Oh. Hi. I didn’t mean to interrupt your scrolling. I was just over here… quietly existing. Gracefully. Calmly. Like a fluffy cloud with legs. Hi, I’m Panda. Yes, like the bear. No, I do not roll down hills for fun (unless morale requires it). I specialize in the art of serenity. I am calm. I am gentle. I am the canine equivalent of warm tea and a cozy blanket on a rainy day. That doesn’t mean I’m boring. Excuse you. I simply don’t feel the need to cartwheel off furniture to prove my worth. I prefer a thoughtful stroll, a polite sniff, and then a well-timed lean against your leg so you understand that I love you without me having to shout about it. I enjoy lounging near my people, watching the world go by, and offering moral support during important activities like snack preparation. I’m gentle with my affection, sweet in my nature, and I take my role as “good boy” very seriously.
Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Panda. I am 2.5 years old. I weigh 113 pounds. That’s not “big.” That’s “majestic.” Please adjust your vocabulary accordingly. I came to rescue because my previous owner had a medical issue that made it impossible for her to continue caring for me. That part isn’t dramatic — just life being unfair sometimes. She loved me very much, and now the nice rescue people are helping me find my next chapter. A calm, stable, forever chapter. I would love a home that understands large guardian breeds — the kind of home that doesn’t expect robotic obedience but appreciates quiet devotion. I don’t need constant entertainment. I don’t need a marathon training schedule. I need steady companionship, a secure space to stretch these long legs, and humans who understand that sometimes I’m not ignoring you… I’m just thinking.
Ah. Yes. We are discussing succession plans. Please gather round.
I, Panda — 2.5 years old, 113 pounds of majestic Great Pyrenees mix — have spent my life as the undisputed ruler of my realm. I did not campaign for this position. I was simply born enormous and emotionally stable. When you are built like a medieval war horse and move through life like a dignified snow cloud, you do not share the throne. You are the throne. Other dogs? In my kingdom? Listen. I wish them well. I truly do. May they find prosperity. May their bowls always be full. But I do not require a co-king, a court jester, or a hyperactive duke sprinting through my throne room at 7 a.m. I prefer to rule alone. I enjoy uninterrupted access to my people — my loyal subjects — who exist primarily to provide ear scratches, gentle praise, and scheduled meals. I am a fair king. A calm king. A benevolent, slightly shedding king. So yes — I would be happiest as an only dog, ruling my peaceful kingdom with quiet confidence and a steady paw. Ah yes. The feline delegation. Here’s the official royal statement: When I was around cats, I handled myself like a gentleman. I observed. I respected their bubble. I carried on with my kingly duties. If they existed peacefully, I allowed it. If they kept their distance, I appreciated it. We had an unspoken treaty. But here is the key: I am very much a “respect my space and I’ll respect yours” kind of ruler. If you have an independent, aloof cat who enjoys sunbeams, quiet judging, and personal boundaries? We could likely coexist beautifully. Two introverts sharing a castle. Passing each other in the hallway with dignified nods. No unnecessary drama. If you have a cat who wants to curl up on my head, groom my ears for three hours, or initiate spontaneous cuddle marathons? I will politely decline participation. I am affectionate with my people, yes. But I do not require a feline barnacle attached to my ribcage. To date, I have not been formally introduced to the toddler delegation. I have always resided in a calm, peaceful kingdom. Now let me be clear: I love people. Big people? Excellent. Medium people? Wonderful. People who approach calmly and offer respectful ear scratches? My favorite kind. But I am a 113-pound, 2.5-year-old Great Pyrenees mix who enjoys serenity. I do not thrive in environments where someone is shrieking because their sock feels “weird.” I do not require sudden hugs from behind. I do not enjoy being used as a jungle gym. I am a gentle giant — emphasis on gentle — but I have always lived in a peaceful realm. Being suddenly thrust into a castle filled with screaming toddlers who believe volume equals affection might not be my ideal retirement plan. Now, older kids? That’s a different story. If you have calm, respectful older children who understand that I am a majestic creature and not a bounce house — we could absolutely form a solid alliance. I would happily supervise homework sessions. I would lay nearby during movie nights. I would walk beside them like the noble guardian I am. I am affectionate. I am loyal. I am steady. I just prefer my kingdom peaceful and my subjects… emotionally regulated.
Energy level? A solid 3. Let me translate that for you. I am not a marathon runner. I am not a CrossFit instructor. I am 2.5 years old I have already outgrown the “let’s see what happens if I sprint into a wall” phase of life. I prefer efficiency. Why run when you can walk with purpose? Why leap when you can glide? I enjoy a nice stroll. I appreciate fresh air. I will absolutely accompany you outside to survey our lands. But once the mission is complete? I am ready to resume my primary hobby: existing calmly. If you are looking for a steady, low-drama, emotionally regulated giant who is perfectly content to lounge near his people and occasionally reposition his large fluffy body for optimal comfort?Congratulations. You have found your Level 3 king. Adventure-seeker or homebody? I am currently in boarding. I have a kennel. It is my chamber. My suite. The staff opens the door. They say, “Panda! Want to come out?” I look at them. I consider it. I weigh the options. Outside: unpredictable noises, other dogs doing cardio for no reason, general chaos of the peasantry. Inside: peace, quiet, my bed, my thoughts. Sometimes I step out. I’ll stretch. I’ll take a little stroll. I’ll politely exist for a bit. But before long, I’m like, “Yes, thank you, I’ve seen enough. Kindly return me to my chambers.” My kennel feels safe. It feels orderly. It feels like something I can control in a world that’s been a little uncertain lately. That little sad face? Yeah. It’s because boarding isn’t a forever plan. I’m choosing my space because it’s the only stable piece of “mine” I have right now. In a home? A real one? With a quiet routine and people who are mine? I would happily expand my kingdom beyond four kennel walls. I just need consistency. Calm. A place that feels secure. So no, I am not currently auditioning for “World Traveler of the Year.” I am a homebody at heart. Overall temperament? I am calm. Deeply calm. Philosophically calm. I am also a little timid at first. Shocking, I know — the giant polar bear mix isn’t immediately throwing himself into strangers’ arms. Give me a minute. Let me sniff the air. Let me read the vibe. Once I warm up? Then you get the soft eyes. The gentle lean. The quiet loyalty. The “I have decided you are safe and now you are mine” energy. And that kind of trust? It’s earned. It means something.
Would I thrive best with a securely fenced yard? Yes. Preferably one that respects my intelligence. Boarding is loud. Life has changed. Right now, new environments make me cautious. If I don’t feel fully settled, I might scan fences, check gates, and evaluate weak points. However. Once I feel safe? Once I trust my people? Once I know this is my home and you are my humans? My focus shifts completely. I’m not scanning the perimeter for escape routes. I’m scanning the living room to see where you went. I become people-oriented. Loyal. Grounded. Much more interested in staying near my humans than investigating the fence line. Give me security first. Then give me time. Then you will have a dog that you will still refer to as your "soul dog" even 40 years down the road.
I am fully potty-trained because I am royalty, and royalty understands etiquette. In boarding? I do very well in my kennel. However. That is like a mini house. To our knowledge, I have never been kenneled in a home setting. I am probably not the dog you immediately try to shove into a wire box on Day One while announcing, “You’ll get used to it!” Hard pass. If I am settling into a new home, what I need first is stability. Calm. Predictability. Not “let’s try confinement right away and see what happens.” Could I learn? Possibly. With patience. Slowly. Respectfully. But I am a large, polite adult dog who behaves himself. I am not a wild toddler who needs immediate containment. If you give me structure, a peaceful space, and time to decompress, I am very likely to prove that I don’t require a crate to be a good citizen. Do I chew on things I shouldn’t? No. Do I bark? Yes. I am a Great Pyrenees mix. Silence is not in the official job description. I will occasionally make a formal announcement when I deem it necessary. However, I am not out here narrating every leaf that moves.
Alright. Final royal address. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. You clearly appreciate 113 pounds of calm, emotionally complex greatness. Now. Here’s where we separate the “aw he’s sweet” scrollers from the actual main characters. If you would like to adopt me — yes, me, Panda — you will need to fill out a real adoption application at https://www.pyrpawsandfluffytailsrescue.com/adoption-app. Not a “still available?” message. Not a heart emoji. Not a psychic transmission. Why? Because it gets sent to my people so they can confirm that you are, in fact, worthy of this level of fluff and emotional depth. And once approved? You will need to come pick me up in Oklahoma City, OK.
Stop scrolling.
Fill out the application.
Secure the kingdom.
I’ll be waiting.
Majestically.
Panda
