Nothing says I love you like a bed full of piss


I made the mistake of giving Bones 15 minutes of unsupervised time this morning while I took a shower and brushed my teeth. My reward? A little weasel of a dog wriggling under my comforter, urinating on my sheets. I selected a few choice explatives and let them fly.

Dog, meet crate.

But apparently, pissing in my bed wasn't enough. He went through the extra effort of going to the other bedroom, and pissing on the sheets in there too. Way to make a positive impression, buddy!

So Thursday Mr. Bones is off to the vet, to have the ole' nuts chopped off, then it's off to his new home in Savannah. And no, not at Betsy's place. At this point, he's just lucky he's not being served up as sweet and sour pork.

But at least I'm not bitter.