Honor: 5 [ Give / Take ]
4 entries this month
One Command at a Time
16:38 Nov 29 2025
Times Read: 61
It’s amazing how quickly she’s changing. Every week - sometimes every day - I notice something new in her. A little more height. A little more weight behind her steps. A little more confidence shaping the way she moves through the house. It’s like watching a young storm gather strength: not destructive, just powerful, full of potential she hasn’t quite learned how to control yet.
She’s settling into her frame now, strength building beneath her movement with each passing week. Her chest is broadening, her shoulders filling out, and those oversized paws that look like they’re just waiting for the rest of her to catch up. Every week she carries herself with a little more authority, a little more certainty. And with that physical rise comes the mental shift - sharper awareness, growing independence, and a streak of intelligence that turns into bold defiance whenever she feels like testing boundaries.
Training reflects all of that.
She’s learned the basics well enough.
Sit, stay, down, heel - she could do them in her sleep on a good day.
But lately she’s been testing boundaries, pushing back, questioning the rules with a look rather than disobedience. She hears the command, processes it, and then deliberately decides whether she feels like cooperating. Sometimes she follows through right away; other times she gives me a deep, dramatic sigh before slowly lowering herself as if she’s admitting defeat in a battle she never wanted to fight.
There are moments she surprises me, though. Moments of perfect focus.
Those times when she sits straight, eyes on mine, posture tight, waiting for the next cue as if she’s made of discipline alone. It’s like flicking a switch - one moment she’s stubborn and full of opinions, and the next she’s a working dog with purpose carved into her bones. That’s when I see what she could become with the right direction, with consistent effort, with time.
We’ve been reinforcing the basics, repeating commands until they’re less like instructions and more like muscle memory. Repetition, consistency - the foundation for anything good. And even though she pushes back some days, she always circles back around to the work. She wants to understand. She wants structure, even if she complains about it.
There’s still that decision looming ahead... one I haven’t fully made yet:
whether she’s meant for service work or protection work.
She has traits that lean toward both.
The awareness, the loyalty, the sensitivity - perfect for service training.
But she also has the confidence, the presence, the instinct - the beginnings of a protector.
And every time I think I’ve made up my mind, she does something that contradicts it. A gentle nudge when I’m overwhelmed. A quiet, watchful stare at something unfamiliar. A soft step into my space when she thinks I need grounding. A bold stance when she hears something outside.
She could go either way.
She could become either thing.
And part of me thinks she might become a mix of both... something hybrid, something unique, something tailored to the life we’re building rather than a standard title.
But for now, I’m just watching her grow.
Watching her understand the world piece by piece.
Watching her personality sharpen into something clear and unmistakable.
She’s stubborn... endlessly so.
Opinionated.
Vocal when she thinks she should be.
Smart enough to cause trouble.
Loyal enough to solve it.
And every day with her feels like shaping potential - not forcing it, not fighting it, just guiding it. Helping her become whatever she’s meant to be.
Growth isn’t neat.
Training isn’t linear.
But she’s getting there.
And maybe I am too, alongside her.
One command at a time.
One lesson at a time.
One day at a time.
Planning the Uncertain
16:42 Nov 24 2025
Times Read: 112
I spent most of the morning staring at plans I’m not even sure I believe in anymore. Not because they’re unrealistic, but because the future itself feels distant - like a concept I’m expected to participate in, even though it rarely feels connected to the life I’m living now. It’s a strange experience, trying to build something for a version of myself I’m not even convinced I’ll ever meet.
I used to enjoy it, the act of planning. It felt like progress, like direction, like mapping out a path that could eventually lead somewhere better. Back then, ideas carried weight. Goals felt like anchors rather than decorations. Now, the process feels more like running my hands over familiar items I’ve already forgotten how to use. There’s comfort in the motion, even when the meaning slips through my fingers.
I still map everything out in neat lines and organized sections - business ideas, projects, schedules, routines. It’s almost mechanical now. Numbers align, steps fall in order, timelines look clean and achievable. On paper, nothing ever collapses.
Reality isn’t as polite.
Reality has the habit of knocking over entire plans in a single moment.
Maybe that’s why planning has become a kind of escape. It’s easier to shape hypothetical futures than it is to deal with the unpredictability of the present. In those imagined versions of life, everything has logic, everything aligns. There’s no need to rely on anyone. Everything is controlled, self-contained, uninterrupted.
I suppose that’s the appeal - control.
A controlled future, even a fictional one, feels safer than a real one built on shifting ground.
There’s also the simple truth that having something to work on keeps the mind from sinking too deep. It’s a distraction, but a productive one. A quiet place to hide in plain sight.
And yet, I can’t ignore the feeling that some part of me is watching from a distance. Detached. As if the person who used to pour enthusiasm into ideas has stepped back, leaving me with the shell of the habit rather than the spark that fueled it. The motions remain, but the meaning is thinner than it used to be.
Still, I keep going.
Not because I believe everything will fall into place, but because stopping feels worse.
If I stop planning, stop imagining, stop outlining possibilities… what’s left?
An empty room.
A silent day.
A mind too aware of its own stillness.
So I write down the plans.
I organize the ideas.
I adjust the numbers, tweak the details, refine the structure.
Maybe none of it will become real.
Maybe some of it will.
Maybe I’m building scaffolding for a future that’s never coming.
Maybe I’m simply giving myself something to reach toward so I don’t fold in on myself.
Not every plan has to be a promise.
Some can just be placeholders.
A way to say, “There’s still something ahead,” even if the road is blurred and the destination is uncertain.
A future doesn’t need to be guaranteed to matter.
Sometimes it only needs to be something you can picture - faint, distant, imperfect - so the present doesn’t swallow everything whole.
For now, that’s enough.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll believe in it more.
Maybe not.
But today, the planning kept me grounded, kept me moving, kept me breathing.
And in times like these, that has to count for something... right?
People Don’t Change - They Just Show Themselves
16:47 Nov 22 2025
Times Read: 208
There’s no sense pretending anymore. People are predictable in the worst ways - weak, inconsistent, and far too comfortable breaking promises they never intended to keep. I used to take their words at face value, used to assume sincerity meant something. Now I know better. Their assurances aren’t worth the breath it takes to say them.
Everyone swears they’re different.
Everyone claims loyalty.
Everyone insists they won’t leave.
It’s all the same script - recycled lines from mouths that don’t understand the weight of anything they say. They talk big, act warm, pretend to care… until the moment it becomes even slightly inconvenient. Then the truth comes out. Not through honesty - people are rarely that brave - but through silence.
That’s how they leave:
Quietly.
Cowardly.
One ignored message at a time.
And they always pretend it isn’t deliberate. They convince themselves they “just got busy,” or “didn’t know what to say,” or “weren’t in the right headspace.” Excuses that mean nothing. If someone wants to show up, they do. If they don’t, they vanish.
People don’t get tired of you suddenly.
They get tired long before you notice.
The moment they stop needing something from you - attention, validation, entertainment, comfort - they drift. And they don’t even have the decency to make it swift. They drag it out, letting you feel the slow decay of their presence until the message is clear: you were temporary. A convenience. A placeholder.
I’ve been through the cycle too many times to pretend it’s anything but what it is:
A pattern.
A habit.
A truth.
People are unreliable.
Their words are hollow.
Their loyalty has an expiration date the moment you become difficult, complicated, or simply less entertaining than whatever else they’ve found.
I don’t trust people anymore. Not out of bitterness - that burned out a long time ago. This is practicality. Survival. Experience. You don’t place your weight on a rotten beam once it’s broken under you enough times. Eventually, you learn to stand on your own.
And even that is questionable. Trusting myself is a gamble some days - my own thoughts twist, my motivation falters, my patience runs thin. But at least my failures are honest. My uncertainty is mine. My mistakes don’t come wrapped in false promises or pretty words.
People’s mistakes do.
They hide their betrayal behind excuses.
They hide their abandonment behind silence.
They hide their weakness behind declarations they never meant.
And when they’re gone, they don’t look back - because looking back might force them to acknowledge the damage they caused. It’s easier for them to vanish and pretend nothing happened.
So I’ve adapted.
I’ve stopped expecting anything from anyone.
Stopped believing words just because they sound sincere.
Stopped giving people the benefit of the doubt they never earned.
Solitude may not be warm, but at least it’s honest.
At least it doesn’t lie to me.
At least it doesn’t pretend to care.
People will leave.
People will fail you.
People will speak in promises they never intended to honor.
That’s the reality.
Cold. Simple. Unavoidable.
And the sooner you accept it, the less it hurts.
Or rather - the more numb you become to the pain until it’s not even worth acknowledging.
There’s nothing left to mourn when you expect nothing to begin with.
That’s the truth no one wants to admit:
People don’t disappoint you when you stop giving them the chance.
The Weight of Waiting
14:43 Nov 12 2025
Times Read: 253
The morning came and went without much distinction. The sky held the same dull gray it’s worn for days, the air heavy but still. There’s a peculiar kind of tension in this kind of weather - not the violent, expectant kind that precedes a storm, but the slow suffocating heaviness of air that refuses to move. It makes everything feel paused, like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something that never quite arrives.
I’ve been waiting too, though I’m not even sure for what anymore. Maybe for a change in the air - in life - in myself. It’s difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins these days. The hours blur together, divided only by the faint cues of routine: coffee, screens, her footsteps padding across the floor, the occasional sound of distant traffic breaking the quiet.
She’s been restless too, pacing near the window, watching the world outside with that mix of curiosity and impatience that only animals seem to get away with. Every so often she looks back at me as if to ask why we’re still here, why we haven’t done anything worth noting. I don’t have an answer for her - only a tired smile and a quiet scratch behind her ear to reassure her that this stillness is temporary, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
Boredom has taken root again, heavier now that the last of my social ties has gone quiet. What used to be a weekly interruption - a chance to step out of my own thoughts - has vanished without warning. It wasn’t much, but it mattered. Now, without it, the silence stretches wider, and the conversations in my head have grown louder to fill the space.
Finances press in too, another quiet weight sitting just behind everything else. It’s not panic, but a constant awareness - a tightening. Every decision now carries the faint whisper of cost. Even comfort comes with a price tag. It’s exhausting, the way small worries can build into something that feels like a mountain when you’re already tired of climbing.
And yet, the world continues as if nothing’s changed. The rain falls, gentle and indifferent. The house hums with the sound of its own stillness. She dozes beside me now, her breathing steady and unbothered. I envy that - her ability to exist fully in the moment without fear of what’s next. I try to mirror it sometimes, to remind myself that not every stretch of stillness is failure. Sometimes it’s just… time passing.
Maybe this is one of those chapters where the story slows down. Where nothing remarkable happens, but the foundation quietly shifts beneath it all. Change rarely announces itself; it creeps in like the weather - gray, soft, and subtle.
For now, I’ll wait. The air will move again. The sky will clear. Things will shift. They always do, eventually.
And until then, I’ll keep breathing through the weight of waiting.
COMMENTS
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SweetDamnation
19:05 Nov 29 2025
Sounds like you’re typical teenager. lol My Nina is such a good girl but they definitely won’t pull any punches when it comes to them showing you they have their own feelings about things. lol She will have stubborn streaks even now in her old age. Let’s not even talk about Rocky that boy. *eye roll* He tests me daily but I wouldn’t have it any other way. lol Some days it’s picking your battles. Two totally opposite personalities.
I enjoy hearing about her. She will get there with your leadership and guidance. She will do great things I can feel it the way you talk about her.
SweetDamnation
19:06 Nov 29 2025
*your Geez Need more coffee..lol