We neither condone nor support the breeding of albino Dobermans as this color is the result of a genetic mutation with known negative physical consequences.


Bejadobe Slide Show (through 2011)

Sid Memorial

Sid’s real name was Beja’s After Hours, he was one of a litter sired by Ch Arco dob Mann, WAC out of Ch Linbar’s Baby Jane, WAC, bred by Marylyn.

Sid was the  best Doberman we had ever known (to this point). Whelped on November 4, 1986, this dog  developed into not only one of the most attractive Dobermans I've ever seen, but  more importantly, had a very livable temperament, confident, drivey, and fun.. His  veterinarian has said that any person meeting Sid would immediately want to go  out and acquire a Dobie just like him. In my twenty years of knowing, loving,  owning and showing Dobies, I know that a dog like this just does not come along  every day. Sid was truly part of the family, always travelling with us and  making friends.

Sidyard30203Sid was one  of nine puppies, all of whom grinned like crazy. Those of you who own grinning  dogs know what I mean. Sid had various levels of grins: half nose, full nose and  show all his gums grin, depending on the situation.

  Sid loved  squeaky toys and retrieving and swimming. Of course, he did not like bringing  sticks thrown into the water back to you; he preferred to make a pile of sticks  he thought were littering his swimming hole elsewhere, out of your reach. Sid  found his leftover Christmas present the day after Christmas in his stocking. It  was a large orange squeaky football. He loved that football and carried it  everywhere, sleeping next to it (and occasionally opening one eye to check on  it) for three weeks. You know, that football must have done something VERY bad,  because one day, Sid tore it apart and ate it. Maybe it looked at him funny,  maybe it talked back to him, he never told me. Orange squeaky footballs are not  digestible, in case you were wondering. It took a month before we saw the last  of that toy.

 Having been  whelped shortly after the Mets won the World Series in 1986, Sid was named after  Sid Fernandez, the pitcher.

  Sid's show  career included many compliments to go with his single points and one major. Sid  was always owner handled except for two shows (at which he did poorly, looking  for his mama). He was retired from the ring at the age of three, just about the  time he was coming into his own, for reasons having more to do with my burnout  than his and retirement of the Whippet I had been specialing. Peggy Adamson said  to me on the day she awarded Sid his first points: " I want you to understand  that this will be a very important dog...". Well it was true...he was more  important to me and my husband that we could ever  envision.

  Sid's career  as our house dog was much more fulfilling to us than his show career ever could  be. His favorite spot during the daytime was on the couch, where he could see  out our large front window and keep his house free of intruders (okay, so he  really thought he scared the mailman away every never bothered him that  the same mailman kept on coming back). At ten o'clock every evening, he would go  upstairs where he would patiently wait for me to come to bed...waiting on my  husband's pillows to ensure that I had enough room to crawl in beside him. When  my husband was working until midnight, Sid would stay with me until Tony came  home at which time he would join Tony for a midnight snack, returning upstairs  later to sleep in his own bed next to ours. Occasionally we would wake up to  find a very small black and tan ball snoring at the foot of the big bed; not a  bed hog like the Whippets tend to be. In the morning, he would always wait until  I was up before stirring, looking up at me with sleepy eyes and a big grin, he  would stumble downstairs (or was it I who was stumbling?) to go  out.

  Sid loved  raw vegetables. His favorite time was when I was making a salad and would give  him the outer leaves of lettuce and other unused salad makings. Left to his own  devices, he was quite a thief. After going grocery shopping, I stopped at a  store to buy a special loaf of bread. When I returned to the car minutes later,  Sid had just about finished a head of lettuce, leaving the steaks in the next  bag untouched. He loved our vegetable garden and the harvests left on the  kitchen counter or in a colander in the sink. In order of preference, Sid chose  the ripest tomatoes, then the lettuce, then the peppers to eat on our pale grey  oriental rug in the living room. Carrots were taken into his crate to eat  without interruption. The last veggie he stole was a raw potato, and I don't  believe he was very fond of it; took him awhile to get through it and he had a  puzzled look on his face when I asked him what he was doing. I think he was  waiting for sour cream and chives.

For those of  you wondering why Sid had to be euthanized, it was not for any of the typical  Doberman related genetic diseases. After surviving repair of two perineal  hernias caused by an enlarged prostrate (at which point he was neutered) and  removal of an adrenal gland and most but not all of a pheochromocytoma, repair  of a prostatic abscess, and two bouts of apparently idiopathic bilateral  pneumothorax, he again developed prostatic disease and while on our way for a  diagnostic workup of this problem, his lungs once again collapsed. The  development of these most recent two events took only three days, and though he  fought valiantly and had such a tremendous will to live, the two problems  together prohibited a course of diagnosis and treatment that would have been  reasonably comfortable and successful for Sid. After seeing five different  veterinarians over the span of the three days, the decision was made to  euthanize him. He died peacefully in our arms on the evening of July 19,  1996.

 Sid is now  home, in our bedroom, with a copy of one of the emails of condolence we  received, this one from a surgeon at the Animal Medical Center in Manhattan, a  woman whose heart he captured. Once we can again let him go, he will be buried  in the Hartsdale Pet Cemetary, a short walk from our house, where he and all the  other spirits of pets loved and lost can play forever.


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