Chet The Dog

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An Amazon Reader …

… on Of Mutts and Men, the new Chet and Bernie:

Beginnings

On Sunday we do beginnings, taking a look at the start of a Peter Abrahams novel including those written under the Spencer Quinn moniker. Since we seem to have missed our normal Christmas in July post, let’s have Santa 365, the e-short story, do double duty today.

“There’s no Santa Claus,” Charlie said.

“Who told you that?” said Bernie.

“Esmé.”

“Who’s Esmé?”

“At school.”

“Well,” said Bernie, “everyone has their own opinion.”

“It’s not an opinion, Dad,” said Charlie. “It’s a scientific fact.”

“Oh?”

“From a scientist.”

“Any scientist in particular?”

“Groucho Marx.”

“Esmé told you that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Know much about Groucho Marx?”

Charlie shrugged his skinny little shoulders. “He was a scientist and he said there ain’t no Santa Claus.”

“What do Esmé’s parents do?”

“Drive her to school. Pick her up.”

“I meant for a living.”

“Like you’re a private eye?”

“Yeah. Like that.”

“I don’t think they’re private eyes,” Charlie said.

“Why not?”

“They’re rich.”

Reader Questions

Reader Margo Plyler wrote in:

I am still waiting to read “Of Mutts And Men”! Why? This is not just a ‘book’ to read and fiction at that, but these events in the life of Chet and Bernie comes alive and gets into our heart and soul! All the titles in this series have meaning that goes beyond description! Mr. Quinn did you plan it that way?

Me: Good question, Margo! Assuming by “titles” you mean the individual books in the series, my goal is to write an entertaining story. But in the writing of that story, deeper things start to happen, almost like there’s a current flowing under me. After a while I cotton on! And begin to make conscious use of the subterranean meaning. But never in a way – I hope – that would slow the story down. Hope this helps – Peter.

Hospice Scene

There seems to be some interest in the hospice scene in Of Mutts and Men. Here’s how it begins:

“Sheriff Gooden?” said Lois. “You’ve got visitors.”

He turned his head our way. His eyes were dull and lightless, and I smelled something strong and not good coming from inside him – not pee or poop or puke or any of that normal stuff – which actually doesn’t smell bad to me, interesting being the way to put it, always worth a sniff . This particular bad smell was something I’d smelled in a human or two before. It was the smell of a living thing inside them, a living thing that wasn’t them – a scary thought. Had I smelled something similar in a few members of the nation within? Uh-oh. My mind stopped right there. I have the kind of mind that looks out for me, at least most of the time.