The World According to

Fräulein Effie

Simplicissicanis


A Doberman’s Editorial on Keeping It Mostly Together While Surrounded by Humans

A handwritten letter on a crumpled piece of paper with a black pen resting on the lower right corner.
A mounted illustration of a slender Doberman wearing a blue coat and red collar with a bow, standing next to a stack of magazines, with torn collages and photographs in the background.
  • I’m Fräulein Effie.

    Doberman by breed. Cultural observer by circumstance.

    I do not write—I dictate. The human tasked with transcribing these thoughts does so voluntarily and with full awareness that I may, at any time, replace them with someone more suitable. Consider this collection a courtesy.

    What follows is my lens on the modern world: its inconsistencies, its indulgences, its misplaced optimism. I offer it not as critique, but as guidance—for those willing to elevate their lives beyond chaos and snack-based decision-making.

    Welcome to my world.

    Keep your voice down. And your spine aligned.

Everything you ever wanted to know about your Doberman’s thoughts on you

and the très regrettable state of the world.

Simplicissicanis

The Doberman Editorial
-authored by
Fräulein Effie

From the Grammophone of Fräulein Effie

Occasional Music for the bien élevé Doberman Owner


Playlist: Chanson Noire

Music Single cover titled "Where Else Would I Be" by Liliane Marot, featuring an illustration of a black and tan cat sitting on a red armchair with a stern expression. The background is black with a barcode sticker on the lower right.

An ode to the présence you might not have asked for—but can’t live without.

  • 🎙“Where Else Would I Be”
    performed by: Liliane Marot

    I follow you—not because I must,

    but because I see what you miss.

    You think it’s habit, I call it grace—

    knowing the world could vanish like this.

    Where else would I be,

    if not pressed to your side?

    There’s no elegance in distance,

    no strength in the wide.

    They say space is polite—

    but who taught them that lie?

    (beat)

    If you wanted space,

    you should’ve gotten a cat.

Music Single cover titled 'And Still She Stood' by Clotilde Marchand, featuring an illustration of an Doberman dog with a human-like body, standing on hind legs and pushing a chair in a room with dark walls, wooden floor, and plastic sheeting.

A study in patience, miscommunication, and the quiet triumph of Doberman judgment.

  • 🎼 Title: “And Still She Stood”
    by: Clotilde Marchand

    You counted to three,

    and three turned to five.

    Repeated commands

    like bees in a hive.

    “Sit, madame, sit”—

    you begged with a smile,

    then barked like a sergeant

    Who’s lost all his style?

    You whispered, then yelled,

    then bribed with a snack.

    She blinked, unimpressed,

    and turned her sleek back.

    A queen in repose,

    immune to your plot—

    your volume went up,

    and still she stared back.

    You thought you were clear,

    that tone equals rule.

    But Dobermans don’t

    obey a fool.

    Not when the energy’s

    wrinkled and slack—

    you train your voice, dear,

    then she’ll sit back.

    You wanted a soldier

    who jumps at each shout.

    But you bought a diplomat

    with well-trained doubt.

    She’s reading the room,

    not jumping on cue—

    perhaps the one

    who needs training…

    is you.

Playlist: Lounge Jazz

Music Single cover titled "DIDN'T READ" by Laurent Varnay, featuring a man in a vintage suit and hat holding a cocktail, accompanied by a Doberman dog, with film strip frames and a dark, textured background.

A velvet-collared croon about Doberman charm, chaos, and the fine print beneath the shine.

  • 🎵 Title: “Didn’t Read the Fine Print”

    Perfomed by: Laurent Varnay

    ——

    She had that look—like midnight wanted her back,

    Eyes like a dare, a stride that cracked the track.

    You saw her once on someone’s page,

    Pinned the photo, skipped the book.

    You liked the shine, you loved the fear,

    The power wrapped in sharp veneer.

    A reel, a clip, a filtered life—

    Then home she came—too much, too alive.

    And you thought you’d be Karl Friedrich Louis…

    Now you’re just sweeping up the ruins.

    [Chorus]

    You didn’t read the fine print, love,

    Just signed your name in haste.

    Now there’s velvet on your carpet,

    And wild behind her face.

    No pause, no plan, no blueprint—

    Just “isn’t she divine?”

    You bought the frame without the painting,

    Now the canvas draws the line.

    She’s chewing through your perfect days,

    She’s not impressed by praise.

    Those tips you heard in passing words—

    They vanish in her gaze.

    She’s poetry with teeth and muscle,

    She’s ritual, not trend.

    You thought she’d pose in golden light,

    But she came to comprehend.

    [Chorus]

    You didn’t read the fine print, love,

    You wanted something grand.

    But she’s no costume, no quick fix—

    She came to teach, not blend.

    No pause, no plan, no blueprint—

    Just “look how sleek, how fast…”

    Now she’s pulling on the leash of truth,

    And you’re learning, at last.

    This isn’t wrong, this isn’t cruel,

    But beauty makes a ruthless school.

    She holds the mirror up to you—

    And grace will come, if you push through.

    You didn’t read the fine print, love,

    But now you turn each line.

    She’s not the dog you thought you wanted—

    She’s the one that changed your spine.

    No pause, no plan, no shortcut—

    Just time, and sweat, and ache.

    But if you stay, and start to listen—

    She’ll teach you what it takes.

man in a suit and bow tie, holding a trumpet, and a black dog with a blue bow tie, against a red background with large white text that reads 'EARS LIKE CHURCHES'. The cover also has a circular logo that says 'Play Time NOLA Jazz in the Market' and a barcode with a 'Made in USA' label. The bottom text reads 'The Big Easy Playtime performed by Miles DeCourcy'.

A reverent ballad for the Doberman who listens beyond words—and catches the truth before you can name it.

  • 🎼 Title: “Ears Like Churches”

    Performed by: Miles Decourcy

    ——-

    A song about the sacred act of listening, and the creature who hears your truth before you do.

    [Verse 1]

    She don’t flinch at thunder—she tunes to the breeze,

    Knows if your pulse stumbles or your memory flees.

    Not much for fetch, won’t beg or plead—

    But she knows when you want love… and what you need.

    [Verse 2]

    You lit the lamp, she stayed in the dark,

    Where your breath betrays what leaves no mark.

    A soft exhale, a shifted weight—

    She reads the pages you don’t translate.

    [Chorus]

    Ears like churches—quiet and grand.

    She hears the sermon no one planned.

    Each beat, each hush, each silent shove—

    She knows if you fear the weight of the earth or love.

    [Verse 3]

    You once were certain—then you met her gaze,

    Now you walk slower through your noisy days.

    You used to talk, now you just stand—

    She’s already holding your trembling hand.

    There’s no command for what she gives,

    No trick or task—just how she lives.

    A bell that rings for those who stay—

    To hear their own heart give them away.

    [Final Chorus]

    Ears like churches—faithful, wise.

    They echo long after the moment dies.

    She won’t explain, won’t chase or bark—

    But she heard you cracking in the dark.

Playlist: Old Hollywood

Album cover titled "Third Wheeling" by Jules Baptiste and Renée Dubois featuring a vintage photograph of a woman, a man, and a Doberman dog sitting on a bed, with the woman making a displeased face and the man smiling at the dog.

A vintage duet for the Doberman who inserts himself elegantly, yet always lands between you—and your last illusion.

  • 🎼 Title: “Third Wheeling”

    Performed by: Jules Baptiste & Renée DuBois

    He stretches like Sinatra, takes up the whole bed,

    Tail in my ribs, his nose by your head.

    You blink at me, he gives a sigh—

    Oh sure, I’m the guest in my own goodbye!

    Last night I reached for you, but met a paw,

    He grunted, turned, I whispered “¡Ay, caramba!”

    You call it cute—he calls it fate.

    He’s not possessive… just won’t negotiate.

    🎵 (He’s the velvet sovereign… in a four-pawed tux.)

    (We pay the rent—) he just shrugs.

    (My hand in yours? He’ll make a scene—)

    With doe eyes sharp and a gait pristine.

    He’ll share your couch, your chair, your steak—

    But he alone picks who gets the cake.

    Remember the sofa? You sat—he stared.

    I perched on the arm. “Don’t mind me,” I declared.

    Dinner for two? Oh, make that three.

    And guess who gets the napkin—not me.

    He sighs when I leave, throws shade when I dance,

    Gives you his paw, gives me no chance.

    You think he’s loyal, I think he’s slick—

    One paw on your lap, and I’m out quick.

    🎵 (He’s the velvet sovereign… with a bedtime clause.)

    (We pay the rent—) he rewrote the laws.

    (We try to cuddle? He lands mid-sprawl—)

    The royal wall that outranks us all.

    He’ll share your smile, your lap, your fate—

    But he alone curates your soulmate.

    I thought you liked dogs?

    : I do. But not ones who hog the plotline.

    : He’s refined.

    : He’s ridiculous.

    And somehow… we’re the ones adjusting pillows.

    🎵 He’s the velvet sovereign… with impeccable taste,

    Our romance now has less waist-to-waist.

    But truth be told—we can’t complain,

    He guards your dreams like royal terrain.

    He picked his throne, our hearts, this place…

    The dog who runs our whole damn space.

A woman working with a Doberman dog in a sewing studio surrounded by mannequins and fabric rolls, with a large window and natural light.