Hey, hey, hey! Fuck you! My doberman was the nicest, happiest, most cat-protective dog I've ever seen. Even when he was the dog equivalent of 80-90 years-old, he'd still chase off anything that'd threaten our cats while they were outside. The only reason he died when he did, I'm sure, is because our other dog (a female black lab, basically his girlfriend) got hit under...somewhat suspect circumstances involving my father. Go figure. The change, there, was like night and fucking day. One minute, you could have easily, and forgivably, mistaken him for a dog half his age with a bum leg, which he got because he was gored by a pissed off buck. The next? It was like he'd aged 10 years in a matter of days; didn't want to move, didn't want to play, didn't want to do much of anything. He died from a snake bite which, had Carlie (our other dog) been alive, he likely could've fought off. But, brokenhearted as he was, he didn't have the will to fight, and died as I was there, with him, in our dining room.
So, yeah, fuck off if you think all dobermans are vicious, evil dogs. You're no better than my troglodyte of a grandmother with her annoying-ass terriers and other irritating, BANSHEE-LIKE SCREECHING, little yippy-dogs. Dupre was a good dog, and he lived a hell of a lot longer than what's average for his breed; I think dobermans live, like...8-10 years, he lived around 15 or so.
Sorry...just, that's not something I'll ever forget.