I read the novel Is Fat Bob Dead Yet? by Stephen Dobyns recently. I knew nothing about the author prior to reading Is Fat Bob Dead Yet? but I was looking for a who-dunnit that I could breeze through on my quest to read 50 books again this year. I don't know if this one is representative of most of his work or not, but it's certainly a different type of murder mystery than I'm used to. Not that that's a bad thing. It's an entertaining book but certainly nothing like the Robert B. Parker novels I've read. Maybe more like Carl Hiaasen. But this isn't a review of Is Fat Bob Dead Yet?, it's just the set-up for the following paragraph:
Beagles don't care if you're no longer beautiful. They don't care if the great expectations you had as an eighteen-year-old knockout have become spilled jam pots on the dusty roads of life. That's why we like beagles and other canines: love and loyalty are more important to them than truth. You tell your dog you can walk on water and it will lick your hand. Its only fear is of being left behind, locked up, shut in the doghouse when you go to a fancy-dress ball or simply go shopping. Otherwise you're gravy.
Explains it rather well, don't you think? Also, I just finished book number 47. It feels like I'm coming down with something so I might spend more time in the big chair reading rather than working in the shop the next few days. I would like to finish up the sidecar fender before it gets too cold, however. I've got most of the planishing done and it looks pretty nice. I was going to give it a once over with the DA sander but I'm out of sandpaper for it. I'll either order some in or see what they've got at one of the auto parts stores around here if I feel like venturing out.