'Society? Bunkum, there's no such thing; take it from the mouth of the dog who has fetched and carried, hunted, guarded and gone to war on behalf of man. Canine familiaris has had his nose up the crotch of human society since the dawn of time, there's not a lot that escapes him.'- Deefer 1990.
'From the Book of Dogs.' is a darkly humorous allegory set in the years that witnessed the fall of Thatcherism and the rise of New Labour. It is a dog that reads the human mind that drives a story about the triumph of self-interest over virtue.
At fifty George Finnessey's aspirations were beginning to look as limp as his sexual fantasies. A dairy supervisor he was and would remain, a dupe for 'the lads' and a mop for the management to wipe the floor with. He was looking for a bit of magic in his life. Aladdin had his lamp, what did George have? When Nora suggested they should have a dog, neither imagined one that could read the human mind. Surely they would be the toast of every circus from Paris to Moscow? Far from a cause celebre, it was a coup d'état they'd unleashed in their sitting room.
'I could do a lot for you,' offers Deefer as he chomps his way through fillet steak, 'but it will cost you.' Dignity, honour and loyalty are sacrificed as George finds his way to the top to become Chairman of a worker venture, whilst Nora fulfills her ambition to win a Labour seat on the county council - both assisted by the suicide of a long standing friend, blackmail and and the timely demise of Aunty Beatrice.
