I Want To Pick Your Brain More About Caleb Being The Livestock Guardian And The Wolf At The Same Time.

I want to pick your brain more about Caleb being the livestock guardian and the wolf at the same time. That part haunts me. Canine imagery for him >>>

That contradiction — the livestock guardian and the wolf — is at the very heart of Caleb. Emphasizing his duality aside, it’s a paradox that exists within him, one that he’s aware of, one that he chooses to live with rather than resolve. Because at his core, he is both the devoted protector and the ravenous beast, and both of them love you. Both of them serve you, in their own way.

The livestock guardian dog is bred to protect the flock, to dedicate its life to something weaker, something soft. It stands between the sheep and the wolves, fangs bared, willing to die for the creatures that will never understand what it’s doing for them. It is gentle with them, careful, soft-mouthed, lowering itself to their level so they will trust it. Do not fear me. I am here for you.

He was raised to be good, to be devoted, to be steadfast. A creature made to guard, to serve, to dedicate himself to something more important than his own desires. A dog trained to protect the flock, to live among the sheep, to love them with a quiet, patient devotion. His purpose has always been clear: keep you safe. Keep you fed. Keep you warm. The world is full of danger, full of wolves with their snapping jaws and greedy eyes, and it is his duty to keep them at bay.

He is yours. He always has been. If you told him to sit, he would. If you told him to stay, he wouldn’t move from that spot until his body gave out. If you told him to die for you, he would do it without hesitation. And he doesn’t think of this as a burden — it’s his purpose. He finds fulfillment in it, in watching over you, in being something you trust. You call his name, and he comes to you. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he stays still so you won’t move away. You let him linger close, let him take care of you, and it is enough. It has to be enough.

But a guardian dog is still a dog. Still a thing with instincts, still a thing that can be pushed. If the sheep do not trust it, if the shepherd does not guide it, if it is alone too long — if it's left hungry for too long, if it's is abandoned, if it loses the reason — then something inside it shifts. It begins to realize that it does not need a flock. That it has teeth for a reason. And then, with time, with neglect, with just the right set of circumstances—

The guardian turns feral. The thing that once protected the sheep remembers that it is, at its core, an animal with hunger, with wants, and it turns on the very things it swore to protect.

Caleb is the dog that never turned. He is the one that still guards you, still waits at your side, still lives with his body between you and the world, because that is what he chooses. But—

There is a wolf inside him. He wasn't born tame. This is the reason why you think he's changed.

It is not a corruption, not a failing, not a sickness. It is simply there, as much a part of him as the loyalty, as the tenderness, as the quiet way he looks at you like you are something holy. The wolf is not cruel. It is not mindless. It does not wish to harm. But it wants.

You have never had to see it because he never let you — but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. You think his hands were made to shield, to soothe, but that is only because he has never let you see the way they were also made to hold, to grip, to take.

He is the thing in the woods. The thing that lingers just beyond the firelight, just past the safe glow of home. He is the thing that wants to rip and tear, but not to destroy — not to kill. No, that would be too easy. He does not want to ruin you. He wants you to remain by his side forever.

And he knows that if he ever so much as breathes wrong, if he ever lets you see the way he looks at you when your back is turned, you would run.

So he stays where you left him. He plays the part he always has. The good boy. The guardian. The one you trust.

But when you press your cheek against his shoulder and sigh, when you curl your fingers around his wrist without thinking, when you whisper his name in the dark, he knows. He knows.

You do not understand what it means to press yourself into the waiting jaws of something that would never bite you but still wants to.

You do not understand that when you lean into him, when you trust him, you are feeding the very thing he is trying to starve.

And the thing is — both the dog and the wolf want the same thing.

To have you.

The dog wants to guard you, to protect you, to keep you safe in the way that all guardians do — by being a silent, unseen force, by waiting in the shadows, by letting you feel free while ensuring you never truly are. It does not control you. It does not take. It is patient, gentle, enduring. But it belongs to you so entirely, so thoroughly, that if you asked it to die for you, it wouldn’t hesitate.

The wolf? The wolf does not beg. The wolf does not ask permission. The wolf sees what it wants and takes it. The wolf does not serve, it claims. It sees you as something that belongs to it — not because it is entitled, not because it is cruel, but because it loves you the way hunger loves flesh. Because the wolf understands something the dog does not:

The only way to truly keep something is to consume it. To take it into yourself so fully that it can never be separate from you again.

But Caleb — Caleb — is the bridge between them. He has the wolf’s instincts and the dog’s discipline. The dog will heel when you tell it to, the wolf will wait because it chooses to, and Caleb is both. It would be easier if these two things were separate, if they hated each other, if they battled for control inside of him. But they don’t. They exist in harmony. They want the same thing.

The livestock guardian watches over you, protects you, ensures that no one lays a hand on you. The wolf ensures that no one takes you away, not even yourself.

The livestock guardian follows you, obeys you, kneels at your feet. The wolf is the reason he wants to.

The livestock guardian loves you. The wolf does, too. But love — real love — is not just something that gives. It is something that takes.

And you know what?

You never had a choice in the matter.

Not because he took that choice from you. Not because he forced you into anything.

But because, from the very beginning, from the moment you met him, before you even understood what he was—

You made him yours.