Three Dog Night: Welcome to the Crazy Train!

As I watched my 50 pound puppy lean over the bed at 4 a.m. and barf yet another dishcloth, I began to question my sanity.
Had I finally lost what was left of the marbles rattling around in my brain?
Had my Trump Derangement Syndrome hit fevered pitch, and turned me into the crazy lady who pays for dog food with pennies?
At 63, what was I thinking inviting a chocolate lab puppy to join the roster.
Did I really need a third dog?
Me, with a wonky hip and knee combo, a husband who can barely walk thanks to old football injuries, and an errant one and a half year old Pearl, the Mini Aussie from Hell who acts like a sergeant major scaring small children as they dismount the school bus.
It was Scott's fault.
After we lost Finnigan, he claimed he couldn't do another big dog, so we got Pearl. Then he started literally bawling because he missed the big nose giving him a wet willy while he sipped his Scotch at night.
Truth be told, I missed the big goof, too, and I eagerly agreed to get the puppy Viggo, named after my late Danish horn blowing friend, who was himself a rascal.
I've trained at least a dozen pups in my lifetime, and they usually calm down and get trained in a couple of months. But I hadn't factored in the Aussie element. I've heard that the best way to train a puppy is to have slightly older dog, not six year old Sophie the pug whose resting face is well, resting most of the time. No, the theory goes, you need a good smart young dog to train another one.
Bullshit.
This was the worst idea ever.
Having a mini Aussie train a Lab is a little like getting the Joker to train the Penguin while Batman is skinny dipping with Robin in the Caribbean.
It's mayhem, I tell you, mayhem.
They play fight all day long. They double team me, with one distracting me while the other snatches butter from the counter. They add to the terror on the faces of the children on the other side of the fence.
And they keep me up all friggin' night.
Viggo isn't a great barker. No, he has this annoying whistle he makes that is somewhat like a dog whistle for humans. It is upper register, and it makes my skin crawl. Every five minutes
For the past six months, I've been operating on a less than an optimum amount of sleep, made worse by the fact that Scott works shift work and gets up at 4 a.m. or goes to bed at 6.
So the dogs barely get REM themselves.
Pearl is an agitator, a whipper-upper of young dogs who do not realize they are 50 pounds. She scoots in and out from between chairs, jumps over benches and runs at lightening speed. Viggo lopes awkwardly, like a wounded Zebra with poor vision.
As a result, Viggo has had more concussions than an NFL quarterback.
At the cottage, he almost broke a leg trying to keep up with her.
Add to that Viggo's insistence on carrying on the proud Lab tradition of inhaling then regurgitating textiles.
He has become a fetishist of epic proportions, preferring nylon undies, though he recently scarfed down a pair of Scott's Calvin Kleins, which was quite a feat considering the size of them. He yacked them back up, fortunately, all covered in slime and bile, and presented us with large smelly loose stools for a week.
This episode earned him the nickname Captain Underpants.

And now, he is in heat.
Oh, joy! Oh, bliss!
He spends his indoor time humping Sophie, and begs at the door to go out at least every five minutes while he is awake, to ensure he doesn't miss a nice piece of tail on her morning constitutional.
I'm not a fan of most variety of balls, but his look like they might be served on a $200 plate by Gordon Ramsay. Instead of being furry, they are out for the world to see, all pink and hopeful.
It makes me literally gag when I see him waving them in Sophie's poor little pug face.
I can't wait for them to get snipped.

Now don't get me wrong, I don't regret getting Viggo.
I know that he and Pearl will settle down eventually.
Hopefully before Trump get impeached.
But in both cases, I'm not sure I can wait that long.
The Crazy Train has arrived and I'm getting ready to board it.