They do make good dogs. I grew up with my buddy who was 50% Red Coon Hound and 50% a dozen other things. He was loyal, tough as nails, and child-safe. Poor thing was dubbed "Pixie" by my Mom when we got him because he fit in the palm of her hand - ended up being 85 lbs of alpha male. Had him from the age of 9 and some of my best childhood years included him at my side or ranging the fields as I biked and hiked.
I’m easy. Golden retriever. 75 pounds of unconditional love. Quiet and friendly. Anyone who comes in the house to do work is greeted with a stare. Until formally introduce by my family, dog will just lay there. No jumping, no licking, no paw offering.
My son trained him well. No barking and when he does there is usually something going on.
Eras of our lives end up getting designated in dog years, and by that I don't mean one year being equivalent to seven. I mean looking back and remembering. It's inevitably "the Woodie years," or "the Suzie years" or any one of the ten dogs I've been privileged to know, love and share my life with since my earliest memories. I miss the eight who have died, all but one of old age. My family kept two, one older one younger and so their lives overlapped, the older "training" the younger. I've continued doing that. There are habits, tricks and behavioral quirks that I can recognize from thirty or more years ago, whether it was specific to a dog, or something my dad taught them. He's gone now, too. I can't imagine not having them around. They're a joyful presence, always happy to see you, always ready to play or especially to go, go anywhere, to the end of the earth so long as it's with you. Practical, too as a deterrent to thieves and people who are up to no good. They've got an ability to sense intent that many people just don't have. Excellent judges of character.