They call me many things—protector of the porch, snarl-master general, first of my name. I am the alpha, and I wear it well. Big bark, big heart, and yes, an even bigger attitude. I don’t just guard the house—I claim it. Every inch of it is under my watch, and no delivery driver, squirrel, or suspicious breeze gets past me without a warning. Love, to me, means vigilance. It means standing between Emma and the chaos of the world—even if that chaos comes in the form of a fluttering leaf or a chatty neighbor.
People think I am tough, and I am. I have to be. But that isn’t all of me. Sometimes, when the world slows down—when the sun hits the floor just right and Peanut isn’t yapping about something—I let myself remember. I stretch out, nose on paws, and just… be. Those are the moments no one sees. Except her. Emma. I never need to say much—one tail thump is enough to let her know I love her more than anything.
Then Skye shows up. Skye. That little whirlwind. Part cloud, part chaos, all gas pedal. She never stops moving, never stops loving. She doesn’t understand fences or rules. And God help me, she drives me nuts. She pounces on me, steals my favorite spots, zips around the yard like a maniac. But damn if she doesn’t make me laugh. Well… internally. I don’t let it show. But she brings something wild and light into our home. She reminds me that maybe guarding isn’t the only kind of love.
And then comes Peanut. The quiet one. The thinker. Sensitive, soft, smart. A little spoiled, not that I’m judging. Peanut studies us—me with my rules, Skye with her freedom—and finds a way to balance us both.
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