Back in the '90s the people next door had a GSD in the backyard and so far as I could tell they never interacted with her. She was pitifully grateful when I scratched her ears through the chain-link fence between our houses. I went out to talk to her most days and I was her favorite person.
Back around that same time, we rescued a Scottie who was found wandering around the countryside. Scottie's have hair that grows, rather than fur that sheds, and this poor boy hadn't been groomed in several years. He had hair so badly matted that the groomer had to shave him.
That first night he was shivering from the cold, having lost all his hair, so we picked him up and snuggled him in bed between us. Instant bond. Every day he would beg to be held and would fall asleep in my arms, like a baby.
Long convoluted story later, his owner finally surfaced and we learned the details of the Scottie's background. Apparently -- because he was unneutered and peed in the house -- he'd been confined to the back yard for years. The neglect he had suffered -- both physical and emotional -- was obvious, but she still wanted him back and we had no legal recourse to keep him (we tried, believe me we tried).
When the owner came to our house, Fergus (our name for him) barely acknowledged her. She tried to hold him but he very quickly wriggled out of her arms and came over to me to be picked up. And since it was the middle of winter and he was shaved, she quickly realized Fergus would have to stay indoors, possibly for months. Suddenly she was willing to leave him with us, and when she walked out the door, Fergus never even looked her way.
He was nine years old and lived to be 15, and I can safely say he enjoyed every single day of his second life with us.