Lunchbox is being the Devil.
Sometimes she looks so sweet and fat and innocent, like this:
But it is a trick. The dog is posessed. She is terribly bad. She pees on things for spite:
That's right, Lunchbox, hide your nose in shame. Your Mommy is going to show everyone what you've done.
I crawled in my bed a minute ago with Dream Brother (the somewhat sketchy but interesting Tim/Jeff Buckley biography) and discovered that there were pretty little Rorshac pee-blots on my beautiful red sheets.
I need to talk to you, Lunchbox.
Please do not look away.
No, seriously, we need to talk. I'm going to roast you like a pig if you do not stop being malicious.
(You can see the deep concern in her eyes. She has no idea what I'm saying.)
Please pray for Lunchbox. If this pattern continues, I believe I will have to put her on the Dog Rotisserie and cook her little fat legs until she understands-- Urine is not our friend.