The Incident with the Slightly Used Rhino

Arthur opened his front door to a package, as he often did. This one, however, was rather large and, upon closer inspection, appeared to be breathing. "Morning," said the delivery man, adjusting his cap. "Sign here for one slightly used rhinoceros."

Arthur squinted at the large, grey animal now occupying his porch swing. It snorted, dislodging a garden gnome, which shattered with a surprisingly delicate tinkle. "Is it house-trained?" he asked, not breaking eye contact with the delivery man.

"Says here 'mostly'," the man replied, tapping his electronic pad. "Comes with a year's supply of ethically sourced acacia leaves and a rather stern warning about excessive trumpeting during quiet hours."

Arthur sighed, a sound barely audible over the rhino's contented chewing on his prize-winning petunias. "Right. Well, one can't argue with 'mostly', I suppose. Just make sure it doesn't try to use the Wi-Fi. We're on a strict data cap this month. And it shouldn't graze on the petunias."

The delivery man nodded, handed Arthur a stylus, and watched him sign. "Anything else today, Mr. Finch?"

Arthur surveyed his now petunia-less porch, the contented rhino, and the scattered fragments of his gnome. "No, I think that covers it. Unless you've got a spare garden gnome in your van. This one's clearly past its prime."