Reread probably the 5th time or so. I once owned the paperback, and now am the lucky owner of a signed hardcopy. Of course I had to reread.
I've never been able to say why I love this unpretentious little tale of quiet horror so much. The language is nothing extraordinary, in fact, it is so matter-of-fact and unobtrusive one may call it indeed a work of art. The kind which convinces by being perfect for the goal and not expecting recognition for itself.
This is exactly how the heroine of this story, Isabelle Buckingham, comes across. She is a tired, wound-down woman of fifty-three, with two adult children who are out of the house and rarely call her anymore, and a cheating husband who takes her for granted. When her only friend, the family dog Patch has to be put down, she allows herself to be bullied into looking at recently born Groendael puppies.
The quiet support and menace oozing from her new dog into her bleak, and lacklustre life between solitary weeks with an absent husband and weekends during which he expects to be catered to, is nothing overt or frightening per se. It's a setup which winds down to the inevitable conclusion.
I think I adore this book more for the portrayal of a "displaced" wife, and how she deals with that, than for the horror.
Odd but bizarrely endearing domestic drama (not horror…don’t let the cover fool you) about an ignored housewife who finds comfort in a pup she trains to be a champion show dog. You have to put up with scads of rampant sexism and three martini lunches before anything significantly violent happens so beat that in mind. We’ll written all the same though.
Being the proud owner of a beautiful, intelligent Belgian Sheepdog, and also as a wife who has been ignored by an arrogant husband, I was more than sympathetic to this story. I did not find it to be "horrible" at all. Beau was magnificent!