Thursday, December 2, 2010

A Man's Best Friend

This is my dad’s story. This happened to him around four years ago. I believe a story like this is better in the first person, so I’ll be typing it as if I were my dad.

I own and run a micro microbrewery in Boston. We’re a tiny brewery, but we make some damn fine beer. I’ve run my business for nearly a decade located in Dorchester. For those of you unfamiliar with the Boston area Dorchester is one of only a few semi seedy areas in the Boston area. Up until the night in which this story occurs, I never had any troubles.

Owning your own business is a lot of work. I am there at all hours, day and night. I actually enjoy working overnight occasionally because there is less stress, and fewer disruptions than when during the day when I have to deal with shipments, and my few employees, and the phones, etc. Usually when I work in the early morning hours I take my bullmastiff, Sampson, along to keep me company.

For those of you unfamiliar with bullmastiff’s, Google them. They were bred to guard estates, and according to Wikipedia, attack and immobilize poachers. They’re large, mean looking dogs. However, Sampson is a teddy bear. He never once growled at anyone we’ve ever had at the house. He barks occasionally, but usually it is at his reflection in the window.

When I work alone I usually have the radio blasting. This particular evening was no different. Sampson and I were working late and it was around 3:00am when Sampson went nuts. He began barking like a lunatic and growling as if he were Cerberus. I find him and he’s standing in front of the supply closet door, glaring at it.

I have a .38 special in my office and with it in hand I moved to open the supply closet door. Sampson sensing my intentions puts his 130 pounds against my leg, pushing me away from the door. I don’t want to call the cops before checking the closet, because what if there isn’t anyone in there, or what if Sampson found a mouse or rat or something. I try to open the door again, and Sampson turns on me, and takes a nip at my hand. He missed and I’m sure he missed on purpose. It was like a warning nip, almost like he was saying “Hey, idiot. There’s someone bad in there.”

I can’t decide what to do at first. Then I call out. “Whoever is in the closet, come out or I’ll let my dog inside and close the door behind him. Nothing. I try again. “Maybe, I’ll just unload with my .38 special through the door, and then let the dog in.” Then I hear a voice, which really surprises me. I was certain Sampson was going nuts over nothing. The man says, don’t shoot. I tell the man not to try to leave the closet or my dog would kill him.

I’m on the phone with the police immediately, leaving Sampson to guard the door. Within a few minutes the police are there, and I get Sampson under control, and the police get the guy out of the closet. Here’s the thing, the man was carrying s six inch bowie knife, like the type Rambo used. If not for Sampson, I might be dead. He’s our family hero.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Wow that story gave me chills. Did you ever discover how the intruder got into your closet in the first place?