I don't remember the story, but I remember I liked it, and I remember it haunted me, and I remember I remembered it as a slightly older child than I was when I read it, and then again when we brought our first dog home, and he was the tiniest living being I had ever seen, and he did his absolute best to climb three flights of stairs all the way to the top of my elongated house, and I was up there and he looked at me and he was proud. And there he stood, proudly, on the last step of my abundantly-stepped house, and he looked down while seeming fierceful, a downright majestic force of nature, and we were both small and motherless and craving, and this memory remains to me chiseled in stone because I watched him and the thought came unbidden to my head: GRAN LOBO SALVAJE. And I knew I meant me as well as him, and we remained big wild wolves. He until the day he died, and I still.