This morning Husband and I were discussing Harvey's behaviour with other dogs.
When out walking, if he saw a strange dog approaching - strange as in one we didn't know rather than one with five legs or fangs dripping blood - he adopted the Statue Response. He'd stand stock still, barely breathing, as close to the edge of the path or the trees as he could get, in the belief that, 'No-one will notice me like this.'
Now you know - you've seen photos of him - Harvey was a big dog, and golden. He didn't easily blend into a woody background.
Small dogs with a Napoleon complex were the biggest threat, but the worst Harvey ever did was accidentally stand on one that was running between his legs.
On three or maybe four occasions during his lifetime, he was forced to defend himself when set upon by a vicious big dog: he was well able to do that and never came off worst. But he much preferred not to have to.
On one of those occasions I had assured him that the other dog didn't pose a threat: 'don't be silly, Harvey; he's a nice friendly dog.' The look he gave me afterwards said it all. 'Well, that's shows how much you know. Next time I'll stick with my own instincts.'
We sometimes called him a big soppy coward but he wasn't that at all. He had power; it just wasn't his nature to use it.