Years ago I had a girlfriend who got a St.Bernard as a rescue animal. Initially “Snuffy” seemed to be a sweetheart. She was very attentive and affectionate. But some unpleasant characteristics started to creep through. She didn’t like men with dark hair, men who wore sunglasses or glasses with black frames, and (especially) blacks.
We put her through obedience training and she did well, and we could leash her up and walk her but she had to be watched like a hawk. After she snarled at some kids I made sure not to let her be around kids at any time. After she lunged at one of my brothers who had come to visit (she leapt through a plate glass window to get at him) I put her down.
I was told by a vet that Bernards had gone through a period of popularity and some unscrupulous puppy mils had bred inferior dogs in an attempt to cash in.
The same thing is happening to Great Danes now. They are rising in popularity and idiots are breeding them trying for “rare” colors and extreme size. Of course they aren’t paying attention to disposition. Something the size of a Dane with a bad temperament is an extremely dangerous animal. I’ll only get one from a breeder who raises show quality dogs. They will have some pet quality dogs, but they are still quality animals with the proper temperament.
Years ago I had a girl friend,,,
There have only been 2 dogs of which I was genuinely terrified.
One was the neighbor’s St Bernard, from whom Stephen King apparently got the idea for Cujo and the other was my dad’s Blue Tick.
The St was no doubt made mad by being perpetually on a chain with little or no human interaction and the Blue Tick was either just bats**t crazy or had severe Lyme disease.
My dad was so scared of “Rock” that I had to tend him.
[thanks, Dad!]
He figured my “way with animals” would make me less likely to be attacked.
He was right but one day, I fed Rock and Blue, the BT bitch who was in the same kennel, and he suddenly, for no obvious reason, started to tear her apart.
I got her out and she was torn up some but survived.
Ironically, he was always telling me that one day, my Dobes would “turn on me”.
40 years and counting.
Ain’t happened.
I was wildly relieved when he sold Rock, a local field champion, for a scandalous sum to another coon hunter.
I imagine Blue was happy, too, poor girl.