Mastiff

He guards the front lawn as if it is his mediaeval fort.

His gleaming chain sparking in threw sunlight as he marches the boundary fence.
His eyes narrow suspiciously at the passing boys, a growing growl tickles the back of his throat, attempting to turn them away.

Slowly retreating to his stump, his eyes never lowered, his gaze never wavered.

Boring into your faceless soul.

Erratic Behaviour