id
stringlengths 6
7
| context_id
stringlengths 4
4
| question_id
stringclasses 29
values | domain
stringclasses 4
values | metadata
dict | context
stringlengths 1.45k
2.44k
| question
stringlengths 3
185
| question_type
stringclasses 9
values | answers
list | correct_answer_id
int32 0
3
| constituency_depth
int64 3
22
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
f109_0
|
f109
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Where is the main character?
|
Factual
|
[
"in NYC",
"not enough information",
"at the Denny's",
"outside of Las Vegas"
] | 3 | 5 |
f109_1
|
f109
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
How long was the dog probably in the car?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"Few hours",
"10 minutes",
"not enough information",
"eighty seconds"
] | 0 | 6 |
f109_2
|
f109
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who rest his chin after pulling his head in the car?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"not enough information",
"Denny",
"The dog",
"animal spirit guide"
] | 2 | 10 |
f109_3
|
f109
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What color dog is Cerberus?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"Black.",
"Red.",
"Brown."
] | 0 | 5 |
f109_4
|
f109
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who sat in the passenger seat?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"not enough information",
"Cerberus.",
"Dingo.",
"Luna."
] | 1 | 7 |
f109_5
|
f109
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What is probably true about Luna?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"She was hungry",
"not enough information",
"she was annoyed",
"she was bored"
] | 0 | 8 |
f109_6
|
f109
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Why is Dingo going to Vegas?
|
Causality
|
[
"To drop off Cerberus.",
"not enough information",
"To meet Mr. Waciejowski.",
"To talk to Luna."
] | 2 | 7 |
f109_7
|
f109
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Why did Dingo call Luna?
|
Causality
|
[
"he wanted to know if Mr. Waciejowski knew about the box",
"He wanted to know how to get to Denny's",
"not enough information",
"He wanted to hire an animal guide."
] | 0 | 6 |
f109_8
|
f109
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
While Dingo is driving
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"Luna was in the car",
"Mr. Waciejowski was at Denny's restaurant",
"Cerberus was home",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f109_9
|
f109
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Where is Dingo driving to?
|
Factual
|
[
"Las Vegas.",
"California.",
"not enough information",
"The desert."
] | 0 | 6 |
f109_10
|
f109
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Why did Luna swallow?
|
Causality
|
[
"something stuck in her throat",
"she was nervous about the question",
"she thought about an answer to the question for too long",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 5 |
f109_11
|
f109
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Dingo thinks
|
Belief_states
|
[
"Luna should open the box",
"Cerberus should open the box",
"not enough information",
"Mr. Waciejowski should not open the box"
] | 3 | 4 |
f109_12
|
f109
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What did Luna tell him the box was filled with?
|
Factual
|
[
"not enough information",
"candy",
"old photos",
"dog treats"
] | 2 | 10 |
f109_13
|
f109
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
After the end of the story, the narrator
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"goes home",
"meets with Luna",
"not enough information",
"robs a bank"
] | 1 | 7 |
f109_14
|
f109
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What does Dingo think Cerberus might need?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"A dinner at Denny's",
"A box with old photos",
"A spirit animal guide."
] | 3 | 9 |
f109_15
|
f109
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who does Cerberus belong to?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"no one",
"not enough information",
"Luna",
"Dingo"
] | 1 | 6 |
f109_16
|
f109
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
How long has Dingo been driving?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"A few days.",
"A few minutes.",
"A few hours.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f109_17
|
f109
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who did the narrator call on his phone?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Luna",
"Cerberus",
"Mr. Waciejowski",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f109_18
|
f109
|
18
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
When did Cerberus scratch his neck?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"After getting to Vegas.",
"After Dingo called Luna.",
"Before Dingo called Luna."
] | 2 | 6 |
f109_19
|
f109
|
19
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What is probably true about Mr. Waciejowski?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"he's overweight",
"not enough information",
"he has a gambling problem.",
"he lives in Las Vegas"
] | 2 | 8 |
f109_20
|
f109
|
20
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who said that Mr. Waciejowski was at Denny's
|
Belief_states
|
[
"the writer of the story",
"not enough information",
"Luna",
"Cerberus"
] | 2 | 10 |
f109_21
|
f109
|
21
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What does Dingo like to do?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"He likes to talk on the phone.",
"He likes to drive fast.",
"He likes to drive carefully.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 8 |
f109_22
|
f109
|
22
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
Who is Luna?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Ana animal spirit guide",
"The writer's sister",
"not enough information",
"the writer's girlfriend"
] | 2 | 5 |
f109_23
|
f109
|
23
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
How long Dingo's drive will probably last?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"few more minutes",
"few more hours",
"another hour",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 6 |
f109_24
|
f109
|
24
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
What will Mr. Waciejowski do later?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"not enough information",
"He will play blackjack.",
"He will order pancakes.",
"He will open the box."
] | 3 | 6 |
f109_25
|
f109
|
25
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal.
The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Luna."
"Dingo! Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?"
"Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables."
"Yeah, good for him. He has the box?"
I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm."
"He hasn't opened it, has he?"
She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos."
Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you."
I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth.
"This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?"
|
At the end of the story what does Dingo think of animal spirit guides
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"is neither a believer or non believer",
"might believe in them but is still curious of its validity",
"probably doesn't believe in them",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 10 |
f110_0
|
f110
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
What was the reason for the fight
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Parking lot argument",
"No reason",
"not enough information",
"Work related argument"
] | 2 | 8 |
f110_1
|
f110
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Right after the end of this text, Pete
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"was happy",
"was hundry",
"was bitten up",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f110_2
|
f110
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Immediately after the end of this text
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"The narrator is hurting",
"The narrator will walk his dog",
"The narrator enjoying meeting his new friend",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 6 |
f110_3
|
f110
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Who is Cerberus?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"He is the dog of the person being attacked.",
"not enough information",
"He is the attack dog.",
"He is the dog protecting the people being attacked."
] | 2 | 5 |
f110_4
|
f110
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
What is probably true about the narrator?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"The narrator is a professional fighter.",
"not enough information",
"The narrator is a professional killer.",
"The narrator was in the service."
] | 0 | 8 |
f110_5
|
f110
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
What is probably true about the Cerberus?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"Cerberus likes to fight",
"not enough information",
"Cerberus is a strong fighter",
"Cerberus did not fight"
] | 2 | 8 |
f110_6
|
f110
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
How long was the fight probably going for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"two hours",
"Not long, few minutes",
"not enough information",
"45 minutes"
] | 1 | 6 |
f110_7
|
f110
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Who made sounds like a construction machinery?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Mr. Waciejowski",
"not enough information",
"The dog",
"The narrator"
] | 2 | 7 |
f110_8
|
f110
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Who is the narrator?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Cerberus.",
"A professional killer.",
"not enough information",
"A bystander."
] | 2 | 5 |
f110_9
|
f110
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
What happened after the narrator fell?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"His opponent dropped like a bag of cement",
"Cerberus tossed its head",
"He chipped one of this teeth",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 8 |
f110_10
|
f110
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Why the dog was all fangs and fur?
|
Causality
|
[
"Because it met Pete",
"Because of the fight",
"not enough information",
"Because it was hungry"
] | 1 | 6 |
f110_11
|
f110
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Where were people fighting?
|
Factual
|
[
"They were not fighting",
"They were fighting at the bar",
"not enough information",
"They were fighting outside."
] | 3 | 5 |
f110_12
|
f110
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
Why does the narrator think he is good at fighting?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"He had many fights before",
"Mr. Waciejowski told him so",
"He says he is aware of how much damage he could do to another human being."
] | 3 | 11 |
f110_13
|
f110
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
How long was the dog in the fight?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"several hours.",
"40 minutes.",
"not enough information",
"Few minutes"
] | 3 | 6 |
f110_14
|
f110
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
When Mr. Waciejowski screamed?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"After the fight started.",
"After the narrator fell",
"After the animal tossed its head",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 5 |
f110_15
|
f110
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
How long was this group attacked for?
|
Causality
|
[
"It took 2 hours",
"not enough information",
"It happened pretty fast and lasted 10 minutes",
"It only took a minute or two"
] | 2 | 6 |
f110_16
|
f110
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
The narrator belives
|
Belief_states
|
[
"His opponent is weak",
"His opponent is very strong",
"not enough information",
"His opponent is small"
] | 1 | 4 |
f110_17
|
f110
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
I ducked, Cerberus pounced, and Mr. Waciejowski screamed like a dying ferret--a soothing and pleasant sound under most other circumstances, but now only distracting.
I felt the rush of air against my face as the crowbar skimmed my head. The man wielding it was in a black three-piece suit and built like a Texas linebacker. His mass seemed to bend space-time in the parking lot as he barreled down on me. All I could see was nearly seven feet of Armani silk.
I stood upright and brought my knee into his groin and gave him a swift elbow in the small of his back and a fist to the base of his skull. Now, I wasn't the biggest guy in the world, but I certainly wasn't the smallest either. And I was also acutely aware of how much damage I could do to another human being. But this hulking mass in Italian finery didn't even seem phased. The blows I sent this guy should have dropped him like a bag of wet cement, but he just turned and hamstringed me with that damn crowbar.
I fell so hard that one of my teeth chipped. The box flew out of my grip and landed just a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete on the ground, fumbling with his cell phone while Cerberus mauled another suit trying to sneak up behind me. If the fall hadn't knocked the wind out of me, seeing Cerberus tear into this guy certainly would have.
The dog was all fangs and fur, making sounds like construction machinery. Thick and heavy. The guy was screaming all kinds of nonsense as he kept his shredded arms in front of his face and neck. Blood and fabric flew about as the animal tossed its head in violent arcs.
|
What fabric was suit made of?
|
Factual
|
[
"not enough information",
"Cotton",
"Wool",
"Silk"
] | 3 | 7 |
f111_0
|
f111
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
After the little dot begins to flash, the main character:
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Continues doctoring himself",
"Puts the chain back on Cerberus",
"Drives to Mr. Benoit's home",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 9 |
f111_1
|
f111
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
How did the man probably get injured?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"His dog bit him.",
"not enough information",
"He was in a car accident.",
"He was shot."
] | 0 | 6 |
f111_2
|
f111
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Who is full of shit?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Fargo18",
"not enough information",
"Damon",
"Paula"
] | 0 | 8 |
f111_3
|
f111
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Where is the man headed next?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"To Mr. Benoit's house.",
"not enough information",
"To Amsterdam.",
"To Phoenix."
] | 0 | 6 |
f111_4
|
f111
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Why did the main character want things rung up faster?
|
Causality
|
[
"not enough information",
"Because Cerberus was sitting in the passenger seat of the car",
"Because he reeked of sweaty dog",
"Because of the green-haired girl behind him"
] | 3 | 8 |
f111_5
|
f111
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Who did the main character think was unpredictable?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"The Cashier",
"Mr. Benoit",
"Cerberus",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 9 |
f111_6
|
f111
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
What does the narrator think of the customer behind him in line?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"He thinks poorly of her.",
"He thinks she is intelligent.",
"He thinks she is attractive."
] | 1 | 9 |
f111_7
|
f111
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
When did the narrator put on their bandages?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"After they get to Mr. Benoit's house.",
"After giving beef jerky to Cerberus.",
"not enough information",
"Before going into the store."
] | 1 | 6 |
f111_8
|
f111
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Where does Fargo18 live?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Las Vegas.",
"not enough information",
"New York.",
"Los Angeles."
] | 1 | 5 |
f111_9
|
f111
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
When was Mr. Benoit's Address entered into the GPS system?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"After the sports drink was consumed",
"Before Cerberus was fed jerky",
"not enough information",
"While the main character was doctoring themselves"
] | 0 | 7 |
f111_10
|
f111
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
What was fed to Cerberus?
|
Factual
|
[
"Bandages",
"Sports Drink",
"not enough information",
"Beef jerky"
] | 3 | 8 |
f111_11
|
f111
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
How long did it probably take to get out of the drug store?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"5 minutes",
"20 minutes",
"an hour",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 11 |
f111_12
|
f111
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
How long was he probably in the line at the store?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"An hour.",
"not enough information",
"Five minutes.",
"Thirty minutes."
] | 2 | 8 |
f111_13
|
f111
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Who is Mr. Benoit?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"not enough information",
"A serial killer",
"A guitar player",
"A member of the band \"P\""
] | 0 | 6 |
f111_14
|
f111
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Why is the narrator in a hurry?
|
Causality
|
[
"not enough information",
"Because they are going to Amsterdam.",
"Because they are injured.",
"Because their dog is hungry."
] | 2 | 6 |
f111_15
|
f111
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Why did the main character probably want to strangle the girl with green hair?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"She was annoying him",
"not enough information",
"The cashier was taking too long to ring the items up",
"He was injured"
] | 0 | 10 |
f111_16
|
f111
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
What city is the man in?
|
Factual
|
[
"Los Angeles.",
"Las Vegas.",
"not enough information",
"Amsterdam."
] | 1 | 5 |
f111_17
|
f111
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
The nice thing about a city like Vegas was that when a man walked into a drug store covered in blood and reeking of sweaty dog, it was business as usual. I stepped up to the counter and threw down the bandages, handi-wipes, some sports drinks, and three pounds of beef jerky. Some girl with green hair and a pierced head was behind me chatting on her cell phone about flying out to Amsterdam to catch a P show at the end of the month. It took all I had not to turn around and strangle the life out of the waifish little nit.
"--means Power. Fargo18 said it's a reference to Damon's first girlfriend, but he's full of shit. Paula was his sister, not his girlfriend. Hey, did you know their guitar player is related to a serial killer? That's so hot. I hear--"
I leaned in close toward the cashier. "Can you ring this shit up a little faster?"
As I walked out to the Jeep with my booty in hand, Cerberus sat in the passenger seat and casually watched me approach. In the few hours I've been with the dog, it never once threatened me. But its mindless stare made my skin crawl. And I was going to have to put the top up soon. This dog was far from predictable and the last thing I needed was him jumping out and running off with someone's kid. I would probably have to put the chain back on him.
I threw the beef jerky at Cerberus' feet then spent the next fifteen minutes doctoring myself. I was going to have a nasty scar over my left eye to match the one on my right temple.
After I put on a clean t-shirt I threw back the sports drink and waited a few minutes for the electrolytes to kick in. While I waited, I punched Mr. Benoit's address into my GPS system. A little dot began to flash on the screen.
|
Who was staring mindlessly?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Cerberus",
"not enough information",
"the cashier",
"Damon"
] | 0 | 7 |
f112_0
|
f112
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Why would Darby probably want the box?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"To know more about Dingo",
"To have a memory of Dingo's sister",
"not enough information",
"To know more about Julie"
] | 0 | 6 |
f112_1
|
f112
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
How long was probaby Dingo in the hospital for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"not enough information",
"1 month",
"2 days",
"1 week"
] | 2 | 6 |
f112_2
|
f112
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Immediately after the end of this story
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"not enough information",
"Darby is thinking to break-up with Julie",
"Dingo's dad hand made a box",
"Dingo is thinking to break-up with Julie"
] | 3 | 6 |
f112_3
|
f112
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
What was in the box?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Dingo's old photos",
"not enough information",
"His mother's letters",
"Some toys"
] | 1 | 7 |
f112_4
|
f112
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Who took the box?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"Julie",
"Darby",
"Dingo's ex-wife",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f112_5
|
f112
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
What was Julie looking for?
|
Factual
|
[
"Dingo's secrets",
"A hand-carved box",
"His ex-wife",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f112_6
|
f112
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Who is Darby?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Dingo's partner",
"Dingo's friend",
"Dingo's neighbor",
"not enough information"
] | 3 | 5 |
f112_7
|
f112
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
When the narrator felt his stiches were coming apart?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"Before Julie came",
"After his wife arrived",
"not enough information",
"While talking"
] | 3 | 7 |
f112_8
|
f112
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
What kind of relationship did Dingo have with Julie?
|
Causality
|
[
"Friends",
"Purely sexual",
"Normal and healthy",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f112_9
|
f112
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
What Dingo said about his ex-wife?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"He was excited to meet her",
"He did not know she was in town",
"He was jealous about her",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 7 |
f112_10
|
f112
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Who character thought to be annoing?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"not enough information",
"Julie",
"His ex-wife",
"Darby"
] | 1 | 8 |
f112_11
|
f112
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
How long probably Julie and Dingo talked for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"30 minutes",
"an entire evening",
"several hours",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 5 |
f112_12
|
f112
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Who arrived unexpectedly?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"His ex-wife",
"not enough information",
"His dad",
"His girlfriend"
] | 0 | 6 |
f112_13
|
f112
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
What was Dingos and Julie's relationship mainly consist of?
|
Factual
|
[
"beating each other up",
"carving a box together",
"not enough information",
"Lots of sex"
] | 3 | 8 |
f112_14
|
f112
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Why was Julie probbaly angry?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"She was suspicious about his ex-wife",
"not enough information",
"Dingo wouldn't marry her",
"Dingo's box was missing"
] | 0 | 5 |
f112_15
|
f112
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Dingo was getting stitches at the hospital
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"not enough information",
"before he knew his ex-wife was in town",
"after he knew his ex-wife was in town",
"with his ex-wife present"
] | 1 | 7 |
f112_16
|
f112
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
Why was Dingo in the hospital?
|
Causality
|
[
"Darby took the box his Dad made.",
"He was beaten up.",
"He was having sex with Julie there.",
"not enough information"
] | 1 | 6 |
f112_17
|
f112
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Michael Alan Nelson",
"title": "Dingo",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/nelsonmother08dingo/0.html"
}
|
As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye.
"I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek.
"Julie, I told you. Darby took the box."
"I get that, but--."
"The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved.
"Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week."
"Hey, I told you not to go digging--. "
"I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there."
So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital."
|
After the end of this story, Dingo is
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"irritable",
"content",
"happy",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f113_0
|
f113
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
What did Mr. Drake hurry into?
|
Factual
|
[
"not enough information",
"The trailer.",
"The bathroom.",
"Bed."
] | 1 | 6 |
f113_1
|
f113
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Where will Chris be soon?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"not enough information",
"In the bathroom.",
"In bed.",
"Outside."
] | 2 | 6 |
f113_2
|
f113
|
2
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
How long had Digger likely have been missing?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"a few hours",
"a few weeks",
"not enough information",
"a few days"
] | 0 | 7 |
f113_3
|
f113
|
3
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Who is not in any of the beds?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"not enough information",
"Gwenny.",
"Chris.",
"Digger."
] | 3 | 8 |
f113_4
|
f113
|
4
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Where is Digger?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Digger is with Susan",
"Digger was taken by a stranger",
"not enough information",
"Digger ran away"
] | 2 | 5 |
f113_5
|
f113
|
5
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
After checking the beds for Digger, how does the speaker feel?
|
Subsequent_state
|
[
"Worried",
"Reassured",
"not enough information",
"Hopeful"
] | 0 | 8 |
f113_6
|
f113
|
6
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
What is probably Digger's age?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"He is middle aged man.",
"He is an old man.",
"He is a young boy.",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f113_7
|
f113
|
7
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
How long it will probably take to find Digger?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"A few months.",
"A few minutes.",
"A few hours",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 9 |
f113_8
|
f113
|
8
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
When did the dogs bark?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"After Ethorne shouted.",
"not enough information",
"When Chris went to bed.",
"When Gwenny spoke."
] | 0 | 5 |
f113_9
|
f113
|
9
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Why is Gwenny's ego hurt?
|
Causality
|
[
"not enough information",
"Because Digger sleeps so much.",
"Because her boyfriend doesn't want her to see him to bed.",
"Because Digger is missing."
] | 2 | 6 |
f113_10
|
f113
|
10
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Who says to call Dr. Lamont?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"Ethorne",
"not enough information",
"Mrs. DeLyon",
"Gwenny"
] | 2 | 9 |
f113_11
|
f113
|
11
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
When was Chris put to bed?
|
Temporal_order
|
[
"after searching for Digger",
"while searching for Digger",
"before searching for Digger",
"not enough information"
] | 2 | 7 |
f113_12
|
f113
|
12
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Why was Dr. Lamont called?
|
Causality
|
[
"because they were trying to find the parents",
"not enough information",
"because Susan could have placed digger in the backseat and forgot to tell them",
"because they were hungry"
] | 2 | 5 |
f113_13
|
f113
|
13
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
How long they think Digger usually sleep?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"8 hours",
"not enough information",
"3 hours",
"10 hours"
] | 3 | 7 |
f113_14
|
f113
|
14
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Why's it probably important for them to rest?
|
Entity_properties
|
[
"not enough information",
"so they can wait for the parents to arrive in peace and quiet",
"so they'll be refreshed if Digger returns",
"so they'll have strength to look for Digger later"
] | 3 | 8 |
f113_15
|
f113
|
15
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
What could be the reason Digger would wake up?
|
Character_identity
|
[
"to change beds",
"not enough information",
"to use the bathroom",
"to get a snack"
] | 2 | 11 |
f113_16
|
f113
|
16
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
Where did they look for Digger?
|
Factual
|
[
"His bed",
"cold bathroom",
"Chris' bedroom",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 7 |
f113_17
|
f113
|
17
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
Mr. Drake hurried into the trailer, and Ethorne, Gwenny, Johnny Tepes, and I looked up as Mrs. DeLyon followed him. He looked at me. "Where would Digger go?"
I shrugged and blinked. The question made no sense; Digger would not go anywhere. When he slept, he slept for ten hours. You could toss him around like a sack of potatoes, and he would not wake up. With one exception. "Bathroom?"
Mrs. DeLyon shook her head. "No."
Mr. Drake said, "And he's not in any of the beds. We looked in all three."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "And under them. And I called for him. He wouldn't hide from me, would he?"
I shook my head. Ethorne got up, went to the door, and shouted, "Digger! Where is you, Digger-boy? You don't need to hide no more. Everything's fine now!"
The dogs barked in response, but no person answered.
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Call Dr. Lamont. Maybe Susan put him in the backseat and forgot to tell us."
Mr. Drake's voice held as little hope for that as Mrs. DeLyon's, but he said, "All right."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "We'll get Chris to bed in the meantime."
"I'm in charge," I said.
Ethorne said, "When there's nothing you can do, you might as well sleep. Save your strength for when you need it."
Mrs. DeLyon said, "Don't worry. At least one of us will stay in the trailer until your folks get back."
Gwenny said, "C'mon, boyfriend. I'll see you to your bed."
I said, "I can go by myself."
Gwenny looked at Mrs. DeLyon, then at Johnny Tepes. "Well, that's a blow to a girl's ego."
They smiled without much humor, and Mr. Drake hung up the phone.
Ethorne said, "What is it?"
Mr. Drake said, "Let's get Chris to bed first."
I stood and went to the door. "G'night."
|
What is the relationship between Susan and Gwenny?
|
Unanswerable
|
[
"Susan is Gwenny's sister.",
"not enough information",
"Susan is Gwenny's aunt.",
"Susan is Gwenny's cousin."
] | 1 | 7 |
f114_0
|
f114
|
0
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
We gave Tiger swimming lessons in our plastic wading pool. I taught the kitten the way Pa taught me: I threw him into water where he could not stand, and I watched, ready to grab him if he went under. Tiger did not thrash desperately like me. He merely paddled urgently for the edge of the plastic pool with his head high and his thin legs churning. Little Bit said, "Dog paddle," and we all laughed. "Tiger paddle," I said, and we all laughed some more, even Jordy. That was probably when Ma noticed the kitten swimming lessons and stopped them.
Our swimming lessons happened in two places. When Pa took us, we went to Hawkins Springs behind Mrs. DeLyons' Fountain of Youth Motor Hotel. When Ma took us, we drove to Mermaid Springs State Park, where we would sometimes meet Mr. Drake.
I liked Mermaid Springs better because I felt safe there. Ma could not swim, so she never made me jump off a dock into deep water, and she always insisted that I wear an orange styrofoam cylinder on my back like a skindiver or spaceman. Ma usually sat on a towel on the grass near the beach, reading a magazine or a book while tanning her legs. Every now and then she would call to us not to go too far or not to splash each other. When she wore her one-piece red swimming suit, she would come in up to her waist, then lower herself to her shoulders, being careful not to get her hair wet. On the rarest occasions, she would wear a swimming cap and float on her back in the shallow water. Often she stayed in her shorts and shirt, adding sunglasses and removing shoes as her concession to summer and the beach.
|
How long were the lessons probably going for?
|
Event_duration
|
[
"not enough information",
"ten minutes",
"one hour",
"two hours"
] | 2 | 6 |
f114_1
|
f114
|
1
|
fiction
|
{
"author": "Will Shetterly",
"title": "Dogland",
"url": "http://manybooks.net/pages/shetterlywother07Dogland/0.html"
}
|
We gave Tiger swimming lessons in our plastic wading pool. I taught the kitten the way Pa taught me: I threw him into water where he could not stand, and I watched, ready to grab him if he went under. Tiger did not thrash desperately like me. He merely paddled urgently for the edge of the plastic pool with his head high and his thin legs churning. Little Bit said, "Dog paddle," and we all laughed. "Tiger paddle," I said, and we all laughed some more, even Jordy. That was probably when Ma noticed the kitten swimming lessons and stopped them.
Our swimming lessons happened in two places. When Pa took us, we went to Hawkins Springs behind Mrs. DeLyons' Fountain of Youth Motor Hotel. When Ma took us, we drove to Mermaid Springs State Park, where we would sometimes meet Mr. Drake.
I liked Mermaid Springs better because I felt safe there. Ma could not swim, so she never made me jump off a dock into deep water, and she always insisted that I wear an orange styrofoam cylinder on my back like a skindiver or spaceman. Ma usually sat on a towel on the grass near the beach, reading a magazine or a book while tanning her legs. Every now and then she would call to us not to go too far or not to splash each other. When she wore her one-piece red swimming suit, she would come in up to her waist, then lower herself to her shoulders, being careful not to get her hair wet. On the rarest occasions, she would wear a swimming cap and float on her back in the shallow water. Often she stayed in her shorts and shirt, adding sunglasses and removing shoes as her concession to summer and the beach.
|
How did Little Bit think Tiger was swimming?
|
Belief_states
|
[
"Doggy Paddle",
"Kitten swimming",
"Tiger Paddle",
"not enough information"
] | 0 | 9 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.