Now don't start getting ideas. I am not a philosopher. I'm a dog. But I look like a philosopher, they say, and I'm not sure the distinction is as great as you might think. I'm what's known as a Rhodesian Ridgeback. My forebears used to hunt lions in Africa, but I'm a modernized urban specimen. I don't hunt much of anything.
I was born somewhere on the plains west of Uppsala, Sweden. In the beginning I was blind and tumbled around with my siblings. We pooped and bit each other and nursed, and our mother — who I must admit was kind of a bitch — tried to raise us to the best of her ability. Without all that much success, I must say too.
When I was about two months old I was adopted. Two long-legged humans, a man and a woman, came and picked me up, loaded me in a car and drove into town. This is the story of the eleven years we spent together.
'The Swedish novelist Håkan Nesser is in another league' The Sunday Times.
'The godfather of Swedish crime' Metro.
'An award-winning writer who has sold millions worldwide' Edinburgh Evening News