Charlie is universally unpopular with most dogs.

He is feisty, sometimes aggressive, and never polite or restrained when he meets another dog. Especially if he’s on a leash. The growl that erupts from his little body is epic—deep, dramatic, and completely disproportionate to all of his thirty-five pounds. It’s the kind of sound that makes other dog owners stop and stare while I hurriedly pull him down the path, apologizing and wondering how something so ferocious could come from such a sweet-looking doodle.

My sweet-looking COVID puppy who came home with us on June 15, 2020.

At home, though, Charlie is all mush.

He is, without question, the most affectionate dog I’ve ever owned. More affectionate than his uncle Rocky, who is two years older and from the same breeder. Rocky is wonderful—friendly, social, easygoing—but a little more cat-like in his affection. He loves us, but on his terms. Charlie, on the other hand, wants to be touching someone at all times. If there is a lap, he will find it. If there is a face, he will kiss it. If there is an opportunity to cuddle, he is already there.

If you met the two of them only at home, you would never guess that Charlie is the difficult one around other dogs.

The difference, I suspect, happened early.

Rocky had the benefit of being properly socialized. He went to dog parks. He spent time at dog daycare while his mom worked. He learned, as puppies should, that most other dogs are just…dogs.

Charlie was a COVID puppy.

He had plenty of love. Endless love, really. He wanted for nothing except one thing: regular time with other dogs and people outside our family.

So now, when he meets another dog, he doesn’t lead with curiosity. He leads with fear.

The fear sounds like aggression. It looks like aggression. But in six years he has never hurt another dog. He simply doesn’t know how to make friends. His instinct is to create distance before anyone has the chance to reject him.

Yet we know he knows how to love.

He adores his people. He wrestles and plays constantly with Rocky. He is gentle, joyful, and endlessly affectionate at home.

That contradiction has made me wonder about people.

I wonder how often the person who is quick to honk, flip someone off in traffic, snap at a cashier, or start a fight over a parking space is acting from something that looks like anger but is really fear.

Maybe they never learned that most people are safe.

Maybe they never got enough practice believing that strangers usually aren’t enemies.

Maybe, like Charlie, they walk into every encounter expecting conflict instead of connection.

Not everyone, of course. Some people are simply mean.

But Charlie has made me a little slower to judge.

Because every time he embarrasses me on a walk with that ridiculous, prehistoric growl, I remember that twenty minutes later he’ll be asleep with his head on my lap, convinced that being as close as physically possible is still not close enough.

My dog is a instigator, troublemaker, agitator, and overall menance with other dogs.

But he is also the biggest love in this house.

Sometimes the loudest bark isn’t confidence.

Sometimes it’s fear.