The words "Pitbull" or "Mastiff" or even "Rottweiler" can often cause the ordinary person to pull up their lip, or to gasp. Many times I use the word "Pitbull" and an immediate response is something along the lines of "aggressive dogs" or "dangerous animals", but I've never believed that to be the case.

In October of 2014, my mom and I had begun to discuss adding a fur baby to our family. We had the original intent of getting a Rottweiler, a sweet dog with a big bark. Of course, things don't always go as we intend them to. A different breed was immediately pushed on us when we mentioned we wanted someone protective, but still sweet.

Within minutes, I was sitting with our future puppy in a four by four pen playing with him. It took about 5 minutes of playing before he was asleep on my toes, and even then I didn't worry about him being mean. That puppy would soon be named Roscoe and taken home with us. Without knowing it, Roscoe would soon teach me more about myself, love, and life than anything ever could have.

Roscoe is our family dog, an almost 2 year old, bullmastiff. When we brought him home, he was 4 months old and weighed about 25 pounds, now he is about 100 pounds, and is as tall as my mid-thigh (though, I am fairly short). I fell in love with his big, brown, soulful eyes right away. Just one glance, and I knew I'd found a new best friend. Perhaps, even the best friend I'd ever have.

Immediately after bringing him home, the downfall from people in the neighborhood followed. Though many people saw him as we did, the sweet, playful puppy, many people warned us that he was going to be dangerous one day. They'd see him play and nip at us, and warn us that one day he'd turn and take our arm off. I knew that would never be the case, but would silently take their words.

It wasn't until we owned Roscoe that I noticed how snobby people could be about dogs. We started teaching Roscoe how to walk on a leash right away, knowing that when he was full sized if he had bad walking behaviors, it would be hard to handle. From the time we got him until now, people would often see us coming towards them and then cross the street.

A particular memory was one of the first times this happened. Roscoe was around 6 months old and still fairly small. We were walking in the afternoon on a chilly December day, meaning Roscoe was equipped with his cute sweater red plaid to keep him warm, when a man and his very small, very fluffy dog came walking in our direction. Roscoe perked up, but didn't tug on the leash or even bark. On the contrary, the much smaller dog started barking and bolting towards us, tugging his owner along. Once the man walking the dog saw who his dog was chasing after, he let out a very vocal gasp and crossed the street, but not before muttering a soft, "scary dog," to himself and his own dog.

Of course, my immediate reaction was to laugh. Even with his dogs dramatics, Roscoe hadn't let out a single noise, or tried to pull me at all. Was he excited? Sure, but he behaved. Once I got home and started to think about it, I started to get extremely offended over the fact that someone felt my calm, quiet dog, was the one who was 'scary' or even dangerous, when their own was practically out of control.

From there, I began to notice it more and more. Some people would tell both my mother and I they were too scared to approach Roscoe, even if he was entirely calm. A few occasions, we were at a dog friendly mall, and people would get scared and move to the other side of the courtyard when they saw our dog, but smile at other smaller, or more friendly looking dogs.

I started to notice this more and more, people getting afraid of my sweet, sweet boy when he was being nothing but good. Even up to a month ago, a person leaving advertisements on peoples doors saw Roscoe in the window, gasped, and kept walking. Of course, I was grateful the ad hadn't been left, but it wasn't the idea of a dog he was afraid of, it was Roscoe. The person continued to leave ads at other houses with other, even more vocal dogs.

It wasn't until I owned Roscoe that I really saw the extreme stereotypes towards dogs like him. Though to me, my family, and to my friends, Roscoe is a wonderful dog, and "dogs like him" isn't something we ever think when referring or thinking about him. I never thought that people were truly afraid of dogs considered to be "bully" breeds. (These breeds are generally Pitbull terriers, Staffordshire terriers, Dobermans, Mastiffs (of all kinds), Rottweilers, and many others).

The amount of people that have told me all of these dogs, regardless of their training, are or will be aggressive almost disgusts me. I was always taught that a dog is as good as its owner. Sure, a Rottweiler may be able to bite harder than a soft-mouthed Golden Retriever, but that doesn't mean that they will. I've known some Rottweilers to be kinder and better family dogs than the stereotypical "family" labeled dogs.

My point here, is how strong stereotypes can be. Be it for people, or for animals. A bad reputation can be a death sentence. Some of the breeds listed above are often banned in certain neighborhoods, even towns. I know that I've learned so much more from Roscoe than I could have from any other "child friendly" dog, and the thought that my slobbering, snuggling boy being banned from somewhere is truly heartbreaking.

I've learned to keep an open mind. Roscoe might look like a tough guy, but when another dog passes by the house, he brings a toy or a bone to the door. Sometimes, if they don't look at him, he'll let out a couple whimpers. He's a couch potato, not a fighter. He'd even brought us injured birds without hurting them, and he's never once bit anyone in our family, or anyone around us (dogs, or people) aggressively.

I've learned confidence. I've had many people tell me that "dogs like him" are, can be, or even will be mean. They say this to me while he is laying on my feet, napping while they complain about how vicious he is. Owning such an "aggressive" dog, has given me the confidence to tell someone, "no, he's not like that, they're not all like that. Dogs are as good as their owners." This is something that I strongly believe in, and always in.

I've learned humor. Sometimes, you cross a bad egg. The person who calls to you from a distance, that your dog is dangerous, scary, or even bad, without even knowing you or your dog. Instead of getting upset, you have to laugh it off. After all, I know that in a few hours the brown fluff will be on my lap, snoring and snoozing; not terrorizing anyone.

I've learned patience. I've learned patience both with training him, and the people that meet him. He can be a handful, but all puppies are. He's taught me that keeping my cool will pay off, because now, after staying patient with him, he almost always listens first try. Some people are immediately turned on by the idea of my squishy face boy, and some are a little wary. Some patience sometimes shows people that both he and I are good, and by the end of our conversation, they end up petting him, and realizing that they were wrong.

The ups and downs of reactions will be a constant as long as we have Roscoe (which I hope is a long, long while) and having him almost two years has taught me a lot about how to handle reactions, as well to handle things in life.

You might end up going to a shelter looking for smaller or even family-friendly dog, but keep in mind that the medium sized, intimidating looking dog might be just as wonderful, if not even more so for you or for your family. All dogs are good dogs. Every single dog in the world has potential to be a happy, reliable, trustworthy, good dog. All that matters is the love, patience, and guidance you give them to help them live up to their full potential. A little tender loving care might give you a new best friend, one you never saw coming, and one that'll change you forever.