Sixteen year old Bernie didn’t just love dogs, he knew dogs. There can’t have been a dog in the town that Bernie at some stage hadn’t hugged. Be it a yapping Pekingese or a regal Irish Setter, each had been cuddled by Bernie.
And it was such a surprise too that he could be so tender. His father was in prison for goodness knows what and how many crimes. His mother had been in and out of prison, and in and out of the courtroom. Hopeless parents! But Bernie was a wonder! The bad kid turned good because he had a soft spot for dogs!
Bernie offered (for a small fee) to take business guard dogs for frequent runs. It was always great to have a guard dog watching over a factory or plant, but taking it for walks was a nuisance. Bernie’s offer to the businesses was a godsend. Often Bernie could be seen trotting along with a couple of Alsatians and a Rottweiler. Even a bunch of Pitbull Terriers!
“I don’t know what you’re doing to those dogs of mine,” said Harry, the manager of Carter and Carter, to Bernie. “I’ve got two Rottweilers on guard and the place has been broken into three times in the last two months.”