The Night Dog… His Story

This article was originally published in Showsight Magazine, August 2014 issue.

The Night Dog… His Story

On tough, tight feet and well-developed legs, he treads softly across the marshy ground. He is lighter framed and leaner at ninety pounds than his descendants will be in the years to come.

Large, vigorous, blocky-headed, and powerful, he is an intimidating, fierce adversary to those who would invade his domain and challenge him. The blood of many dubious ancestors flows in his veins, but soon, this one they call the Night Dog will be unique—a historically significant breed, taking his place amongst the finest in the world.

For now, he is a capable hunter and tracker. He inhales deeply, thoughtfully filtering the scents that drift on the breeze as it rustles through the trees and bushes. He is tense and alert. These grounds are his realm, and he has established complete authority to wander freely and without restraint.

Well-used muscles surge as he slinks between trees, leaping effortlessly over windfalls and quietly dipping into shallow creeks and boggy lowlands. His short, dark coat, intriguingly striped, fades easily into the shadows as late day turns gently into twilight.

Then, quite suddenly, the silent specter emerges several yards further along the pathway, his inspection of the immediate area seemingly complete. At the edge of the trail, he stands motionless, watchfully casting glances to the right and left. Drop ears fold haphazardly and lift, easily distinguishing the alluring smells of the roaming wildlife from another presence.

That pungent smell, when it comes, will permeate his nostrils, and deep within his brain, an unforgettable memory will emerge. For the moment, the gentle winds hovering over the manor land are harmless, carrying a mixture of animal odors, rotting vegetation, and newly leafed stately trees soaring upwards to the available light.

Twisting his body slightly, he surveys another sector, peering into the underbrush. Then, with practiced deftness, he steps soundlessly into the thick invasive growth to examine the region on the opposite side of the path. Only the slightest crack of a twig belies his location, and never does he give voice to indicate his position.

He is strong, determined, and self-assured, independently able to scrutinize the vastness of this land. When he materializes once again far down the path, an enormous body shake causes ears to flap crazily, scattered water droplets glistening briefly in the waning rays of the sun that streak earthward through the heavy overhead canopy.

Scanning the track, he breaks into an even, light-footed trot, retracing his steps along the well-worn path, intent on the familiar figure walking toward him. The gamekeeper too honors the distinctive trait of steady but muted footfall.

High-topped leather boots and somewhat threadbare breeches are testimony to his ever-vigilant guardianship of the master’s forest. A long-barreled rifle is carried easily, slung over one arm and safely pointed downward. A coarse, woolen jacket and protective cap complete his durable but less-than-fashionable appearance.

This man in his hunting garb might well be a saint, so delighted is the dog to be in his presence. The two exchange the pleasantries of friends that are acutely tuned to one another: a scratch, a special pat, the battering of a tail gone wild, a few murmured “good boys,” joining the raspy low growls of contentment. The joyous moment is over.

As day slips easily into night, in a synchronized instant, gamekeeper and Night Dog return to the task at hand. Protecting the vast arboreal forests from the unscrupulous poachers who would kill and steal the master’s wildlife is a daunting challenge—but one easily faced by these two companions.

Both are intuitively aware of each other’s gestures and body language. Moving aggressively now along the trail, they search and listen for the clues that will warn them of the danger and trespass of a stranger.

The poacher is often a desperate man. Penniless and with many hungry mouths at home, he must invade the sanctuary of the estate lands to find and kill game to feed a starving family. The unforgiving manor lord is not willing to share his bounty, the wild creatures being his for sport shooting.

Ignoring the inevitable tragedy of the situation, the pair forges onward, listening and probing the forest for signs of an intruder. Shortly, they both detect the obvious sounds of an animal in distress. The bleating and thrashing in the distant thickets is unmistakable.

The dog does not wait for a signal. All of his senses are heightened, instinct awakens, and bright images flash intensely in his mind as he rockets into the woods. With incredible fleetness and agility, combined with a remarkably stealthy footfall, he interrupts the impending butchery.

The poacher is unaware of his assailant, he being crouched over the body of a young doe caught in a wire leg snare. The doe thrashes helplessly on her side, moaning, ribs heaving, and with one knee on her neck for control, the poacher raises a dirty, encrusted knife preparing to sever her throat.

Without warning, a dark projectile slams the thief to the ground with enormous force, the knife thrust from his hand. There was no sound and there was no time to flee.

On his back, rotting teeth exposed as he attempts a ragged scream, the poacher stares straight into the black eyes of a demon. The dog masterfully straddles his opponent and heavily breathes hot, moist air from his huge lungs onto the terrified face.

Wide panting jaws slowly drip saliva, mixing with facial grime and forming ragged streaks of filth that crisscross the disheveled features of his victim. Large teeth are defined behind black lips and a pink tongue hangs precariously close to exposed skin.

Panic obliterates the poacher’s mind and leaves him breathless with fear.

A moment later, the gamekeeper has reached the scene. He extracts a special potion from his knapsack and skillfully treats the lacerations on the doe’s leg while the dog maintains his dominant stance over his victim.

The wire is cut, and the doe is released to join her dappled youngster, standing trembling some distance away, frightened and bewildered by a seemingly mad dog and a man who somehow extricates his mother relatively unharmed from this horror that he has witnessed.

As the pair nuzzles each other for comfort, the doe glances over her shoulder once and then leads her baby deep into the protection of the forest, white tails flashing as they quickly vanish.

Their freedom is elusive. It will be jeopardized again.

At the appropriate moment, the dog steps away and unnervingly fixes menacing eye contact on his captive. The gamekeeper, with the able assistance of his night dog, will lead the poacher at gunpoint to the local law enforcement and subsequent imprisonment.

The poacher has met the Night Dog. His family will suffer the consequences of this fateful night.

As the years progress, the Night Dog will become a breed with a name, maintaining his development and proud heritage with England. Imposing, majestic, and extraordinary, the Bullmastiff will come of age.

He will captivate, charm, and amaze us with his magnificence. His protection and security for the future will be our passion and purpose.