You ever notice how some things that come in threes don't seem to work out as well as you would like? We are all aware of the phenomenon of famous people dying "in threes". You know what I'm talking about; you hear a news story about an actor or singer passing from this mortal plane, and before you know it, another one is in the news, followed soon by that mysterious third famous death announcement.
I am not trying to be morbid. I became aware of the "threes" when I was very young. Time and time again I found myself in an awkward situation with playmates. Things could be going great as two of us conquered battle after battle against the vicious German army. I was armed with an especially powerful weapon of choice that, when observed by an unknowing outsider, appeared to be an odd-shaped stick. I, however, knew that I could single handledly and simultaneously fire one hundred machine gun rounds with two smoke bombs and a grenade with one simple twist on one of the several branches that occupied one end of this spectacular piece of dried wood.
Our two-man battle could rage for hours on a summer day as we teamed up against the hordes of enemy attackers. That is, until a third playmate entered the encounter. I don't know what it is, but something happens that turns the play session into controversy. There is an imbalance of sort. Invariably, two of the three would turn on one of the others. But, if you happen to add two playmates to the mix, there seems to be more harmony. Pairs seem to work and play well with each other. I am not sure if the same is true with other species.
I noticed recently that the "rule of threes" trancends humankind and exists in the dog world. My son, Nicholas, graduated from the University of Southern Mississippi in December and was home for a couple of weeks. He brought his one year old Golden Retriever, Buster, with him. Buster is a sweet, happy, energetic dog whose body is out-growing his developing brain. He likes to play. He loves to chew on anything that will fit in his large mouth, including dog ears.
Two dogs reside at our house already. Buddy is an aging Beagle that was abused by some low-life before we rescued him from a shelter. Bear is a youthful mix of Golden Retriever and some breed that was obviously not "Golden", considering that he is as black as a moonless night. Buddy and Bear typically get along very well. Bear knows that Buddy is the leader of their small pack. Enter Buster. The calm was busted. Take each dog and pair them with one of the other two, and all is well. Put the three in the same environment and things tend to fall apart. Buddy is the smallest, yet he knows he is the boss. He is particularly bossy about food. It got to the point that human guards would be posted to oversee the three critters as they chowed down from three bowls strategically placed to prevent all-out war.
Two of the dogs could play and co-exist just fine. Add a third and harmony exited through the doggy door.
Buster has gone back to Mississippi. The calm has returned to our household, but not without a period of whining. No, it was not my whining, it was Bear and Buddy. They got over it, but I know that when "The Three B's" get back together, the "Rule of Threes" will take over again and harmony will take a vacation.
Just Denny
The Rule of Threes