I am a 32-year-old guy who rides a motorcycle, works in construction, and has a beard that scares most cashiers.

"Perfect," I thought. "A tough guy dog. He can guard the house." I named him Chopper. I bought him a thick leather collar. We were going to be intimidating.

Day one: I put Chopper’s bed near the front door so he could keep watch. At 2:00 AM, I woke up to a sound like a deflating tire. Chopper was standing by my bed, trembling, because the central AC kicked on and it spooked him. I let him sleep at the foot of the bed.

Day three: I discovered Chopper is terrified of the dark. And hardwood floors. And tin foil.

Day five: It got chilly, so I bought him a rugged, camouflage dog jacket. He froze in place and looked at me like I had betrayed him. My neighbor, an elderly woman, knitted him a soft yellow sweater with little ducks on it. He wore it for three days straight and cried when I took it off to wash it.

At the end of the week, the rescue called.

"Hey! We found a guy looking for a guard dog for his auto lot. Chopper sounds like a great fit!"

I looked at my "tough" guard dog. He was currently wearing his duck sweater, fast asleep on his back, using my favorite leather motorcycle jacket as a pillow.

"He can't guard an auto lot," I said.

"Why not? He's a big Bernese Mountain Dog."

"Because he's afraid of the dark and he needs to be tucked in at 9:00 PM," I replied. "I'm keeping him."

Foster Fail Anniversary: 3 years. Chopper now has a dedicated drawer in my dresser just for his knit sweaters.