...are interesting to me. I've had three...Dobermans, that is. Many stories about each have crossed my mind since I started conjuring up this thread OP. Fritz was a minature. (...in the 50's when I was a young lad) Red was a rescued friend. (...in the late 70's when I was a wild man) Skeeter was a registered, six week old gift from the shop crew...after Red died. (...again in the late 70's when I owned the world) I would ask which bitch you'd like to hear about first, but then I'd be presumptuous. I'll start with Fritz. He wasn't actually a bitch. He was the cute, little, 'trimmed', male, miniature Doberman that we got after 'Bootsie' died. I must have been 10 or so. I didn't have as much of an attachment to him as I did Skeeter some 20 years later, but I do remember Fritz scarin' the shit out of several people. He wasn't more than nine inches tall, but fast as a rabbit and could scoot around on the carpet between people's feet like he knew they weren't gonna step on him. The delivery man for the cleaners was most particularly afraid of the dog. (This was back in the days when the cleaners would deliver to your front door...and sometimes bring the clothes inside and hang them in a closet for you.) Mr. M hated Fritz....cuz Fritz would bark and act protective when Mr. M rang the bell. Sometimes if Fritz was in the back of the house when Mr. M rang, Mr. M would crack the door open and ask, "Is the dog in?" Then there was the time when the cabinet maker came to finish the kitchen cabinets. He was a tall, lanky guy in blue/white striped coveralls and lace up boots...with a rule in one, long pocket and a hammer hangin' on tother side. Fritz commenced to barkin' at him on arrival one day and he jumped back like a snake was chasin' him. I said, "Fritz won't bite ya. He just likes to make noise." The man said, "No. you don't understand. If he nips my leg, I'll die right here." He pulled up his trouser leg and showed me his bare leg. The vein runnin' up the side of his calf was just as big around as his calf was. I don't know what you call that condition, but I know it exists. My gawd! That man had huge veins! I think the only time I saw my daddy cry was when Fritz died. I'll tell ya 'bout the other dogs later. Meanwhile, why don't you all tell me some good Doberman stories. I don't want to hear shit about bad dogs and people gettin' kilt. Just tell me some good Doberman stuff. (Pssssst! You will not believe the stories 'bout Skeeter!