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“Jim, I’m scared with you being away from home so much of the time,” forty-one-year-old Norma Fletcher told her Salesman husband after the divorcee next-door was beaten, robbed and r#ped in her own bedroom. “And don’t suggest a gun. You know I’m deathly afraid of them. The police can’t watch every house every minute of every night, and I just won’t feel safe until that prowler is caught. I ought to have some kind of protection when you’re not here. What do you think of a watchdog?”
“Good idea, honey,” Norma’s husband agreed, and that afternoon he took her and Barry, his eleven-year-old son by a previous marriage, shopping for a watchdog.
“I’ve got just what you’re looking for,” the dog breeder said, and he led them around to the rear of his kennels. He showed them a full-grown male Mastiff.
“He looks more like a pony than a dog!” Norma gasped.
“Probably eats like a horse, too,” her husband mumbled.
The dog breeder explained that the Mastiff was an ancient breed, a ferocious fighting dog that was used in numbers by the Roman Legions, and later in Europe to kill wolves that ventured near small villages at night. But for all its ferocity, he assured them, the Mastiff was always very affectionate and devoted to its owners, and made not only a good family pet but a watchdog perfect in every way, not just a barker but a real protector of the home.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.