Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Spencer Quinn’

Pawnbroker, Ukulele, Us (From Thereby Hangs A Tail)

“What a beautiful instrument,” said Mr. Singh. He turned it over in his hands. “Genuine Hawaiian koa, highly flamed, Sitka spruce top braces, bone nut. Do you play?”

“A bit.”

A bit? Bernie was a master!

“Would a brief selection be possible? Anything at all.”

Of course it was possible. How about “Waltz Across Texas?” “Parachute Woman?” “Ghost Riders in the Sky?” And there was always “Surfin’ U.S.A,” guaranteed to get them up and dancing. Suddenly I was in the mood to see Mr. Singh dance. I don’t exactly dance, myself, but when dancing starts up I’m no wallflower, either, kind of confusing, the wallflower part, because I’ve often seen flowers – even flowers growing by a wall – dancing in the breeze.

We learned so much about balls yesterday!  Have to go back to it in the future, whenever that is.

We Almost Have A Winner! (But Close Enough)

Bernie says there are at least one hundred billion galaxies in the universe, and if that’s what he says I believe it. What it means is anybody’s guess. But that’s the only question Rebecca Rice and Megan, in combo, missed on the pop quiz, part two, and who cares, anyway? Did I make a rule about no combos? Or any other rule at all? So if each of them will send a mailing address to spence.quinn@gmail.com, a copy of Thereby Hangs A Tail, signed by Spencer Quinn and stamped by me, Chet, will be on its way.

Note from Admin: We’re working on the business card distribution idea. (Card appears on January 16th post.)  Also, everyone here is pulling for Cosmo.

A Review From BookPage

A dog’s eye view

Review by Rusty McDaniel

Call me Rusty.

BookPage (or rather, a certain BookPage writer) asked me to review the second in Spencer Quinn’s Chet and Bernie mystery series. I’d rather be a pirate (B’arrrrrrrgh!), but the book was written by Chet, a dog, and deserves the attention of the author’s peers. So, being “one of my guys,” as Chet puts it, I’m happy to lend a paw.

To begin with, this book looks good and smells good. (Chews well, too, though a little pulpy in the middle.) Chet, a dog of an unrecognizable breed, works alongside his godlike human, Bernie Little, Private Investigator. They check out a mysterious case of dognapping, involving a “tiny fluffball” named Princess. Princess came to town for the Great Western Dog Show and disappeared somewhere into the dry gulches and canyons—along with her ill-fated owner, an Italian contessa, and Suzie, Bernie’s girlfriend.

Details are sometimes hazy, but Chet is more observant than your average dog. (Present company excluded.) His soliloquies often involve taking human metaphors literally, as in pondering the connection of poles to Polish sausage.

Life is always great for Chet, as for all of us dogs, so don’t expect any noir here. But he is not unphilosophical—“whatever that is,” as he often says modestly. Dogito ergo sum (“I am a dog, therefore I am”) appears to be his ruling concept, though not in so many words, of course. I did notice that he can’t seem to bark Latin. So few dogs, ahem, can.

Any reader with a nose for nastiness may sniff out the perp early on, but the real fun is in Chet’s take on humans and their world. He’s not above expressing his amazement at the many ways in which dogs are superior (hearing, smelling, etc.). Still, he retains an unqualified love for his human, and he expresses universal truths eloquently—like the superiority of bacon chew strips over other forms of entertainment.

Great job. Good Spencer.

Rusty lives with his owner, Maude McDaniel, in Cumberland, Maryland.