The criminals had been watching this neighborhood for several days. They observed every movement, noted when the lights went on, when they went off, who came and who left. Their target was simple — a house at the end of the street, old, peeling, with faded blue window frames. An elderly woman lived there, someone few people knew. But the thieves knew more than they should.
The neighbors foolishly let slip that the old woman had a son who lived far away but sent her money every month. She didn’t trust banks and hid cash under her mattress. “Old school,” they said. That was the last straw — too easy a target.
At night, fully equipped, wearing black masks and gloves, the thieves approached the house. They didn’t want to risk breaking the door — too noisy. They decided to sneak in through an old window that, according to their observations, hadn’t closed properly in a long time. Breaking in took only a couple of minutes. Everything was going according to plan.
But a moment before they climbed inside, they noticed something strange — and deeply regretted what they were doing. 
Continuation in the first comment 
The house looked dark, as it should at night, but deep in the hallway there was some movement. One of them stopped, looked closely — and froze. Out of the darkness, eyes were staring at him. Big, calm, confident. Not human. A beast’s.
The next second everything happened too fast.
Out of the hallway, with a furious growl, a huge Alabai burst out. The dog raced across the wooden floor with incredible speed and in just seconds was already by the window. One of the thieves didn’t even manage to react — he fell backward; the second one darted away but stumbled.
The old woman, awakened by the noise, didn’t panic. She grabbed her phone and called the police. “Yes, I have thieves. But don’t worry, the dog is already dealing with them,” she said calmly into the receiver.
By the time the patrol arrived, one thief was lying on the floor with a torn leg, the other was sitting in the corner, pressed against the wall, too scared to move.
The huge Alabai stood between them like a guard, without making a sound, but every glance from him said one thing: one more step — and you’ll regret it.
Later it turned out that the woman’s son, an officer of the canine unit, had given her this dog after her husband’s death. “Let him protect you, Mom,” he told her then. And the dog lived up to that trust.
The events shocked even the police officers themselves. They expected to find a frightened old woman — but instead found a calm hostess serving the officers tea, and beside her feet lay the hero of that night — the fierce and loyal Alabai.