My dad's friend Glen's last pair of hunting dogs were twin boy flatties they called the Tweedles. They were not at ALL like the labs or the GSP's he'd had before that.
Out in the field, those two were just unstoppable--Glen used to claim that they never missed a bird. I believe it, too, given the amount of grouse, pheasant, duck, etc. that they ate--they had a whole FREEZER full of birds all the time. He worked with them for at least an hour a day, and they were incredibly smart, and incredibly well-behaved when they were working.
When they were WORKING.
When they were in the house? They were basically big hairy fraternity boys--party all the time, man! They slept late, stayed up half the night, loved beer and Fritos (they refrigerators/freezers/cupboards all had to be dog proofed) they loved to dance--they figured out how to turn on the kitchen radio by flipping the power switch on top. I hung out with Shel sometimes, and it was normal to get off the bus with her and hear loud cowboy music coming thru the dog door, and find the dogs dancing around the fenced part of the yard or in the kitchen if it was cold. Then they would jump up and knock you over--I was 11, 12, 13 when this madness was going on--just so they could wrestle, then sit on you and kiss you until you laid still. And they trailed you everywhere you went, just looking for a chance to knock you down, wrestle and kiss you into submission. The only way to prevent it was to put on rowdy fifties music and dance with them. Shel and I learned the jitterbug to dance with those fools!
Clearly, they were spoiled utterly rotten. But I'm sure that they were the FUNNEST dogs anyone had. I loved my Nickie madly, but she wasn't nearly as much sheer honest fun as Dee and Dum!