Today, I lost my best friend. My dog. My Perrun. Perrun – or Psisko, because his real name was as beautiful as it was noble: Lobo de Maestre, the Wolf of Maestre. The first “Spanish” German Shepherd I got against my own will when I first arrived at the stables in Sanlúcar. Almost ten years ago, I only had eyes for cats—because a dog is such a responsibility. And yet, he was the one who showed me how deep a dog’s love can be. It’s thanks to him that today, the stables are full of his kind. He proved his worth. He showed that this bloodline works with horses like no other, that it loves the fiercest and stays the most loyal. That it can work in any conditions and follow me to the ends of the earth. He was the dog I wrote articles about, the one whose story filled the pages of books. The dog everyone knew and loved—both online and in our Spanish stables. He was a symbol. A legend. He lived intensely, just like me. I always joked that out of the whole pack, he was the most mine, that we understood each other without words. He was the leader of the pack, and when he no longer had the strength, he remained the leader on paper—and the other dogs respected that. I owed him that much. If you ever had the chance to meet him, you were the luckiest. And now, he is probably running through the endless meadows of dog heaven, ears flapping in the wind, a smile on his face. Up there, he will never grow tired. He will always be young and full of life. And I know that one day, somewhere down the road, we will meet again. Until we meet again, my Wolf.