His final wish, before the last sentence would be spoken—the sentence that would mark the end of his life—was simple. He did not ask for a lavish meal, for cigarettes, or even for a priest. Instead, he quietly asked to see his German Shepherd one last time. That was all he wanted. The prisoner had long since accepted his fate with a silent kind of resignation.

For twelve long years, day after day, he awoke in the cold, gray cell marked B-17. The years blurred together, seasons passing outside walls he could not see. He had been accused of taking a man’s life, and though he swore he was innocent, his words had never carried enough weight. In the beginning, he fought—filing complaints, writing appeals, reaching out to lawyers who barely remembered his name. But time is a relentless teacher, and eventually, he stopped fighting. He let the hope drain away, leaving behind only the quiet endurance of waiting for a final judgment.

Through all of those years, the one constant thread that kept him alive was not hope in the courts or belief in justice. It was his dog. His German Shepherd was not just a pet. She was family, friend, companion, and protector. She was the only soul he had left in this world. He had found her as a trembling puppy in a back alley years before his imprisonment. She was cold, shivering, and alone. From that day forward, they were inseparable. She had given him love when he had nothing, loyalty when no one else stood beside him.

When the warden finally came to his cell with the document in hand, asking what his final request would be, the man did not hesitate. With a calm, almost gentle voice, he said: “I want to see my dog. Just one last time.”

At first, the staff exchanged glances of disbelief. Some wondered if it was a trick, some clever scheme to buy time or plot an escape. But the man’s face carried no deception. His eyes were clear, filled only with a yearning that could not be faked. On the day before the sentence was to be carried out, the request was honored.

They brought him into the yard under the hard, watchful eyes of armed guards. The air was heavy, every sound magnified by the weight of what was to come. And then, from across the yard, he saw her. His dog.

The German Shepherd recognized him instantly. Before the officer could tighten his grip on the leash, she pulled free with a sudden burst of strength that none of them expected. She bolted forward, a streak of fur and muscle, closing the distance in seconds. In that moment, time itself seemed to stop.

The dog launched into his arms, knocking him backward. For the first time in twelve years, he felt neither the chill of the prison air nor the heavy burden of his chains. What he felt instead was warmth. The warmth of her body against his, the smell of her coat, the heartbeat he knew so well. He buried his face into her thick fur, clutching her desperately as if he could somehow hold back time.

Tears, long suppressed, came flooding out. He cried without shame, the way a child cries when he knows nothing else to do. The dog whined softly, pressing closer, her own voice carrying the weight of twelve years apart. It was as if she too understood the cruel shortness of this reunion.

“You’re my girl… my faithful companion,” he whispered through the tears. “What will you do without me?” His hands trembled as they stroked her back again and again, trying to memorize every curve, every softness, every detail. The dog gazed up at him with eyes brimming with devotion and love that no distance, no bars, and no years could erase.

“Forgive me… for leaving you alone,” his voice cracked, raw and broken. “I couldn’t prove the truth… but at least, I was always needed by you.”

The guards stood still, unable to interrupt. Some turned their faces away, unwilling to let their own emotions show. Even the toughest among them could not pretend they were watching just another prisoner. What they saw was a man, stripped of everything else, holding on to the last piece of his world with everything he had.

He lifted his head, eyes wet and red, and looked at the warden. “Please,” he said hoarsely. “Take care of her.” His plea was not for himself, but for the dog. He asked the warden to bring her into his own home, promising that he would not resist, that he would accept the sentence if only his companion could be safe.

Silence fell heavy over the yard. The only sound was the dog’s bark—sharp, loud, almost defiant—as if she were protesting the injustice about to unfold.

He hugged her again, more fiercely than before, clinging as though sheer strength could make the moment eternal. This was his farewell, his last embrace, the one memory he wanted to carry with him into the darkness that lay ahead.

And so, in those final moments, surrounded by guards and stone walls, he was not a criminal. He was a man saying goodbye to the only being who had ever loved him without question, without doubt, without end.