I'd Love To, But My Dog Said No

I hadn’t intended to write a blog about my dogs this morning, but poor Moe is feeling puny today. I thought he was better, after a messy Monday, and a normal Tuesday. His nose is cold and wet, he ate his dinner last night like always – fast and furious, so when he woke me up this morning at 2am, I thought it was because Pearl, his little big sister, was in his favorite spot.
Get this – I pushed the two twin beds together in the back bedroom because it has a better view than the front bedroom. I traded the sound of the waves from the open deck door off the front room (plus a bright street light) for the shade of the big live oaks off the back room. Silly me thought the four of us would have lots of room, right? No, instead the three pups snuggle up as tight as they can and we’ve been sleeping on a twin size bed for the last month. Unless I sleep on the crack where the mattresses are pushed together, one mattress is left empty.
They make a mad dash under the covers as soon as I pull back the covers to claim the best spots – the favorite spot seems to be smushed against my chest, second spot is curled up against my calves, and the least favorite – since we are on a twin – is pressed against my back on the outside edge. I realized after a few minutes Moe wasn’t whining because he wanted to be spooned – he was telling me his stomach hurt.

I made a CVS run at 3am for Pepto and white rice with all three dogs in the rolling doghouse so they wouldn’t bark at being left at such a weird hour – because they would – and wake the neighbors. I had to pour the pink stuff down Moe’s throat, but he ate an hour later. I thought that would be the end of it – but I’ve been cleaning up little mounds of pink, puky rice since 6am. I don’t think it’s anything serious, fingers crossed/knock on wood, but I hate to see him hurting.
Yes, I might be a little bit obsessed with my dogs. I admit it, but these sweet little things depend on me for everything. I can’t leave the house without telling them where I’m going and how long I’ll be gone. I never put them in their kennels without giving them each a goodbye kiss on the top of their knotty little heads.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m getting older and know that my baby making days are over or because of everything I’ve been through the last few years, but these three pups are my world.
I don’t want to take away from the bond I had with my first dog, Fat Albert, a red weenie dog (what all true Southerners call Dachshunds) who thought he was a German Shepherd. I loved him something fierce – he was my buddy. I got him when I was five years old and he was small enough to fit in my hands, promised my mama that if she let me have him I wouldn’t cry every morning because I had to go to kindergarten. But instead of crying because I had to go to school – I cried because I couldn’t take my dog.

Seriously, looking back, I’m surprised my mama didn’t take me out in the woods and dump me somewhere and keep my dog. Fat Albert was a good dog and a great friend, but, Moe, Curly and Pearl are like my kids.
They are way too smart for their own good – Curly has a slick move when he wants to sit beside me on the sofa but the other two are settled in on each side of me. He’ll run to the window and bark, causing the other two to hop up and investigate. Then Curly runs back to hop on the sofa in one of the empty warm spots.
When it’s time for dinner and I’m distracted, they herd me to the kitchen straight to their empty bowls. Pearl in the lead and the two boys directly behind me – prodding me with their noses on the backs of my legs. Moe will look at the clock on the stove, turn back to me, like, “Don’t you see what time it is?”
When I sit too long in front of the computer, especially when I’m writing and an hour can turn into six, Curly will nudge me out of the chair and remind me to eat something. Sometimes he’ll herd me to the sink so I’ll drink a glass of water. He waits until I’m drinking before he quits giving me “the look”. It’s hard to believe but it’s true. If it’s getting late and I’ve been writing too long, Moe will fuss until I get ready for bed.
Moe is a talker. He can say I love you, Mama, and the word no as clear as day. Pearl and Curly aren’t talkers like their brother, but they tell me in other ways.
So when I call my friend in a couple of hours to cancel dinner tonight I hope he understands. I hate to cancel – he’s flying in to Jacksonville from Nashville for something else – and we planned to meet a few weeks ago. I was really looking forward to it – it’s not like we can reschedule for another day since I’ve moved away – but Moe needs me.
And I need my Moe.