Some dogs look like they were born to be companions to kings and queens. Me? Absolutely not. If you look up “street urchin” in the dictionary, my picture is there. I’m 12 years old, like seven pounds soaking wet, and I look like someone took a perfectly respectable chihuahua and scotch-taped fur to it in random places. My name is Homer, which is fitting, because if you were to rock up to an ancient literature class and I were at the front, you would know two things for sure: 1. I probably wear loafers because I don’t see the value in learning to tie my own shoes, and 2. This is going to be the best class ever.

So I’ve got the look of an eccentric genius who has been doing a few too many experiments with electricity, but do I have the personality to match? Honestly? … Nah. Not really. I’m a sweet, happy, well-mannered little gentleman whose tail never stops wagging. I’m instant friends with pretty much everyone and am happy to be petted, handled, and held, even by total strangers. That’s right- if some kid runs up to you while you’re in public and says “can I pet your… uh…. teacup alpaca?” my vote is a resounding “yes.” I’ve lived with cats and other dogs and done well. In my previous home, I was able to behave myself when left alone. I’m spry and sprightly, possibly more than you’d expect from a senior like me, but I still like my naps. So if you’re looking for the dog version of an abyssal sea creature, come check me out!