Dog House wasn’t supposed to be a book about love. It was supposed to be a hugely funny account of the dogs in Carol Prisant’s life. And not just the dogs, but that first bird she found at Woolworth’s, the monkey that fell in love with her husband’s leg, the thankless tiny turtle, and the goldfish her pet- challenged mother flushed down the toilet. Somehow though, this straightforward telling got a little blindsided by things like making marriage work and home- owning and children and a profession and her dear, supportive husband, Millard. Which is why the goldfish will just have to wait for the sequel.
This book is still about cold noses, warm bellies, four on the floor, and a snuggler or two. Your basic fur family. It’s also about the love of a mother for her son, a wife for her husband, a husband for some dogs, and the love it takes to make a haunted house a home. Your basic family furnisgings. Throw in a lot of antiques, a couple triumphs over adversity, and a more-than-seems-fair share of heartbreaking loss and you have Dog House–the warm, absorbing, and humorous tale of dogs and marriage, love and marriage and life.