He’s twelve and a half, which would become, let’s say, about ninety years old in the human scale.

I know but few more good souls, as faithful, sweet, staunch, noble, brave, serene and pure as him.

But he is growing old: cataracts, deafness, epilepsy, hip problems… I take care of him, we all do, and despite all the love we put into it, I fear it will be a little time left that we can share together. I feel he is leaving.

When he was born, they called him Rufli, but I also call him Guru.

He has taken me for a walk through the years, he has helped me get to know beautiful scenery and good people -with him I have learnt to conjugate the verb ‘to love’.

He was the first canine soul into the house, and now with him, with us, other dogs we adopted or that were given us live. He is the patriarch, but he does not behave as one. He is still the puppy soul he was when I picked him up that afternoon in the Pyrenees.

Will there be heaven? And if there is anything like it, how many people will be in it? Because I have no doubt it will be full of good dogs.

And there are dogs that are beautiful people, like Guru.

Kisses, hugs.



Alex Rovira