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Thereby Hangs a Tail Paperback – Oct 1 2010

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Product Details

  • Paperback: 320 pages
  • Publisher: Pocket Books (Oct. 1 2010)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1847398375
  • ISBN-13: 978-1847398376
  • Product Dimensions: 13 x 1.8 x 19.8 cm
  • Shipping Weight: 240 g
  • Average Customer Review: 5.0 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (3 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #2,782,616 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
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Product Description

About the Author

Spencer Quinn lives on Cape Cod with his dog, Audrey. He is currently working on the next Chet and Bernie novel.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


The perp looked around—what nasty little eyes he had!—and saw there was nowhere to go. We were in some kind of warehouse, big and shadowy, with a few grimy high-up windows and tall stacks of machine parts. I couldn’t remember how the warehouse fit in, exactly, or even what the whole case was all about; only knew beyond a doubt, from those nasty eyes and that sour end-of-the-line smell, a bit like those kosher pickles Bernie had with his BLTs—I’d tried one; once was enough for the kosher pickles, although I always had time for a BLT—that this guy was the perp. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the pant leg. Case closed.

The perp cried out in pain, a horrible, high-pitched sound that made me want to cover my ears. Too bad I can’t do that, but no complaints—I’m happy the way I am (even if my ears don’t match, something I found out about a while back but can’t get into right now). The perp’s noises went on and on and finally it hit me that maybe I had more than just his pant leg. That happened sometimes: my teeth are probably longer than yours and sharper, too. What was that? Yes, the taste of blood. My mistake, but a very exciting one all the same.

“Call him off !” the perp screamed. “I give up.”

Bernie came running up from behind. “Good work, Chet,” he said, huffing and puffing. Poor Bernie—he was trying to give up smoking again but not having much luck.

“Get him off ! He’s biting me!”

“Chet wouldn’t bite,” Bernie said. “Not deliberately.”

“Not deliberately? What are you—”

“On the other hand, round about now he usually likes to hear a confession.”

“Huh? He’s a goddamn dog.”

“Language,” said Bernie.

Those nasty eyes shifted around, looking wild now. “But he’s a dog.”

“True,” Bernie said.

I wagged my tail. And maybe, on account of the good mood I was in—what was better than a job well done?—shook my head from side to side a bit.

“Aaiieeee! I confess! I confess!”

“To what?”

“To what? The El Camino jewel heist, for Christ sake.”

“El Camino jewel heist?” said Bernie. “We’re here about the Bar J Guest Ranch arson.”

“That, too,” said the perp. “Just get him offa me.”

“Chet?” Bernie said. “Chet?”

Oh, all right, but how about that taste, human blood? Addictive or what?

Hours later we had two checks, one for the arson, one for the jewel heist, and a good thing, too, because our finances were a mess—alimony, child support, a bad investment in some company with plans to make Hawaiian pants just like the Hawaiian shirts Bernie wears on special occasions, and not much work lately except for divorce cases, never any fun. We run a detective agency, me and Bernie, called the Little Detective Agency on account of Little being Bernie’s last name. My name’s Chet, pure and simple. Headquarters is our house on Mesquite Road, a nice place with a big tree out front, perfect for napping under, and the whole canyon easily accessible out back, if it just so happens someone left the gate open. And then, up in the canyon—well, say no more.

“This calls for a celebration,” Bernie said. “How about a chew strip?” Was that a serious question? Who says no to a chew strip? He opened the cupboard over the sink, where the chew strips were kept; at one time, a very nice time, they’d been on an open shelf, lower down. “And while we’re at it . . .” Uh-oh. Bernie reached for the bottle of bourbon, standing by the chew strip box.

We sat out back, watching the light change on the far side of the canyon as the sun went down, Bernie at the table sipping bourbon, me under it, trying to take my time with the chew strip. This wasn’t any chew strip, but a high-end bacon-flavored rawhide chew from Rover and Company, an outfit owned by our buddy Simon something or other, whom we’d met on a missing-persons case, our specialty. Bacon smell—the best there is—rose all around me, like a dense cloud. I glanced up at Bernie through the glass tabletop. Could he smell it? Probably not. The puniness of his sense of smell—and the sense of smell of humans in general—was something I’ve never gotten used to.

He looked down at me. “What’s on your mind, boy? Ten to one you’re thinking about how you chased that guy down.” Wrong, but at that moment he reached over and scratched between my ears, right on a spot I hadn’t even realized was desperate for scratching, so I gave my tail a thump. Bernie laughed. “Read your mind,” he said. Not close, but I didn’t care—he could believe whatever he wanted as long as he kept up this scratching, digging his nails in just so, an expert. He stopped—too soon, always too soon—and said, “How about Dry Gulch? Hell, we earned it.”

I was on my feet, gulping down what was left of the chew strip. The Dry Gulch Steakhouse and Saloon was one of our favorites. They had a big wooden cowboy out front—I’d lifted my leg against him once, not good, I know, but just too tempting—and a patio bar in back where my guys were welcome. We went in the Porsche—an old topless one that had replaced our not-quite-as-old topless one after it shot off a cliff on a day I’ll never forget, although I’ve actually forgotten most of it already—brown with yellow doors, Bernie driving, me riding shotgun. Loved riding shotgun: what was better than this? I stuck my head way up, into the wind: smells went by faster than I could sort them out, a kind of nose feast that I’m afraid you’ll never—

“Hey, Chet, a little space, buddy.”

Oops. Way over on Bernie’s side. I shifted closer to my door.

“And ease up on the drooling.”

Drooling? Me? I moved over as far as I could and sat stiffly the rest of the way, back straight, eyes forward, aloof. I wasn’t alone in the drooling department, had seen Bernie drooling in his sleep more than once, and Leda, too, Bernie’s ex-wife, meaning humans drooled, big time. But had I ever made the slightest fuss about it, or thought less of them? You tell me.

We sat in the patio bar at the Dry Gulch Steakhouse and Saloon, Bernie on the end stool, me on the floor. The big summer heat—not just heat but pressure, like a heavy blanket is always weighing down on you—was over, but it was still plenty hot and the cool tiles felt good. Bernie pointed across the street with his chin. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” said the bartender.

“That hole in the ground.”

“Condos,” the bartender said. “Ten stories? Fifteen maybe?”

Bernie has dark, prominent eyebrows with a language all their own. Sometimes, like now, they grew jagged and his whole face, normally such a nice sight, darkened. “And when the aquifer runs dry, what then?” he said.

“Aquifer?” said the bartender.

“Any idea of the current population of the Valley?” Bernie said.

“The whole valley?” said the bartender. “Gotta be up there.” Bernie gave him a long look, then ordered a double.

A waitress in a cowboy hat came by. “Is that Chet? Haven’t seen you in a while.” She knelt down, gave me a pat. “Still like steak tips?” Why would that ever change? “Hey, easy, boy.”

Bernie had a burger and another bourbon; steak tips and water for me. His face returned to normal. Whew. Bernie worried about the aquifer a lot and sometimes when he got going couldn’t stop. All our water came from the aquifer—I’d heard him say that over and over, although I’d never laid eyes on this aquifer, whatever it was. I didn’t get it at all: there was plenty of water in the Valley—how else to explain all that spraying on the golf courses, morning and evening, and those beautiful little rainbows the sprinklers made? We had water out the yingyang. I got up and pressed my head against Bernie’s leg. He did some light scratching in that space between my eyes, impossible for me to get to. Ah, bliss. I spotted a French fry under the stool next to Bernie’s and snapped it up.

A bourbon or two later, Lieutenant Stine of the Metro PD—a trim little guy in a dark suit—walked in. Bernie had worked for him sometime in the distant past, before my adventures in K-9 school (washing out on the very last day, a long story, but it’s no secret that a cat was involved) and had played some role in Bernie and me getting together, the exact details a bit foggy.

“Hear you cleared the El Camino case,” Lieutenant Stine said. “Nice job.”

“Luck, mostly,” Bernie said.

“And a full confession to boot.”

“Chet’s doing.”

Lieutenant Stine glanced down, saw me. He had a thin face and thin lips, didn’t smile much in my experience, but he smiled now, somehow ended up looking a little dangerous. “He’s a good interrogator,” he said.

“The best,” said Bernie.

I thumped my tail.

“Understand a tidy reward went along with that,” the lieutenant said. A few stools down the row, a guy in a Hawaiian shirt glanced over.

“No complaints,” Bernie said to Lieutenant Stine. “What are you drinking?”

A minute or so later, Bernie and the lieutenant were clinking glasses. I’d lost count of Bernie’s bourbons by now; counting isn’t my strength, not past two.

“Glad I ran into you,” Lieutenant Stine said. “There’s a little something that might be up your alley.”

“Li... --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By Kiro on March 8 2010
Format: Hardcover
Wonderful book. After having read "Dog on It", I have been waiting for a sequel from Spencer Quinn. The dog, Chet, is superbly funny. The insight into the canine mind that Quinn provides is so detailed and quite realistic, while still refraining from anthropomorphizing him. In their second adventure, Chet and Bernie investigate the disappearance of a tiny, female show dog. Their task appeared simple enough, but a web of deception and mystery lurks in every corner. If you love dogs, you must read it. If you don't, you still must.
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By cduynisveld on June 23 2013
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
A great series. As a dog lover, I love that the story is told from Chet's perspective. Bernie is a character with character! His concern about water use is endearing. I love that I cannot predict what will happen next. Planning to read more of this series.
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By Evelyn Seto on Nov. 21 2012
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase
Fun and easy to read. The author has the dog's character down to a 't'!
Anyone who has a dog will relate.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews on (beta) 425 reviews
59 of 59 people found the following review helpful
Five woofs for Chet Jan. 7 2010
By Rita Sydney - Published on
Format: Hardcover Verified Purchase
It would be hard to beat the first Chet and Bernie mystery (Dog on It) but this one is equal to it. For new readers, understand that the story is told by Chet, the dog. (See reviews of the first book to appreciate how successfully this technique was used.)

Chet, when referring to Bernie and himself, always says "me and Bernie." It seems exactly what a canine like Chet would do. Undying devotion to Bernie but no shying from his own sense of self.

Chet is his usual doggy self; we see Chet the Jet in his glory running and jumping. His food preferences are plain: at the top is bacon, cooked juicy, but nothing wrong with raw. There's NO food that's not tryable. We see his first experience with a bear claw; understanding "bear" and "claw" Chet's not about to gobble it down.

It's easy to focus on Chet in the story but the reader can also appreciate the dialogue between Bernie and other characters. We don't need Chet to tell us how clever it often is.

There's a nice sequence when Chet has to take care of Princess, a little fluff ball of a show dog. Chet was amazed how her legs would be a blur while her body didn't move very far.

Readers who love these stories should try the web site [...] for a daily dose of this wonderful canine.

(A note to Mr. Quinn: We don't need the continuing question about Chet's health to keep us reading.)

Oh yes, about the plot. It's good. Maybe better than in the first book. The fact that it's an after thought in this review says a lot. Come for a mystery and stay for a story of the wonderful relationship between Chet and Bernie.
27 of 27 people found the following review helpful
As good as the first...maybe better! Jan. 9 2010
By Kindle Customer - Published on
Format: Hardcover Verified Purchase
I have read the first book several times and listen to the audio frequently. I was excited to know about the second book in the series and pre-ordered it. There was a little trepidation on my part because sequels are not always up to the standard of the original. Not so with this one. Just loved THEREBY HANGS A TAIL. Finished it at 3 AM so I can pass it on to friends and family who are waiting to read it. If you've ever loved a dog, or have had a dog as a friend, you will understand this book. Chet is SO true to form. His attention span is limited, but his love and faith in Bernie is unconditional. Great book. I recommend it. If you're offended by swearing, be warned there are a few places where pungent language has been used. (By the "perps" mostly.)

Grandma Jean
9 of 9 people found the following review helpful
Delightful new series Aug. 18 2010
By Jack Taylor - Published on
Format: Hardcover
I read "Thereby Hangs a Tale" first, snatched up "Dog Gone It", and cannot wait for the third of this delightful new series. I was skeptical at first about reading a book with a dog as narrator, but quickly dispatched that biased view because Chet-- the other half of Bernie Little's Detective Agency--the one in charge of security-- had me chuckling throughout, or else gasping, "Oh, no," when he got himself into a dangerous situation. Where Bernie, "the smartest human in the room" uses his brain, Chet uses his instincts. Chet has a charming, limited and distracted point of view based on his basic needs and observations. For instance, while his beloved Bernie interrogates the perp, Chet has his eye on the nasty parrot in the corner of the room, or on the perp's bare ankle that just needs to be bitten, or on the dropped potato chip just out of reach under the couch. Sometimes Chet goes off on a tangent about a partially remembered episode, like when he got kicked out of K-9 training school (something about a cat). His story ends abruptly but not without enough material to let the reader fill in the humorous conclusion. I should mention that Bernie is a likeable character, there are other finely developed characters, there is a well crafted plot, suspense, and a mystery to be solved. I hope Spencer Quinn will put out two books a year in this series because Chet's doggy life span may be limited to ten years or less. But then there is that little "she-dog" howling out in the desert that Chet snuck out to visit one night. Maybe?...
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful
You'll become a dog lover if you aren't right now Nov. 27 2010
By Jennifer G - Published on
Format: Audio CD Verified Purchase
Chet is the modern day wonder-dog. His adventures, his loyalty to Bernie Little, his priorities - snacks, a good shake, and being on the job with Bernie - make this another wonderful story.

It's a stand alone to Dog On It, Spencer Quinn's first novel with Chet and Bernie, so while you can start with Thereby Hangs a Tail, don't miss out on the first one.

I admire Mr. Quinn's ability to get into the head of Chet, who makes me appreciate being in the moment.

Great story too, by the way!
9 of 10 people found the following review helpful
Has everything but a plot Feb. 22 2010
By OrchidSlayer - Published on
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
I really enjoyed "Dog On It" last year and looked forward to reading this sequel. Although this book was funny and I appreciated Chet's viewpoints, I didn't like it nearly as much. Maybe it was because the characters were flatter or it was not as novel the second time around, maybe it was just that the plot was weak (and the last page totally unbelievable), but it seemed to be a cheap knock-off of "Dog On It". Still good, but not nearly as good as the original.

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