Excerpt from Python's Kiss by Louise Erdrich, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Every animal had its use. Most, of course, were there to be slaughtered or, in the case of chickens and guinea hens, to lay eggs and then be slaughtered. The smaller dogs were there to keep my grandparents' feet warm and to accompany them on deliveries. They were given a few pats and scratches, but Nero, as a guard dog, wasn't treated with human affection. Therefore he never begged, wagged his tail, smiled with his tongue lolling, or pricked up his ears with excitement at certain words. He knew no human words except the one I taught him: gingersnap. The only sign of his understanding was a keener look in his eyes, a stiller stillness, a slight crouch for the midair catch. But it is probably impossible for our two species, interdependent since the dim beginning of our ascendancy on this earth, not to communicate. Staring at each other, we were exchanging some signal. After being fed or catching his daily gingersnaps, Nero trotted away to lie underneath a rogue pine that had grown up close to the door. When his food was digested, he usually returned to his primary daytime task—attempting to break out of the backyard.

It was well-known that Nero was not just looking for freedom. He was infatuated with a mean snub-nosed cocker spaniel named Mitts. She lived on the other side of the fairgrounds with Priscilla Gamrod, the shop's bookkeeper. Mr. Gamrod owned a bar and was known to fling men twice his size out his door by their collar and belt. Priscilla was twenty-five, but she still lived with him. Her mother had died, leaving the two of them bound by a grief that eased with time but was replaced by Mr. Gamrod's jealous dependence. This had got so bad that he insisted on fighting any man who tried to court her. He'd beaten them all, and Priscilla had put up with it because she hadn't found a man she liked yet anyway. Priscilla doted on Mitts and took her everywhere, brushed and beribboned. Once a year, she bred Mitts to Lord Keith, a papered stud who lived on a farm near Long Prairie. She sold the purebred pups only to people who met her standards, and cried when the last one left the house. Nobody knew if Mitts preferred Lord Keith to Nero, because she bit every dog and person within her reach. Priscilla, with her bandaged fingers, often had to cope with Nero's longing, but she never called the town dogcatcher.

Every time Nero broke loose, Jurgen built the fence higher. He used a combination of materials—old pickets, long staves, chicken wire, and spare rebar. He had it up to seven feet now, but the haphazard nature of its construction made the outcome almost certain; there were always bits of wood or metal jutting out on which Nero could gain purchase. For a couple of days now, he had been practicing his ascent. Over and over, he rushed at the fence, each time gaining a few inches of height. From one side of the yard to the other, using subtle variations in each approach, Nero strove. He kept at this the entire afternoon and could be heard before dawn the next day, throwing himself upward.

When I read the words 'dogged pursuit,' I see the literal efforts of Nero. The grown-ups in the family were used to this and confident in the seven-foot fence, so I was the only one watching when Nero clambered to the rickety top, balanced, and leaped into space. It was early in the morning, and the shop was already busy, so in theory an entire day could elapse before Nero's services were required and his escape was discovered. I filled my pockets with gingersnaps, told my grandmother I was going to play out in the field, and went straight across the sleepy fairgrounds to Priscilla Gamrod's house.

When Priscilla answered the door, Mitts barked viciously and darted for my ankle, but Priscilla elegantly kicked her dog down the hall with the pointed toe of her shoe. Mitts rolled, skidded, and trotted sullenly before us into the kitchen. She slumped in her pillowed corner, glowering as only a cocker spaniel can glower, while Priscilla sat me at the table and warmed some sugared milk with a bit of coffee in a small blue pan. She also made me cinnamon toast. The kitchen table was white enameled steel, painted with swirling green lines. The chairs were of curved aluminum with fat plastic cushions, green too. The wallpaper was decorated with little black roosters.

Excerpted from Python's Kiss by Louise Erdrich. Copyright © 2026 by Louise Erdrich. Excerpted by permission of Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.