The Three Stooges – Or My Three Dogs


three dogsMoe. Larry. Curly.

That’s the only way to describe them. If I had known I would end up with these three numbskulls, I would have named them after the Three Stooges. But, since I don’t have a crystal ball like the traveling salesman in the “Wizard of Oz,” the names I chose were totally based on what I figured their personalities would be at eight weeks of age.

Sarge is Moe

Sarge is The Man. The Leader. The Head Honcho. The oldest of the group, he’s also the biggest dog. However, his heart matches his size and he gets a bad rap because of his looks. Since he’s older he is also wiser. He looks at the two younger dogs and thinks to himself, “What a bunch of idiots.” He tells Lucy to put her paw up between her eyes and he pokes her eyes with the legendary Moe like move we all know and love.

Don’t laugh. I’ve see him do it.

SONY DSCIf you are a dog owner you’ll agree with my following thought: You know what your dog is thinking just by looking at him. The same can be said if he looks at you. There’s an unspoken language between a human being and a dog. Or, if we can be more intimate – an unspoken language between a parent and child.

Sarge knows by my facial expressions, my posture, hand gestures and voice pitch exactly what I’m saying to him. He’ll tilt his head to the left when I ask him questions, especially if the words, “Ride, cookie, eat, Lucy, Crusher, kiss or daddy” are involved.

He knows when his parents ache either from sadness or a physical wound. He’ll lay right by your side and protect you. He’ll also stick his body between my husband and I. He’ll also stick his body between Lucy and I. And, we can’t forget Crusher. Being the male puppy in the family, Sarge definitely puts his body between Crusher and I whenever there is a moment of hugging, praising, or kisses involved.

He’s extremely protective of me. I am grateful for this fact.

Lucy is Larry (even though she’s a girl)

Lucy’s nickname was lovingly given by my husband. “Lucy-fer,” “Satan,” or Devil-Dog,”   dug holes, jumped on people, and was much harder to potty train than Sarge. Lucy also l947_4847695959170_1278693173_niked to eat poop. Not to be gross here, but if you’re a dog owner you can relate to this concept. Lucy had this sixth sense about her….kind of like a pig looking for truffles. She’d find dog poop. Anyone else’s but her own and start eating at it. This led to me condemning her to her crate since the stench was unbearable. A medication from the vet soon cleared that up! She had other bad habits, but frankly, I’m so into the moment with the little guy, Crusher, I truly think Lucy is an angel. She’s also the runt of the group, and I’m trying to fatten her up.

Crusher is DEFINITELY Curly

Now almost ten months old, he has been our biggest challenge. Even with dog obedience training, he is way too smart for his own good. He has managed to climb onto patio tables even after we have positioned the patio chairs to look like Stonehenge. He drinks beer. He’s German. I should have expected that.

He likes to jump onto the birdbath and drink the dirty, bird shit water. In the winter, he does the same stunt, but eats snow instead. He has a fondness for hard plastic. I don’t mean dog toys. There are plenty in the yard for them to play with.

No.

194546_10200216132114896_1988839105_oCrusher likes to eat downspouts. He likes to chew and rip up the plastic cover for our gas grill. And, the firepit cover is now a jigsaw puzzle. Let’s not forget electrical wires, branches and stones. He’s brought in plenty of big stones for me as gifts.

He’s such a giver.

He’s jumped from moving cars to catch squirrels…..or to save a small child from an evil villain…or give me a heart attack.

He likes sparkly things which makes me think he has a feminine side to him. I had placed  glass stones, no bigger than a tack, on each staircase after I had stenciled them. Yes, I did a Pinterest DIY.

I had noticed several months later that a lot of them were missing. I had plenty of extras, so I started replacing them while Crusher was watching. When I saw him watching me, my gut just told me that these little sparkly things were gonna be lunch for him at some point.

It only took 30 minutes, and I’m completely serious about the timing here, when I noticed he meticulously picked them off of the steps and had eaten them.

Crusher had bedazzled crap. You can’t make a craft out of that shit, and you can make this shit up. No pun intended.

The boys like to hoard their toys. They take them from poor Lucy and put them in a pile to protect them. I give one of the toys to Lucy who just graciously gives it up again to one of the male dogs. What a push over – she’s on her own now.

I love all my “kids.” They each have their own special personality for which I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Whether they are sick, wound up like a spinning top, jump on me and try to bite my face or make me vacuum my home every other day, I don’t care.

They provide unconditional love. They listen to me and don’t talk back (well, Crusher does sometimes), and they never ask for money.

They only ask for love. And food.

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