Pack Loyalty. Rottweiler’s and Real Leadership.

There’s a particular kind of truth that lives in a Rottweiler’s gaze. Not the loud kind. Not the showy kind. The grounded kind. The kind that sees straight through you and quietly decides whether you’re someone worth following.

People’s faces when I say we own Rottweilers are always a mix of admiration and mild panic. I get it. They look like they could drag a truck across a field and still have energy left to judge your life choices. But strength isn’t their headline. Presence is. Intention is. And intention is something I’ve had to learn the hard way, both in leadership and in life.

I didn’t choose this breed to prove anything. I chose them because I recognized something familiar in their eyes. A quiet authority I hadn’t claimed yet. A kind of strength that never needs to yell. A confidence that doesn’t posture. A loyalty that doesn’t bend for convenience. They mirrored a version of me I hadn’t met yet.

Raising Rottweilers teaches you something leadership seminars never touch. You cannot fake presence with a dog who reads your energy before you open your mouth. You can’t be inconsistent, frantic, or unclear. You can’t rely on tone to make up for lack of conviction. They won’t respect noise. They respect truth.

I learned that the hard way during one training session. I was frustrated. Unfocused. More reactive than intentional. I wanted compliance without having built connection. My Rotties stared at me with a look that translated perfectly into, get your shit together. It was humbling. It was deserved, and it shifted everything.

From that moment forward, I stopped trying to lead from performance. I started leading from presence. I started noticing how my energy walked into rooms before I did. I started paying attention to the tone beneath my words, not just the words. I treated leadership like a relationship instead of a role, and everything changed.

Rottweilers will show you every inconsistency you think you’ve hidden. They feel the crack before anyone hears it. They sense hesitation like scent. They know when your boundaries are firm and when they’re performative. They know if your authority is rooted or brittle. And the truth is, most leaders crumble under the same scrutiny.

A Rottie doesn’t follow commands.
They follow clarity.
They follow intention.
They follow the energy that makes them feel safe.
and they’ll walk away from anything that feels unsteady.

The more time I spent with them, the more I realized how many teams operate the same way. People don’t commit to titles. They commit to trust. They commit to consistency. They commit to leaders who understand the weight of influence and the responsibility that comes with it.

When I walk into boardrooms now, I think of that gaze. Not because I’m afraid of it, but because it keeps me honest. Am I grounded or leaking nerves? Am I leading from truth or from fear? Am I asking for loyalty I haven’t earned? It’s a check-in with the version of me who refuses to lead from ego.

These dogs have reshaped me. They’ve sharpened my intuition. They’ve humbled my assumptions. They’ve taught me that boundaries aren’t barriers, they’re offerings. That calm is a higher form of power than volume. That leadership is never about control, but about trust earned through consistency.

The woman I am now walks differently because of them.
Straighter.
Quieter.
More deliberate.
More aligned.
More protective of my energy and more intentional with my influence.

If you want to know what kind of leader you are, don’t ask your title. Ask your presence. Ask your energy. Ask yourself whether someone who senses everything would trust you enough to follow.

Rottweilers don’t lie.
They don’t flatter.
They don’t tolerate instability.
They reveal the truth you carry.
and they demand you rise into the version of yourself that can lead without noise.

If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re leading from fear or from grounded authority, ask yourself one question:

Would a Rottweiler follow you?

Your grit is gorgeous.

— Maven