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The morning routine: Cerberus is up at 6:45 A.M. on the dot. He won’t bark or whine—you will simply wake up to him at the side of the bed staring into your soul.
He gets two scoops of food in the morning and another two scoops at night. Two scoops, that’s it. He’ll wail for a third scoop, which makes sense—one scoop per head, right? But, no. Two. We’re trying to keep him lean!
Cerberus is easy to walk as long as you stick to his route. No need to learn the way beforehand—he will simply drag you along the dark and wretched path beneath the Earth’s upper crust.
We suggest taking him out four-ish times a day. Poop bags are on the table by the front door. We do use the prong collar on him. Not that it helps with the pulling. It just makes him look so fucking metal.
Our neighbors have been littering a bunch, so Cerberus has taken to eating stuff off the street when no one is looking. Be careful scrolling while strolling, because our triple-throated guy loves to use one head for loose chicken-wing bones, another for rogue garbage, and the third to fend off anyone who attempts a physical intervention.
He needs an hour of play daily. His slab of human flesh is his most prized possession, and lives under the coffee table. He doesn’t always want to engage with it. Sometimes he just wants you to know it’s there. Throw it if he brings it to you. He’ll bring it back at least once before losing interest and carrying it to his bed, where he’ll protect it for the rest of the evening.
Cerberus is not afraid of thunder and lighting. In fact, lightning and thunder are afraid of him! Enjoy perpetually clear skies and a sense of impending doom while looking after Cerberus.
If he has an accident on a rug, no worries. There’s a pet-stain remover under the sink, which, of course, does nothing. You think a scented enzyme spray called Nature’s Miracle stands a chance against anything that Nature’s Abomination spews? Paper towels are on the counter.
Bedtime is 10:30 P.M. Cerberus sleeps in his crate because it reminds him of guarding the cave between the living and the dead. Turn off the lights and act like you’re winding down, and he’ll walk into the crate on his own. In case of emergency, there’s a lyre on the nightstand that lulls him asleep.
He may randomly bark at the corner of the bedroom at 3 A.M., because he detects a demonic umbra watching you sleep. That, or he’s gotta pee.
Remember that Cerberus is all bite and no bark! Sandy and/or I will be back Monday. Text us pictures! ♦
English (US)