Greetings, future servant. My name is Jericho. I'm somewhere between 9 months and 47 years old in dog years, and I'm looking for a human who is emotionally stable enough to handle my particular brand of wonderful, glorious chaos.
What I bring to the table:
Now for the Fine Print (Read: The Dealbreakers):
Your Responsibilities as My Human:
You are not adopting a dog. You are taking on an unpaid internship where the main goal is to keep me from becoming a tiny menace. Structure is my love language. Training is my currency. If you leave me to my own devices, I will treat your home like a one-dog demolition derby. My kennel is a non-negotiable safe space for your furniture and my well-being.
(A Vaguely Alarming Summary of My "Talents")
|
Subject |
Grade |
Comments |
|
Cuddling Physics |
A+ |
Can and will fit 55 lbs of dog onto any lap, at any time. Your personal space is a myth. |
|
Vocal Performance |
A++ |
The lead (and only) singer in an opera of his own creation. It never ends. |
|
Impulse Control |
D- |
Has the attention span of a goldfish. Squirrels are his mortal enemy and must be screamed at. |
|
Group Projects (Canine) |
C |
Plays with the subtlety of a linebacker. Requires teammates with excellent health insurance. |
|
Interspecies Relations |
F- |
Permanently expelled from the feline diplomacy program. It was a bloodbath. (Figuratively). |
|
Home Economics |
F |
Believes all unattended items are chew toys. Your house is a buffet. The crate is not a suggestion. |
|
Emotional Blackmail |
A+ |
Weaponizes his good looks to make you forget he's a tiny, furry agent of chaos. It's his superpower. |
Bottom Line:
Don't adopt me if you want an easy dog. Adopt me if you want a legend. A hilarious, loving, high-maintenance weirdo who will be your best friend, your shadow, and your personal space invader for life.