The only thing that mattered to him all those years was his dog. He had no other family. The German Shepherd was not just a pet: it was his family, his friend, the only being he trusted. The prisoner had found it as a puppy, trembling in an alley, and from that day they were inseparable.

When the warden brought the paper, asking for his last wish, the man did not ask for gourmet food, cigarettes, or a priest, as many do. He quietly said:

— I want to see my dog. One last time.

At first, the staff received