17/06/2025
"What Is a Doberman?"
A Doberman is a large, black-and-rust creature that weighs somewhere between 70 and 100 pounds and is blessed with both brains and opinions. Smart? Yes. Trainable? Absolutely. But don’t let that fool you - this dog is always two steps ahead of you.
They’re low-maintenance when it comes to grooming but high-maintenance in terms of schemes. Dobermans are masters of human manipulation. Give them five minutes and they’ll negotiate a couch, steal a snack, and convince another dog to surrender its toy, all while making direct eye contact.
Most of the time? They’re bold, bratty, and just a little spoiled.
Until about 18 months of age, their brains are still not there YET. You’ll look into their eyes and see… wind. Smoke. The chaos of toddler energy packed into a muscular cannonball. Did they just steal a bag of holiday chocolates off the top shelf? Yep. Did they at least unwrap them before eating? Absolutely - they are not stupid.
Floor sleeping? Pfft. Please. Chairs, couches, beds - especially your bed - are the only acceptable sleeping zones. Bonus points for stealing your blanket when you are still trying to sleep.
They’re fast, twitchy, and dramatic. If your dog doesn’t heel properly and suddenly sees a cat, pigeon, or - God forbid - a rabbit, you will fly. Banana clusters will grow in your ears from the G-force of that leash yank.
Are they stubborn? Not quite. They're determined. IF Dobermans decides not to move, they plant her butt, spin their radar-dish ears, and dare you to change their mind. “I’m not doing it. I don’t want to. You can’t make me.”
Shedding? Oh yes!!! Tiny needle hairs will be everywhere: floor, couch, bed, socks, soul. Get a vacuum. A strong one. Maybe two. Trust me - I have a few.
Eating habits? Omnivorous chaos. Puppies will sample everything: shoes, walls, doorframes, your wallet with credit cards and driver's licenses, and - ta-da! prescription glasses. Adults eat what they’re given. Some prefer steak. Others enjoy… less noble options (girls are especially “adventurous”). But don’t worry. Eventually, their brains arrive, and your house stops being a crime scene. Well, hopefully...
Solutions: get a crate, train like your life depends on it, and exercise your young delinquent until they pass out mid-walk.
Dobermans are Velcro dogs. They follow you everywhere. Kitchen, bathroom, shower - doesn’t matter. A closed door is a personal insult. “Why are you in there? WITHOUT ME?!”
They beg with the elegance of a starving poet. “You’re eating without me? Can you live with yourself?” Their eyes burn holes into your soul. “Every meal you make… every bite you take… I’LL BE WATCHING YOU.”
Sleeping with a Doberman? You start the night sharing a blanket. Wake up cold and alone, because the Doberman left… with the blanket.
They gallop down hallways like horses when you come home. Guests are greeted with full-body tackles and Doberman declarations of love. Children? Confusing creatures. Dobermans aren’t sure what they are or why they steal toys. But they do enjoy the chaos they cause.
A Doberman nose will appear while you’re washing your face. It drinks from the faucet, inspects the trash, and silently questions your hygiene. It opens bins, finds hidden food, and forages like a gourmet raccoon. It knows exactly which pocket has treats. Yours. Always yours.
And if -"oh no!" -you left your jacket lying around with those treats still inside the pockets? Well, that’s on you. If your Doberman can’t get to the goodies the civilized way, it will do what any self-respecting criminal mastermind would do: improvise. Teeth become scissors, pockets become tunnels, and your once-lovely jacket? Now features a designer treat-access hole.
There will be snoring. There will be twitching legs. There will be 95 pounds of trembling Doberman trying to climb on your lap during a thunderstorm, whispering, “I’m not scared. I’m just… supporting you.”
A Doberman is charm, mischief, and unearned confidence rolled into one.
That smile they give you in the morning? Pure joy. Pure Doberman.
I’ve loved this breed for exactly ten years.
But I don’t recommend them to anyone.
Because unless you’re ready to live with every glorious disaster I just described…
You don’t need a Doberman.
