Pencil couldn’t take it anymore. „I’m more than just another dog. I’m Pencil, I’m an artist. I should have a career!“ but Joe just said, „Hey, what is it? Stop barking, buddy.“ and shook his head. „I don’t know what got into him, usually he is pretty calm and playful.“ Pencil stormed out of the room. He was outraged. „Stupid human. I will show you what I’m capable of! Say good-bye to your good boy!“
He already had a plan. His owner had a peculiar quirk. Every room in his apartment had a certain color. From time to time he would spread toys in the apartment and make Pencil bring them back into the right room. „Good booooy, good boy!“ is what Joe would always say when Pencil completed the task. „You just wait.“ Pencil thought as he was carrying a plastic frog to the green living room. „Where’s that box of art supplies…“
The very next time Joe went out, Pencil sneaked under the bed, took a brush and colors out of a dusty cardboard box, and began implementing his well-concocted scheme. „Just a stroke. That’ll make him see.“ he thought to himself, smearing some pink on a towel in the all-red bathroom. It felt so good. „Wow. Ok, just a second one. To make it clear!…“
Suddenly, Pencil heard the front door squeak. Joe was home. Pencil was paralyzed – how much time just went by! He stopped moving and sat upright in the bathtub. There was nothing he could do now. The damage was done.
Pencil had flown into a frenzy.