Thereby Hangs A Tail by Spencer Quinn
My Rating: 4/5 Stars
Me and Bernie working a case. There’s nothing better. The wind whipping my fur, the barking—I was barking?—my head out the window taking in the breeze and the smells—don’t even get me started on the desert smells after a hard rain. The squirrels and the choke—squirrel—collar and the tumbleweeds and steak (juicy deliciousness) and bacon (definitely not the crisp kind) and little rats and weasels and biting pant legs and opening doors and hamburger and chew strips and an entire family pack of bacon—don’t even get me started.
And I bark and Iggy barks and I bark and Iggy barks, and then Iggy disappears—no, he’s back again—and I slurp fresh water (the smell) and of course I like Slim Jims—what kind of a silly question is that?—and silly stoners and Bernie needs a loaner and we’re off and running on the case, or maybe that’s just me. But then I see a squirrel and a Frisbee and of course I like fetch—what kind of a question is that?—and the Porsche with its clickety-clack-clack sound before it all breaks down. Bernie boxing for show and nearly losing all his dough and fast food—where? did I miss it?—and ice cubes (like a cold biscuit before it dissolves in my mouth) and special treats and sitting in the backseat—let me tell you, it’s not as fun as shotgun.
Holy hell, Chet and I could be best friends, but he’s man’s best friend, so it’s all good. But good doesn’t even begin to describe this massive amount of fun. Chet may have the attention span of a fruit fly, but he’s got the voice of an experienced gumshoe digging through the entrails of his next case, and he’ll see it through all the way to the end, even if he manages to get sidetracked every three-and-a-half minutes.
The sidetracks, though, are where things tend to get interesting. Sure, there’s a mystery—albeit a slightly simple one, but this is a dog we’re talking about after all—and sure, it’s solved by the end but the real excitement lies in the and back roads and dog shows—perfect for a world-class gumshoe of the canine variety.
I’ll need to hold my fedora in my hand the next time I see Spencer Quinn—there was a brief encounter at the Albany Bouchercon—because he really nailed Chet’s voice. Nailed it so well that I thought I was a dog for a few hours, and I really, really want to be a dog all over again sometime soon. It’s a good thing I have TO FETCH A THIEF in the reading queue. Because if I didn’t, I’d certainly need to put it there…like right now.