The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs (Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Series)

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Overview

Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainment – Book 2

The Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainment series slyly skewers academia, chronicling the comic misadventures of the endearingly awkward Professor Dr. Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld, and his long-suffering colleagues at the Institute of Romantic Philology in Germany.

Readers who fell in love with Precious Ramotswe, proprietor of The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective ...

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Finer Points of Sausage Dogs (Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Series)

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Overview

Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainment – Book 2

The Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainment series slyly skewers academia, chronicling the comic misadventures of the endearingly awkward Professor Dr. Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld, and his long-suffering colleagues at the Institute of Romantic Philology in Germany.

Readers who fell in love with Precious Ramotswe, proprietor of The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, now have new cause for celebration in the protagonist of these three light-footed comic novels by Alexander McCall Smith. Welcome to the insane and rarified world of Professor Dr. Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld of the Institute of Romance Philology. Von Igelfeld is engaged in a never-ending quest to win the respect he feels certain he is due–a quest which has the tendency to go hilariously astray.

In The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs, Professor Dr. Von Igelfeld is mistaken for a veterinarian and not wanting to call attention to the faux pas, begins practicing veterinary medicine without a license. He ends up operating on a friend’s dachshund to dramatic and unfortunate effect. He also transports relics for a schismatically challenged Coptic prelate, and is pursued by marriage-minded widows on board a Mediterranean cruise ship.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“In the halls of academe, a setting fraught with ego-driven battles for power and prestige [Alexander McCall Smith] has rendered yet another one-of-a-kind character: the bumbling but brilliant Dr. Mortiz-Maria von Igelfeld . . . . [a] deftly rendered trilogy [with] endearingly eccentric characters.” —Chicago Sun-Times
Library Journal
In these three novellas, Smith (The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency) introduces a new character, Dr. Moriz-Maria von Igelfeld, a professor of romance philology whose most noted (and only) book is Portuguese Irregular Verbs. Other recurring characters include von Igelfeld's colleagues at the Institute of Romance Philology, Dr. Florianus Prinzel and Dr. Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer. Von Igelfeld continuously tries to prove to himself and others that he is the absolute best in his field and as such he should be shown the utmost respect. This often results in the most humorous situations, as things do not go according to plan. In Portuguese Irregular Verbs, von Igelfeld gets Dr. Prinzel involved in a duel, which results in the loss of the tip of Prinzel's nose. In The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs, Dr. Unterholzer's beloved pet dachshund is left with only one leg after von Igelfeld, mistaken for a veterinarian, amputates the other three. And in At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances, von Igelfeld becomes involved in academic intrigue at Cambridge and a little misadventure in Colombia. This delightful head-in-the-clouds professor will enthrall the author's many fans. Recommended for most popular fiction collections.-Karen Core, Kent Dist. Lib., Grand Rapids, MI Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Prof. Dr. Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld's second volume of adventures is bookended by a pair of memorable lectures and a pair of his own obituaries. "I am always interested in everything," the mainstay of the Institute for Romance Philology tells his host at the University of Arkansas. All five of these interlinked episodes explore the folly of this singularly imperceptive remark. In the title story, von Igelfeld, prodded by jealousy of his colleagues, seeks an invitation to America only to discover that his host, Prof. R.B. Leflar, thinks he's a professor of veterinary medicine-a professor, in fact, quite recently deceased-and expects him to give a paper on dachshunds. In "A Leg to Stand On," Prof. Leflar returns the visit to von Igelfeld in Regensburg, where a sausage dog again plays an unexpectedly prominent role. "On the Couch" sends von Igelfeld first to the same psychiatrist his vengeful colleague Prof. Dr. Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer is consulting, and then, when von Igelfeld outdoes Unterholzer in vindictiveness, to a priestly confessional that's the comic high point of the volume. "The Bones of Father Christmas," by far the longest of these stories, unleashes Smith's wildest inventions, as von Igelfeld is inveigled into taking charge of the sacred relics of St. Nicholas and gets a private audience with the Pope, who otherwise passes his time playing solitaire. Finally, "The Perfect Imperfect" packs him aboard a cruise ship as the only unmarried man bobbing in a sea of hundreds of rapacious widows before he takes matters into his own hands. Only two flaws mar Smith's delicate comedy: The 50-page "Father Christmas" lacks the shorter adventures' light touch, and we never do get to hearthe complete text of either of von Igelfeld's crucial lectures. (Illus. throughout with b&w block prints)Agent: Robin Straus/Robin Straus Agency
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781400095087
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 12/28/2004
  • Series: Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Series
  • Pages: 128
  • Sales rank: 476,006
  • Product dimensions: 5.20 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.33 (d)

Meet the Author

Alexander McCall Smith

Alexander McCall Smith is Professor of Medical Law at the University of Edinburgh and the author of over fifty books. These range from specialist titles such as Forensic Aspects of Sleep to The Criminal Law of Botswana and The Children of Wax, a collection of African folk tales. But he is best known for writing The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, which has achieved bestseller status on four continents.

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Read an Excerpt

eins
THE FINER POINTS OF SAUSAGE DOGS

PROFESSOR DR MORITZ-MARIA VON IGELFELD, author of that great triumph of Germanic scholarship, Portuguese Irregular Verbs, had never set foot on American shores. It is true that he had corresponded from time to time with a number of noted American philologists—Professor Giles Reid of Cornell, for example, and Professor Paul Lafouche III of Tulane—and it is also true that they had often pressed him to attend the annual meeting of the American Modern Languages Association, but he had never been in a position to accept. Or so von Igelfeld said; the reality was he had never wanted to go and had invariably come up with some excuse to turn down the invitations.

'I have absolutely no interest in the New World,' von Igelfeld said dismissively to Professor Dr Florianus Prinzel. 'Is there anything there that we can't find in Germany? Anything at all? Can you name one thing?'

Prinzel thought for a moment. Cowboys? He was a secret admirer of cowboy films but he could never mention this to von Igelfeld, who, as far as he knew, had never watched a film in his life, let alone one featuring cowboys. Prinzel rather liked the idea of America, and would have been delighted to be invited there, preferably to somewhere in the West.

Then, one morning, Prinzel's invitation arrived—and from no less an institution than the ideally situated University of San Antonio. This was a city redolent of cowboys and the Mexican border, and Prinzel immediately telephoned von Igelfeld to tell him the good news.

Von Igelfeld congratulated him warmly, but when he replaced the receiver his expression had hardened. It was quite unacceptable that Prinzel should go to America before he did. After all, the Americans might think that Prinzel, rather than he, von Igelfeld, represented German philology, and this, frankly, would never do. Quite apart from that, if Prinzel went first, they would never hear the end of it.

'I have no alternative but to go there,' he said to himself. 'And I shall have to make sure that I go before Prinzel. It's simply a matter of duty.'

Von Igelfeld found himself in a difficult position. He could hardly approach any of his American friends and solicit an invitation, particularly after he had so consistently turned them down in the past. And yet the chance that an invitation would arrive of its own accord was extremely slender.

Over coffee at the Institute the next day, he directed a casual question at Professor Dr Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer.

'Tell me, Herr Unterholzer,' he said. 'If you were to want to go to America to give a lecture, how would you . . . well, how would you get yourself invited, so to speak?' Quickly adding: 'Not that I would ever be in such a position myself, but you yourself could be, could you not?'

Unterholzer had an immediate answer.

'I should contact the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst,' he said. 'I should tell them who I was and I should ask them to arrange a lecture somewhere in America. That is what they are paid to do.'

'I see,' said von Igelfeld. 'That would no doubt save embarrassment.'

'Of course,' said Unterholzer. 'They are experts in finding places for German academics to go and lecture to other people, whether or not they want to hear them. They are very persuasive people. That is how I went to Buenos Aires and gave my lecture there. It really works.'

And indeed it did. The local director of the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst was delighted to hear from von Igelfeld the following day and assured him that a scholar of his eminence would be snapped up should he deign to leave Germany. It was only a question of finding the right institution and making the detailed arrangements.

'Rest assured that you will be invited within days,' von Igelfeld was promised. 'Just leave it all in our capable hands.'

Thus von Igelfeld found himself arriving in Fayetteville, Arkansas, a charming college town nestling in the Ozark Mountains, seat of the University of Arkansas, or at least of that part not located in the minor campus at Little Rock. When the whole idea was conceived, he had not envisaged going to Arkansas. He had imagined that his destination might be California, or New York, perhaps, but one American state was very much the same as another—at least in von Igelfeld's view, and it really made no difference. The important thing was that he was going to America, and a good two weeks ahead of Prinzel.

Von Igelfeld's hosts greeted him warmly. They had insisted that he stay with them, rather than in a hotel, and so von Igelfeld found himself installed in the sleeping porch of a traditional Ozark farmhouse on the edge of the town, the home of Professor R. B. Leflar. After he had unpacked, he and von Igelfeld sat down on the swing-seat on the front verandah and discussed his programme. There would be visits to the surrounding area the next day, promised Professor Leflar, and the day after that a set-piece lecture had been planned before an open audience.

That night, after dinner, von Igelfeld retired to his bed and looked out through the gauze-covered porch windows. The house was surrounded by mixed forest, oak trees and sycamores, and their shapes, dark silhouettes, swayed in the breeze. And there, he thought, there's the moon, rising slowly over the trees like a giant lantern. What were they planning for him tomorrow? Would they show him their libraries? Were there manuscripts? What about Leflar's maternal grandfather, the adventurer, Charles Finger? He had been in South America and may have come across some Portuguese manuscripts of note, which could well be in the attic above his very head. Arkansas, it seemed, was rich in possibilities for the philologist.

The next morning he ate a hearty breakfast with Professor and Mrs Leflar before they set off.

'We're heading north,' said his host. 'We'll show you a typical hog operation.'

'Most intriguing,' said von Igelfeld. 'I am always interested in . . .' He paused. What was he interested in? Philology? Portuguese verbs? 'I am always interested in everything.'

They drove out of town, following a road that wound up into the hills. It was a gentle landscape—limestone hills which had been softened by the action of the rain; meandering valleys dotted with farmhouses under shady oak trees. Von Igelfeld had not thought of America as being at all like this; there were no dry plains, no glittering Dallas in the distance, no leafy suburbia with neat white houses. This could have been Bavaria, or even Austria.

Suddenly Leflar turned off the road and followed a dusty track leading towards a large, unpainted barn.

'Here we are,' he said. 'They're expecting us.'

The farmer came out and shook von Igelfeld's hand. Von Igelfeld sniffed the air; it was distinctly malodorous.

'This way,' said the farmer. 'The hogs are in here.'

The farmer opened a door in the side of the barn and ushered von Igelfeld inside. For the next half hour, they wandered between rows of spacious sties, each surmounted by a large sun lamp and each filled with a squealing mass of pigs. The farmer demonstrated the automatic feeding system and showed von Igelfeld the blood-sampling equipment.

'We're mighty careful about viruses here,' he said. 'You'd know all about that.'

Von Igelfeld looked at the farmer. Did pigs get colds, he wondered?

'You have to be careful about viruses,' he agreed. 'I myself always use vitamin C during the winter . . .'

He did not finish. 'You're right,' said the farmer. 'Each pig gets sixty IU vitamin C every morning with its food. And then we give them a shot of B group when they're seven weeks old. Some people are trying a short course of potassium a week before market. What do you think?'

Von Igelfeld shook his head. 'You have to be careful,' he said. 'I would never use potassium myself.'

The farmer listened intently. 'You hear that, Professor Leflar? No potassium. I'm inclined to agree with our visitor. You tell those folks down in Little Rock, no potassium—the Germans recommend against it.'

Leflar nodded. 'Could be,' he said.

An hour later they set off again. After a brief lunch, they made their way to a chicken farm, where von Igelfeld was shown the latest methods of production by a farmer who spoke in such a way that he could understand not one word. Then there was a call at some sort of animal laboratory, which interested von Igelfeld very little. Then home to dinner.

That night, in the silence of his sleeping porch, von Igelfeld reflected on his day. It had been interesting, in its way, but he wondered why they had chosen to show him all those farms and animals. Animals were all very well; indeed he had once written a small paper on the nature of collective nouns used for groups of animals, but that was about as far as his interest went. Still, this was America, and he assumed that this was what they laid on for all their visitors.

The lecture was to be at six thirty, following a short reception. When von Igelfeld arrived with Leflar the audience was largely assembled, milling about the ante-room of the lecture theatre. Glasses of wine had been provided, and plates of snacks were being circulated by waitresses dressed in black and white.

Everybody seemed keen to talk to von Igelfeld.

'We've all heard about your work,' said one man in a lightweight blue suit. 'In fact, I've got an off-print here which I thought you might care to sign.'

'I'd be happy to do so,' said von Igelfeld. And what about Portuguese Irregular Verbs? he reflected. Were there copies even here in Fayetteville, amongst these charming hills?

The man in the blue suit produced a pamphlet from his pocket.

'I was sent this by a colleague in Germany,' he said. 'He thought that I might find it useful. And I sure did.'

Von Igelfeld took the pamphlet. The cover was unfamiliar; all his off-prints from the Zeitschrift were bound in a plain white cover. This one was blue.

He adjusted his reading glasses and looked at the title page.

Further Studies of Canine Pulmonary Efficiency, he read. And then: by Professor Martin Igelfold, University of Münster.

Von Igelfeld stared at the page for a moment, his heart a cold stone within him. It was immediately clear to him what had happened. They thought that he was Professor Igelfold, Dean of Veterinary Medicine at Münster. Von Igelfeld knew of Igelfold's existence, as he had seen the remarkably similar name in the newspaper during an anthrax scare. But he had never dreamed that there would be confusion on such a heroic scale! Those foolish, bumbling people at the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst had mixed them up and sent him off to lecture on veterinary medicine in Arkansas! It was a situation of such terrible embarrassment that for a moment he hardly dared contemplate it. And the lecture was about to begin, before all these people—these expectant scientists, veterinarians and dog breeders—and he had proposed to talk about modal verbs in the writings of Fernando Pessoa.

Almost without thinking, he signed the pamphlet and returned it to the other man.

'We're so honoured to have you here in Fayetteville,' said the man. 'We understand that you are the world authority on the sausage dog. We are looking forward to what you have to say to us tonight. Sausage dogs are quite popular here. German settlers brought them with them in the late eighteen nineties and we have bred them ever since.'

Von Igelfeld stared at him in horror. Sausage dogs! He was expected to talk about sausage dogs, a subject on which he knew absolutely nothing. It was a nightmare; like one of those dreams where you imagine that you are about to take the lead part in a Greek play or where you are sitting down to write an examination in advanced calculus. But he was awake, and it was really happening.

Leflar was at his side now.

'Almost time,' he said. 'Should I ask people to move into the hall?'

'Not yet,' said von Igelfeld, looking about him desperately. 'I have so many colleagues yet to meet.'

He detached himself from Leflar and made his way over to a knot of people standing near the door. This proved to be a group of veterinary surgeons who welcomed him to their circle and refilled his glass from a bottle of wine which one of them was holding.

It was in this group that one of the guests drew him aside and engaged him in distinctly unsettling conversation.

'I was sorry to read about your death,' said the guest.

Von Igelfeld looked at him in astonishment.

'My death?'

'Yes,' said the guest. 'There was a small item in the International Veterinary Review this week reporting the very recent death of Professor Igelfold. There was a glowing obituary.'

Von Igelfeld stared glassily at the man before him, who was surveying him over his drink.

'I did not read it,' he said weakly.

'Not surprising,' said the man. 'One rarely has the pleasure of reading one's own obituary.'

Von Igelfeld laughed, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

'Very amusing,' he said. 'And you are so right!'

'So this is a posthumous lecture,' said the man.

'Well,' said von Igelfeld. 'It would appear to be something of that sort.'

The man looked pensive. 'I must say that you don't look at all like your photograph. They published one with the obituary, you know.'

Von Igelfeld gripped the stem of his glass. 'The camera is often deceptive, I find.'

'You were a smaller man in the photograph,' went on the other. 'Not nearly so tall.'

'I see,' said von Igelfeld icily. 'A smaller photograph, perhaps? Anyway, do you not know that in Germany we sometimes publish obituaries before a person's demise. It happens quite often. This is because we Germans are so efficient. An early obituary means that there is never a backlog. That, I suspect, is the explanation.'

There was a silence. Then von Igelfeld spoke again.

'You must excuse me,' he said. 'I am feeling rather tired.'

'Quite understandable,' muttered the man. 'In the circumstances.'

But von Igelfeld did not hear him. He had moved away and was looking about him. The simplest solution was to escape, to vanish entirely. If he managed to get out of the hall he could summon a taxi, go back to the Leflar house, creep in through the back and reclaim his belongings. Then he could make his way to the airport and await the first flight out of town, wherever it happened to be going.

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

EINS

THE FINER POINTS OF SAUSAGE DOGS


Professor Dr Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld, author of that great triumph of Germanic scholarship, Portuguese Irregular Verbs, had never set foot on American shores. It is true that he had corresponded from time to time with a number of noted American philologists — Professor Giles Reid of Cornell, for example, and Professor Paul Lafouche III of Tulane — and it is also true that they had often pressed him to attend the annual meeting of the American Modern Languages Association, but he had never been in a position to accept. Or so von Igelfeld said; the reality was he had never wanted to go and had invariably come up with some excuse to turn down the invitations.

'I have absolutely no interest in the New World,' von Igelfeld said dismissively to Professor Dr Florianus Prinzel. 'Is there anything there that we can't find in Germany? Anything at all? Can you name one thing?'

Prinzel thought for a moment. Cowboys? He was a secret admirer of cowboy films but he could never mention this to von Igelfeld, who, as far as he knew, had never watched a film in his life, let alone one featuring cowboys. Prinzel rather liked the idea of America, and would have been delighted to be invited there, preferably to somewhere in the West.

Then, one morning, Prinzel's invitation arrived — and from no less an institution than the ideally situated University of San Antonio. This was a city redolent of cowboys and the Mexican border, and Prinzel immediately telephoned von Igelfeld to tell him the good news.

Von Igelfeld congratulated him warmly, but when he replaced the receiver his expression hadhardened. It was quite unacceptable that Prinzel should go to America before he did. After all, the Americans might think that Prinzel, rather than he, von Igelfeld, represented German philology, and this, frankly, would never do. Quite apart from that, if Prinzel went first, they would never hear the end of it.

'I have no alternative but to go there,' he said to himself. 'And I shall have to make sure that I go before Prinzel. It's simply a matter of duty.'



Von Igelfeld found himself in a difficult position. He could hardly approach any of his American friends and solicit an invitation, particularly after he had so consistently turned them down in the past. And yet the chance that an invitation would arrive of its own accord was extremely slender.

Over coffee at the Institute the next day, he directed a casual question at Professor Dr Detlev Amadeus Unterholzer.

'Tell me, Herr Unterholzer,' he said. 'If you were to want to go to America to give a lecture, how would you . . . well, how would you get yourself invited, so to speak?' Quickly adding: 'Not that I would ever be in such a position myself, but you yourself could be, could you not?'

Unterholzer had an immediate answer.

'I should contact the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst,' he said. 'I should tell them who I was and I should ask them to arrange a lecture somewhere in America. That is what they are paid to do.'

'I see,' said von Igelfeld. 'That would no doubt save embarrassment.'

'Of course,' said Unterholzer. 'They are experts in finding places for German academics to go and lecture to other people, whether or not they want to hear them. They are very persuasive people. That is how I went to Buenos Aires and gave my lecture there. It really works.'

And indeed it did. The local director of the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst was delighted to hear from von Igelfeld the following day and assured him that a scholar of his eminence would be snapped up should he deign to leave Germany. It was only a question of finding the right institution and making the detailed arrangements.

'Rest assured that you will be invited within days,' von Igelfeld was promised. 'Just leave it all in our capable hands.'



Thus von Igelfeld found himself arriving in Fayetteville, Arkansas, a charming college town nestling in the Ozark Mountains, seat of the University of Arkansas, or at least of that part not located in the minor campus at Little Rock. When the whole idea was conceived, he had not envisaged going to Arkansas. He had imagined that his destination might be California, or New York, perhaps, but one American state was very much the same as another — at least in von Igelfeld's view, and it really made no difference. The important thing was that he was going to America, and a good two weeks ahead of Prinzel.

Von Igelfeld's hosts greeted him warmly. They had insisted that he stay with them, rather than in a hotel, and so von Igelfeld found himself installed in the sleeping porch of a traditional Ozark farmhouse on the edge of the town, the home of Professor R. B. Leflar. After he had unpacked, he and von Igelfeld sat down on the swing-seat on the front verandah and discussed his programme. There would be visits to the surrounding area the next day, promised Professor Leflar, and the day after that a set-piece lecture had been planned before an open audience.

That night, after dinner, von Igelfeld retired to his bed and looked out through the gauze-covered porch windows. The house was surrounded by mixed forest, oak trees and sycamores, and their shapes, dark silhouettes, swayed in the breeze. And there, he thought, there's the moon, rising slowly over the trees like a giant lantern. What were they planning for him tomorrow? Would they show him their libraries? Were there manuscripts? What about Leflar's maternal grandfather, the adventurer, Charles Finger? He had been in South America and may have come across some Portuguese manuscripts of note, which could well be in the attic above his very head. Arkansas, it seemed, was rich in possibilities for the philologist.

The next morning he ate a hearty breakfast with Professor and Mrs Leflar before they set off.

'We're heading north,' said his host. 'We'll show you a typical hog operation.'

'Most intriguing,' said von Igelfeld. 'I am always interested in . . .' He paused. What was he interested in? Philology? Portuguese verbs? 'I am always interested in everything.' They drove out of town, following a road that wound up into the hills. It was a gentle landscape — limestone hills which had been softened by the action of the rain; meandering valleys dotted with farmhouses under shady oak trees. Von Igelfeld had not thought of America as being at all like this; there were no dry plains, no glittering Dallas in the distance, no leafy suburbia with neat white houses. This could have been Bavaria, or even Austria.

Suddenly Leflar turned off the road and followed a dusty track leading towards a large, unpainted barn.

'Here we are,' he said. 'They're expecting us.'

The farmer came out and shook von Igelfeld's hand. Von Igelfeld sniffed the air; it was distinctly malodorous. 'This way,' said the farmer. 'The hogs are in here.' The farmer opened a door in the side of the barn and ushered von Igelfeld inside. For the next half hour, they wandered between rows of spacious sties, each surmounted by a large sun lamp and each filled with a squealing mass of pigs. The farmer demonstrated the automatic feeding system and showed von Igelfeld the blood-sampling equipment.

'We're mighty careful about viruses here,' he said. 'You'd know all about that.'

Von Igelfeld looked at the farmer. Did pigs get colds, he wondered?

'You have to be careful about viruses,' he agreed. 'I myself always use vitamin C during the winter . . .'

He did not finish. 'You're right,' said the farmer. 'Each pig gets sixty IU vitamin C every morning with its food. And then we give them a shot of B group when they're seven weeks old. Some people are trying a short course of potassium a week before market. What do you think?'

Von Igelfeld shook his head. 'You have to be careful,' he said. 'I would never use potassium myself.'

The farmer listened intently. 'You hear that, Professor Leflar? No potassium. I'm inclined to agree with our visitor. You tell those folks down in Little Rock, no potassium — the Germans recommend against it.'

Leflar nodded. 'Could be,' he said.

An hour later they set off again. After a brief lunch, they made their way to a chicken farm, where von Igelfeld was shown the latest methods of production by a farmer who spoke in such a way that he could understand not one word. Then there was a call at some sort of animal laboratory, which interested von Igelfeld very little. Then home to dinner. That night, in the silence of his sleeping porch, von Igelfeld reflected on his day. It had been interesting, in its way, but he wondered why they had chosen to show him all those farms and animals. Animals were all very well; indeed he had once written a small paper on the nature of collective nouns used for groups of animals, but that was about as far as his interest went. Still, this was America, and he assumed that this was what they laid on for all their visitors.



The lecture was to be at six thirty, following a short reception. When von Igelfeld arrived with Leflar the audience was largely assembled, milling about the ante-room of the lecture theatre. Glasses of wine had been provided, and plates of snacks were being circulated by waitresses dressed in black and white.

Everybody seemed keen to talk to von Igelfeld.

'We've all heard about your work,' said one man in a lightweight blue suit. 'In fact, I've got an off-print here which I thought you might care to sign.'

'I'd be happy to do so,' said von Igelfeld. And what about Portuguese Irregular Verbs? he reflected. Were there copies even here in Fayetteville, amongst these charming hills?

The man in the blue suit produced a pamphlet from his pocket. 'I was sent this by a colleague in Germany,' he said. 'He thought that I might find it useful. And I sure did.' Von Igelfeld took the pamphlet. The cover was unfamiliar; all his off-prints from the Zeitschrift were bound in a plain white cover. This one was blue.

He adjusted his reading glasses and looked at the title page. Further Studies of Canine Pulmonary Efficiency, he read. And then: by Professor Martin Igelfold, University of Münster.

Von Igelfeld stared at the page for a moment, his heart a cold stone within him. It was immediately clear to him what had happened. They thought that he was Professor Igelfold, Dean of Veterinary Medicine at Münster. Von Igelfeld knew of Igelfold's existence, as he had seen the remarkably similar name in the newspaper during an anthrax scare. But he had never dreamed that there would be confusion on such a heroic scale! Those foolish, bumbling people at the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst had mixed them up and sent him off to lecture on veterinary medicine in Arkansas! It was a situation of such terrible embarrassment that for a moment he hardly dared contemplate it. And the lecture was about to begin, before all these people — these expectant scientists, veterinarians and dog breeders — and he had proposed to talk about modal verbs in the writings of Fernando Pessoa.

Almost without thinking, he signed the pamphlet and returned it to the other man.

'We're so honoured to have you here in Fayetteville,' said the man. 'We understand that you are the world authority on the sausage dog. We are looking forward to what you have to say to us tonight. Sausage dogs are quite popular here. German settlers brought them with them in the late eighteen nineties and we have bred them ever since.'

Von Igelfeld stared at him in horror. Sausage dogs! He was expected to talk about sausage dogs, a subject on which he knew absolutely nothing. It was a nightmare; like one of those dreams where you imagine that you are about to take the lead part in a Greek play or where you are sitting down to write an examination in advanced calculus. But he was awake, and it was really happening.

Leflar was at his side now.

'Almost time,' he said. 'Should I ask people to move into the hall?'

'Not yet,' said von Igelfeld, looking about him desperately. 'I have so many colleagues yet to meet.'

He detached himself from Leflar and made his way over to a knot of people standing near the door. This proved to be a group of veterinary surgeons who welcomed him to their circle and refilled his glass from a bottle of wine which one of them was holding.

It was in this group that one of the guests drew him aside and engaged him in distinctly unsettling conversation.

'I was sorry to read about your death,' said the guest.

Von Igelfeld looked at him in astonishment.

'My death?'

'Yes,' said the guest. 'There was a small item in the International Veterinary Review this week reporting the very recent death of Professor Igelfold. There was a glowing obituary.'

Von Igelfeld stared glassily at the man before him, who was surveying him over his drink.

'I did not read it,' he said weakly.

'Not surprising,' said the man. 'One rarely has the pleasure of reading one's own obituary.'

Von Igelfeld laughed, mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

'Very amusing,' he said. 'And you are so right!'

'So this is a posthumous lecture,' said the man.

'Well,' said von Igelfeld. 'It would appear to be something of that sort.'

The man looked pensive. 'I must say that you don't look at all like your photograph. They published one with the obituary, you know.'

Von Igelfeld gripped the stem of his glass. 'The camera is often deceptive, I find.'

'You were a smaller man in the photograph,' went on the other. 'Not nearly so tall.'

'I see,' said von Igelfeld icily. 'A smaller photograph, perhaps? Anyway, do you not know that in Germany we sometimes publish obituaries before a person's demise. It happens quite often. This is because we Germans are so efficient. An early obituary means that there is never a backlog. That, I suspect, is the explanation.'

There was a silence. Then von Igelfeld spoke again.

'You must excuse me,' he said. 'I am feeling rather tired.'

'Quite understandable,' muttered the man. 'In the circumstances.'

But von Igelfeld did not hear him. He had moved away and was looking about him. The simplest solution was to escape, to vanish entirely. If he managed to get out of the hall he could summon a taxi, go back to the Leflar house, creep in through the back and reclaim his belongings. Then he could make his way to the airport and await the first flight out of town, wherever it happened to be going.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
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Sort by: Showing all of 8 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 23, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Even better than the first Doctor Von Igelfeld book

    Dr. Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld, the renowned philologist from "Portuguese Irregular Verbs" is back in another series of short, humorous stories. These stories are more closely related than those in "Portuguese Irregular Verbs," and focus more on his relationship with his two immediate colleagues (especially the much-despised Dr. Unterholzer).

    Once again, I found Dr. von Igelfeld's combination of ridiculous academic arrogance and social awkwardness hilarious. The fact that the stories in this book built on each other more than in the last book made me like it even more than the first one in the series.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 13, 2015

    One of the funniest stories I've read. Poor little sausage dog!

    One of the funniest stories I've read. Poor little sausage dog!

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  • Posted November 2, 2010

    Funny Funny

    Better than Portugese Irregular Verbs.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 30, 2005

    Hilarious Reading!

    THE FINER POINTS OF SAUSAGE DOGS is the second in the series of Professor Dr. Von Igelfeld novels by Mr. Smith. It is the first in the triology which I have read. From the beginning as I read, I was drawn into it. In short, it is a hoot! If you enjoy the writings of P.G. Wodehouse and mourn the loss the TV series, FRAISER, you will enjoy THE FINER POINT OF SAUSAGE DOGS. The narrative pulls you in from the start and you truly cannot put it down. The only negative aspect is the shortness of the novel--only 128 pages. One of my favorite parts is the unfortunate surgery of a colleague's pet and how the colleague then retaliates. The pettiness of higher academia is uproariously portrayed! I will not tell more, but I encourage readers to read this one. Now I am going to read the first and the third books in the series.

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    Posted December 19, 2013

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    Posted January 27, 2009

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