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!


Is this the face of a demon?

I'm not so sure this is the dog for me. His level of energy is just a bit to much for my relatively even baseline of sloth. Yeah, he's cute and all, but man, can't I get a break every once in a while? I can barely sit still to type this because I'm watching to make sure that he doesn't eat something, rub the flea repellent on the sofa (you know, the stuff that says it may cause blindness if it contacts your eyes), or pees on the baseboards (found two spots already; We're going to have a 'territory' dispute pretty soon).



So we got the dog. He's cute. His name is Bones. Only problem is, he's a little too horny for his own (and Sephie's, and our furniture's) good. The allure of Sephie's hindquarters seems to overpower all other needs. Food and water are shunned. The only thing that draws him away from psychoticly chasing Sephie is psychoticly chasing a tennis ball, which he'll do for hours on end. This dog never runs out of energy.

As for 'Jizzbone', I'm sure you can figure that out.



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