![]() ![]() My name is Christopher John Francis Boone. I stroked Wellington and wondered who had killed him, and why. It had curly black fur, but when you got close you could see that the skin underneath the fur was a very pale yellow, like chicken. Not one of the small poodles that have hairstyles but a big poodle. ![]() She lived on the opposite side of the road, two houses to the left. It belonged to Mrs Shears who was our friend. I walked onto her lawn and knelt beside the dog. I went through Mrs Shears' gate, closing it behind me. I decided that the dog was probably killed with the fork because I could not see any other wounds in the dog and I do not think you would stick a garden fork into a dog after it had died for some other reason, like cancer for example, or a road accident. The points of the fork must have gone all the way through the dog and into the ground because the fork had not fallen over. There was a garden fork sticking out of the dog. It looked as if it was running on its side, the way dogs run when they think they are chasing a cat in a dream. The dog was lying on the grass in the middle of the lawn in front of Mrs Shears' house. ![]()
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