I met Lobo in March 1993, his mother was a pure timber wolf meant to be bread with her counterpart when a local interloper jumped the fence etc.. He looked like a little bear cub, the last of the siblings to be given away before a more desired litter. I was an under cover officer in a drug unit. Lobo, spanish for wolf, was a wonderful part of the family, not fully domestic and very unique. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was beautiful and regal. I trained him to run next to a bicycle with a lead. He pulled me off a few times but eventually we got the hang of it. He was with me through two painful divorces. The only thing he really wanted was my attention. One year I was back on patrol when I crossed a local drug dealer who had a strong reason to get back at me through my dog. A few days alter.. Lobo, at 9 years old, over the course of a day and a half began having seizures closer and closer together until at the vets office he wouldn’t come out of one. I had to make the decision to let him go to a better place. He died in my arms. I don’t know if he was poisoned or not and maybe he saved my life. I will always have a special place in my heart for him.

JB from NE