Now don't start getting ideas. I am not a philosopher. I'm a dog. But I
look like a philosopher, they say, and I'm not sure the distinction is
as great as you might think. I was born somewhere on the plains west of
Uppsala, Sweden. In the beginning I was blind and tumbled around with my
siblings. We pooped and bit each other and nursed, and our mother--who I
must admit was kind of a bitch--tried to raise us to the best of her
ability. Without all that much success, I must say too. When I was about
two months old I was adopted. Two long-legged humans, a man and a woman,
came and picked me up, loaded me in a car and drove into town. This is
the story of the 11 years we spent together.