Charlie was a an enigma. I wondered sometimes if a three toed sloth had actually gotten mixed up with a litter of puppies. He would spend most of his time rolled up in a ball on the basement floor, where it was nice and cool. That is why we called him "The Black Marshmellow". Charlie was the biggest softy you have ever seen. If another dog got aggressive with him, he would just shrug it off, and next thing you know they would be friends.
This is the enigmatic part: Charlie was hyperactive when he was anywhere in nature. Bring him on a camping trip, and he run around and peruse the forrest, zig zagging his way around the mountain side. As we hiked he would bolt back and forth across the trail like sewing machine running a pattern. We would find tufts of fur around the front yard - the presumed remains of an innocent bunny rabbit.
Charlie was probably the most stellar sight around water. Whenever we would go to the lake, he was the first one in. While we were all carefully stepping in, and going to the "male halfway mark", Charlie, (possibly because he had his male halfway mark removed surgically), was crashing into the water head first. We would grab on, with our arms around his chest, as he would pull us to shore.
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