Welcome to the Little Detective Agency. It's named for my partner Bernie, Bernie Little. You see, Bernie is the brains of the agency and no one can puzzle out a case like my partner, except maybe his reporter girlfriend, Suzy. I guess I'm the muscle 'cause when I get the perp around the ankle it's "case closed." I'm also a crack tracker, which comes in handy when our case is about finding missing persons, or elephants, or championship show dogs or movie stars. But Bernie isn't so wise in the financial department, so we take anything we can get to keep us in food. And speaking of food, there is nothing like a great mess of bbq ribs to take the edge off-much prefer that to the usual kibble. Oh yeah, I'm a dog. Names Chet, not Chester, not Chetter-boy, just Chet. I'm big, have a great set of canines and can be really ferocious if I have to, but I love Bernie's son Charlie-to him I'm Chet the Jet, his private pony. Bernie got me after I flunked out of K-9 school. I was passing every test with flying colors, but when it came to leaping (which is my specialty) I got diverted, mid-spring by an interesting scent. But that turned out great, 'cause I joined Bernie's agency-and I love Bernie. We even smell a little alike. We live in the west (Arizona, maybe) and have a house right on the desert, with the backyard facing a canyon. Bernie "knows" things about me that he thinks are true, like he knows that I can't jump the 6 foot fence around the courtyard, but I do anyway. Well wouldn't you, if you heard the cry of a certain female across the canyon? He also doesn't know where I've gone when I'm stolen or catch an irresistable scent and follow it. He usually muddles into the solution to the mystery with his superior intellect, not with his tiny nose.Anyway, since I don't have fingers on my paws, I've dictated our adventures to an author named Spencer Quinn, who also writes thrillers under the name Peter Abrahams. The Chet and Bernie mystery series titles in order are:
Dog On It
Thereby Hangs a Tale
To Fetch a Thief
The Dog Who Knew Too Much
and in September, A Fistful of Collars.
