Author Dr. Dorothy McCoy Releases First Novel, 'Return of the English Bulldog'

CHARLOTTE, N.C., May 1, 2017 /PRNewswire/ From a dark London alley, to the glamorous Savoy, to the peaks of Austria, Sir Winston pursues unimaginable evil. Humanity is in grave danger from a group of malevolent scientists. They are working tirelessly in a dark, damp laboratory in Whitechapel. The clock is ticking madly and Sir Winston, Dr. Einstein, a handsome MI5 agent and a mysterious Great Dane have returned after 50 years of dead to save mankind one more time. The pervertedmad scientists, including SS physicianDr. Josef Mengele, are equally determined to complete their task to re-create the Nazi Empire and its most pathological fanatics. An old message bag stored since World War II contains the secret Sir Winston needs to defeat this formidable enemy. One name is written on that message bag, it brings chills to Winston and his team when they read that hated name.

If Sir Winston fails, civilization is doomed.

"Return of the English Bulldog" is a book history buffs, hopeless romantics and Albert Einstein freaks alike will enjoy.

Jeffrey Deaver, International Bestselling Author of "The Steel Kiss" and "The Bone Collector," calls it"a delightful and captivating read from a truly imaginative new talent!"

Book Excerpt: Chapter 1: Churchill

I am not a terribly imaginative person. We should settle that question right now. So, when I look into the corner of my office, in the Victorian chair, and see Sir Winston Churchill relaxing there, with legs crossed and a cigar in one hand and what appears to be a brandy sniffer in the other, I am stunned. As a practicing psychotherapist, I am seldom surprised by anything I see or hear, as I tell my clients quite often. However, I must admit, I may have been overly confident of my tolerance for the astonishing. I glance around the room to satisfy my desperate need for a reality anchor. A cluttered oak desk, a bulging barrister bookcase, a scuffed steamer trunk, two white Victorian wicker chairs (one occupied by the decreased Prime Minister), and a stylishly faded velvet chaise are quirky, yet solid. Excellent! The walls continue to be coffee brown and white trim still surrounds the Palladium window. Window is still peeking into my tiny courtyard. Courtyard and vegetation are present and accounted for! Outstanding! Now we are getting somewhere! The sign on the door says Dr. Raven "Bones" Wyndot, Psychotherapist.

This is unquestionably my office. Perfect! I touch my face; yes, face is mine. Whew! My confidence is restored. Warning to self, insane and confident we are not mutually exclusive states. Somewhat reassured, I return my attention to the illustrious Sir Winston. I recognize the great English statesman at once, because he is my hero. There are dozens of books written by him or about him sitting on my nightstand at home and in the barrister bookcase behind me. My amazement turns to curiosity, I am unusually curious by nature and it takes over. I wonder if he can speak, and then he speaks. "Dr. Wyndot, it is quite pleasant to see you today. Do you have more brandy?" Ah, that answers one question, he can speak. Now, I wonder if I can do the same I manage to croakuh, no, uh, Prime Minister, uh, Sir Winston...I have Diet Coke in the fridge. I grin my apology. Sir Winston is not impressed. We are not off to an encouraging start. In my defense, when one has been dead since 1965 and then abruptly appears in my counseling office without an appointment, one must take what refreshments one can get. I must admit he looks remarkably fit. In fact, he looks very much as he did in photos when he became Prime Minister in 1940. Naturally, the question on my mind is, "Why is he here?" followed closely by, "How the hell is he here?"

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