Problem: OPTIONS:
- Pitbull and GS
- not enough information
- Husky and GS
- Husky and Terrier
Q: One time I was walking my puppy (profile pic) who was then around 5 months, with my mum and grandma. By the time we were about to reach our house, we spot two dogs, a German Shepherd and a Husky, both male, on the other side of the street sniffing around with no owner in sight. I was ready to hightail out of there with my dog, but I knew if I ran they would chase, so we formed a wall in front of her to hide her. Of course she decides to stick out her head and start barking. Those two dogs whipped their heads so fast and came running towards us to see her. Since she is a puppy she has zero impulse control and starts throwing herself at them, at their backs, face, plus the fact that she doesn't like being sniffed at her rear (which they are trying very hard to get to). Here I am nervously sweet talking to them, my voice trembling saying good boys. My grandma is her despair grabs the GS's neck, and his hair bristled and growled for a second before turning back to our pup. At this point my baby girl is sitting down with her tail tucked close, ears flattened, and head down. I thought "Dear Lord someone's losing a limb today." When suddenly this car comes pulling up and this man comes out with a leash, the owner. He practically had to wrestle the GS into the car. A woman in a pickup truck comes next trying to get the husky but he ran away again, but my mom didn't care, she scooped up our pup and ran, the leash trailing behind her, and even my grandma who has troubles in her knees speed walked. My mom would later laugh at me because I became so pale and because I tried to baby talk a dog to leave us alone. Question: What breed were the two dogs? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: Husky and GS

Problem:OPTIONS:
- History
- Sociology
- Political Ideologies
- not enough information

Alona's persistent knocking at the door of room 412 went unanswered for three minutes as she nervously shuffled her feet. Her book bag was super-saturated with textbooks, notebooks, schedules, rough drafts, and various other forms of academic paraphernalia. It was getting heavier. She continued to knock, even though there had as yet been no answer, because the note card tacked to the right of the door indicated that these indeed were Prof. Turgy K. Sigger's office hours. She could see the light under the door and thought she had heard a groan. Just before she decided to give up, slow feet approached from the opposite side, then silence; with a dramatic turn of the knob, the door swung open. "Was this trip really necessary?" asked Prof. Sigger, blinking and brushing his oily, graying hair back into place. "These are your office hours," Alona replied. She nervously smiled, feeling the corners of her mouth twitch. Somewhere in the darkened hall, a janitor coughed. "All right," conceded Prof. Sigger. "Come in." The carpet was smothered by leaning towers of textbooks. Papers lined the left side of the desk, above which was a small note card which read "To Be Graded." On the right side, the oak finish gleamed of the mid-morning light piercing the Venetian blinds. "You've come about your final project," Prof. Sigger stated. "It's only mid-term," Alona reminded him. "Oh yes, yes," continued Prof. Sigger, without conscious embarrassment. "Mid-term grade. I think I have it here. Somewhere." His hands disappeared into the left side of his desk. "You told the class that we would get a C if we maintained that Coca-Cola isn't a crypto-fascist conspiracy." "Oh yes," said Prof. Sigger. "We were discussing social issues, as I remember. I was quoting Marx and some little idiot brought up Rush Limbaugh." "That was me," Alona muttered. Question: What class does Alona need help in? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: not enough information

input: OPTIONS:
- Mother
- The Author's Sibling
- not enough information
- The Author Now, answer this question: My mother's shopping lists were ordered by rules known only to her. As you slid your finger down the columns of groceries and toiletries, you would invariably be stopped by something along the lines of "2dozjumHerbal Essences" or "1pepperoni TC," with the "TC" underlined twice and flanked by gnarled masses of pencil scratch-outs. When we were kids, we dreaded accompanying her to Wal-Mart, or worse, the Cosco at the edge of town, where the echoing rafters and limitless aisles seemed to mock the confusion into which we were inevitably thrown when handed torn-off fragments of the list. Of course, it was easy enough to see in hindsight that "2dozjumHerbal Essences" was merely the bastard child of two drunkenly weaving columns--we had been supposed to get two dozen jumbo eggs and a bottle of my mother's favourite brand of shampoo (ever inventive in creating proprietary abbreviations--"TC" standing for, what else, thin crust pizza--my mother scrupulously wrote out brand names in full). It was a little like ordering chemicals for a laboratory, sans any knowledge of chemistry--or, for that matter, laboratories, although my ignorance of the distinction between baking soda and baking powder cannot be entirely the root of my confusion. Eventually I--and my siblings--learned the difference between tomato paste and tomato sauce, and could readily distinguish one brand of laundry detergent from a similarly-styled knock-off, but my shame-faced trips back to the mothercart never ceased. I would track her down, most often in the produce section--she was usually loath to trust us with the delicate task of selecting the very best fruits and vegetables--and hand her back my portion of the list, asking for an explanation. Usually it amounted to a failure of awareness on my part--get the kind of soap we always get, of course! Question: Who knew the rules to mothers's shopping list? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output:
Mother