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

When I told Priscilla that Nero had cleared the fence, she said that she had the hose ready and would give him the works. She said this affectionately and even glanced at Mitts with a sort of amused pride, as if her dog's attractions reflected upon her too, though she needed no help. Priscilla was sweet figured, silky skinned, rosy, with black curls and brilliant pixie eyes. The way her lashes curled, reaching nearly up to her curved brows, entranced me. Her eyes were a warm hazel. It was no wonder that her father fought off boy after boy. I said something about this without thinking.

Oh, you heard about that, she said, smiling. He'll have a hell of a time fighting off the man I'm seeing now!

I wanted to ask who this man was, but right then Mitts yapped. Priscilla looked out the window, and, sure enough, there was Nero. He stood gravely in the scraggle of grass and sand pickers that passed for a yard. I stepped out the back door. Gingersnap, I said. Nero's ears pricked up. I was elated. He knew me. He snatched cookies from the air while Priscilla made the phone call, then he turned, listened intently, and loped off. A moment later, my uncle pulled up in the shop's meat truck. I stepped into the kitchen and, it so happened, entered at an angle from which I could just see the front door. Priscilla opened it for my uncle, who kissed her with a fast, furtive gesture, locking his hand for a moment in her black curls.

My uncle was tall and spare, handsome only if you liked thin cheeks and big teeth. He had a protruding Adam's apple, bulging temples, big ears. I didn't think he'd be any match for Priscilla's father. I was sure that their love was doomed and my uncle was likely to be killed or maimed.

Any coffee left?

Uncle Jurgen walked back into the kitchen, winked at me, then opened the refrigerator, which held half a frosted lemon layer cake. He grinned as Priscilla entered.

You'll have your cake and eat it too, she laughed.

As she cut the cake, she said, teasingly, Happy birthday to us. Jurgen reached down to pick up Mitts, who bit his hand. Instead of withdrawing his hand, my uncle stuck his fingers out and flicked her nose. He reached for her again. She bit him. He flicked her nose. This happened one more time, but the fourth time he reached for Mitts she didn't bite. She allowed him to pick her up and she sat across his thighs as he ate a piece of cake and scratched her long silky ears.

Uncle Jurgen said he'd have to spend the rest of the afternoon building the fence higher.

You should make sure you've got your dog back first, Priscilla said.

Oh, he won't go far. He's hung up on poor Mitts.

Poor Mitts? I said. She tried to bite off your fingers!

My uncle laughed and held up his hand. His long, thin fingers were heavily callused.

Mitts' teeth can't dent this hide, he said. He stroked the dog's throat, scratched her chin, and made soft clicking noises with his tongue. Mitts looked at him with wet, adoring eyes.

Priscilla took his plate to the sink. While her back was turned, Jurgen nudged me and nodded at the door. I went outside to sit on the back porch. They talked low for a while, laughed, and then Uncle Jurgen called out that I could catch a ride back with him. The warm truck smelled of scorched foam rubber, smoked sausages, and stale cigars. On the way, he told me that he had plans to marry Priscilla Gamrod. He'd asked her and she'd said yes.

Won't you have to fight her father? I asked.

Jurgen said he wasn't worried. I was too shy to disagree with an adult out loud, but what muscles my uncle had were thin and ropey. He even had a slight stoop. Mr. Gamrod stood upright as a fireplug, and his muscles were thick and hard.

At my grandparents' house, I helped my uncle carry some odds and ends of wood to the backyard so that he could add another foot or so to Nero's fence. Jurgen stood on top of the stepladder.

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.