coconut Grove, and the garden was still cool. Dew clung to the broad leaves of the tropical plantings, catching the first low-angle light and scattering it into tiny prisms. A golden retriever named Biscuit was nose-deep in an orchid bed he had absolutely no business being near. Robin was adjusting Christopher's boutonniere — a sprig of white ranunculus with a single eucalyptus leaf — and Christopher was trying to hold still while also keeping one eye on the dog. "Biscuit, no," he said, without turning his head. Biscuit did not listen. This was not a traditional wedding morning. That was exactly the point.
Why They Chose to Elope
Robin, 34, is a software engineer. Christopher, 36, teaches high school history. Between 2023 and 2025, they attended eleven weddings. Eleven. They loved celebrating their friends — Christopher cried at every single one, and Robin always ended up on the dance floor until the DJ cut the music. But they'd also watched the stress unfold from the inside. The seating chart arguments. The vendor no-shows. The mother-in-law who wanted to rewrite the ceremony. The invoices that made their eyes water more than the vows.
"The best moments at every wedding we went to were the quiet ones," Robin told me. "The look right before walking down the aisle. The first dance when nobody else existed. We wanted a whole day that felt like those moments."
When Christopher proposed during a hike with Biscuit in the Everglades — down on one knee in the mud while Biscuit tried to eat the ring box — they both knew. No big wedding. No guest list negotiations. Just them, their dog, and someone to make it legal.
The one non-negotiable: Biscuit had to be there. Everything else was flexible.
Finding the Right Spot
Their first instinct was the beach. But Biscuit loses his mind near waves. Full meltdown. Barking, sprinting, dragging whoever's holding the leash into the surf. They'd tried a calm beach day once. Christopher ended up fully submerged while Biscuit body-surfed a two-foot wave with zero concern for anyone's dignity.
So the beach was out.
Their planner suggested a secluded garden in Coconut Grove — shaded paths, bougainvillea climbing every wall, frangipani dropping petals like confetti, morning light filtering through royal palms. And critically: dog-friendly.
They visited on a Tuesday morning. The garden was nearly empty. Spanish moss hung from the oaks. A pair of ibis walked the path ahead of them like tiny, disinterested wedding planners. Robin looked at Christopher and said, "This is it."
A Morning Ceremony
Why 7:00 AM? Three reasons.
First, Biscuit. Golden retrievers and South Florida heat don't mix. March mornings in Miami hover around 70 degrees. By noon, it's 85 and Biscuit would be a puddle of fur and regret under the nearest bush.
Second, the light. Early morning in a tropical garden is a photographer's fever dream. The sun comes in low through the palm fronds and creates these dappled patterns on everything — the path, the flowers, the couple's faces. It's soft and warm and directional. You can't buy that light. You can only wake up early enough to catch it.
Third, privacy. The garden was theirs. No tourists, no other events, no strangers wandering through the background of their first kiss. Just Robin, Christopher, Biscuit, their officiant, their planner, and me.
Their officiant, Dara, kept things personal. No generic scripts. No "Dearly beloved." She'd spent an hour on the phone with them the week before, learning their story, and she wove it into a ceremony that felt like a conversation between friends. She even addressed Biscuit directly. "Do you, Biscuit, promise to always demand belly rubs at inconvenient moments? To remind these two that the best part of coming home is the greeting at the door?" Biscuit responded by yawning enormously. I got the shot.
Christopher and Robin had written their vows that morning over coffee, each with a small notebook, scribbling final thoughts while Biscuit ate breakfast at their feet. The result was raw and honest in a way that over-edited vows never are.
Robin's referenced the time Christopher drove four hours through a tropical storm to pick up Biscuit from an emergency vet in Fort Myers. "You didn't hesitate. You didn't complain. You just went. That's when I knew what kind of person I was going to marry."
Christopher's were lighter. He promised to always let Robin control the thermostat. To never complain about the seventeen throw pillows. To keep reading aloud from whatever history book he was into, even though Robin fell asleep by page three every single time.
The Ceremony Details
The whole ceremony lasted twenty minutes. That's it. Twenty minutes, and it held more meaning than most multi-hour productions I've witnessed.
A few details that made it theirs:
They did a handfasting — an old tradition where the couple's hands are bound together with a cord or rope to symbolize their union. But instead of buying ceremonial ribbon, Robin brought a piece of rope her grandmother had given her. It was a piece of clothesline from the house where her grandmother raised five kids in rural Georgia. Worn smooth from decades of use. It wasn't pretty. It was better than pretty. It was real.
Biscuit wore a floral collar their florist had made — white spray roses and greenery woven onto a sturdy canvas collar. He looked distinguished. He also looked like he was trying very hard not to eat it.
For most of the vows, Biscuit sat between them. Right in the middle, like a furry, panting mediator. He was calm and present, which surprised everyone who knows him. Then, during the quiet moment after the vows — that pause where the officiant lets the words settle — Biscuit spotted a butterfly. He was gone. Just stood up and trotted off to investigate, trailing his floral collar through the garden like a tiny parade float. Nobody could stop laughing. Dara had to wait a full thirty seconds before she could pronounce them married.
The Photos
We had two hours after the ceremony to explore the garden. The vine-covered archway where the light creates a natural frame. The coral rock path through the oldest section, where the trees are so thick overhead it feels like a green tunnel. The palm-shaded clearing near the water where the bay breeze catches loose hair and fabric.
Robin and Christopher were easy to photograph — not because they posed well, but because they kept forgetting I was there. They'd fall into conversation, and I'd get these candid frames of two people who are genuinely happy. Those are the shots that end up on walls.
Biscuit inserted himself into roughly 40% of the frames. First kiss? His head, right between their faces. The final gallery: over 150 images. Robin's favorite: the two of them laughing while Biscuit photobombs their first kiss. Christopher's: the quiet one — foreheads together under the palms, eyes closed, Biscuit's tail a streak of gold in the corner. The joy of the dog, the stillness of the couple. Everything that morning was about, in one image.
The Details
- Location: Secluded garden in Coconut Grove
- Package: Positano ($1,000) + add-on florals
- Season: Early March
- Planning time: 4 weeks from engagement to ceremony
- Ceremony time: 7:00 AM
- Total spent: ~$3,200 (package, florals, getting-ready brunch, Biscuit's floral collar)
- The dog tax: Biscuit, golden retriever, age 5, very good boy
In Their Words
"Don't let anyone tell you that eloping means you're missing out," Robin said when I asked what they'd want other couples to know. "We didn't miss a single thing. We gained an experience that was entirely ours — every second of it. And Biscuit was the best ring bearer anyone could ask for. He didn't actually carry the rings, but he carried the vibe."
Christopher added: "The fact that we planned this in four weeks and it was the most meaningful day of our lives says everything about what actually matters. It's not the venue or the guest list or the budget. It's showing up for each other. Preferably before 8 AM, with a very good dog."
Tips for Eloping With Your Dog
Robin and Christopher learned a few things along the way. If you're planning to include your dog in your elopement, here's what they'd tell you:
Check venue pet policies early. Not every venue allows dogs, and the ones that do often have specific rules. Don't assume. Call ahead. Get it in writing.
Bring water and a portable bowl. Florida heat is no joke, even in March. Biscuit had a collapsible bowl and used it frequently.
Have someone on dog duty. Their planner held Biscuit's leash during the vows. Having a designated dog-wrangler freed Robin and Christopher to focus on each other instead of worrying about what the dog was eating.
Schedule before the heat. A 7:00 AM start meant cool temperatures and a happy dog. By 10 AM, Biscuit was napping in the car with the AC on. A midday ceremony would have been miserable for the one wearing a fur coat.
Ask about pet-safe floral collars. Not all flowers are safe for dogs. Their florist chose non-toxic blooms and secured everything so Biscuit couldn't chew pieces off.
Bring treats. Many treats. Bribery is the cornerstone of dog photography. Every good shot of Biscuit involved someone just out of frame holding chicken. No shame in it.
Looking for pet-friendly elopement venues in Miami? Check out our guide to the best Miami elopement locations for options that welcome four-legged guests. And if you're ready to start planning, take a look at our elopement packages — the Positano package that Robin and Christopher chose is a great starting point.