“Hey Dad! Spent my day as a K9 detective over here in Spencerville. Toffee’s chewy bone vanished, and I sniffed out the culprit- one of Cleared-for-Takeoff clan’s squirrels! Yup, I solved ‘The Case of the Missing Bone’. Heads up: Never trust a squirrel with the bones (or Brussels sprouts because apparently, they’re into that). Wish you were here. Woofs and tailwags!”
– Your Top Doggo Sherlock

Ahead of me, Spencerville looked like the front cover of a feel-good novella; a dream dress rehearsal for a utopian world. Just another day in the never-dying legend of ours. Ah, the beauty of rebirth!

I padded along the Bullmastiff Boardwalk, my golden coat shimmering in the perpetual dawn of Spencerville. Toffee and Max at my heel, we made some sort of three musketeers troupe. If d’Artagnan had four legs and an irrational fear of thunders, that is.

“Whistler Park, guys. Let’s do this.” I barked, the brisk wind picking up my words and throwing them to my two companions.

Our day began with playful games and a few puppy misadventures at the Yappy Yogurt. My objective? Tracking down the thief with cat-like reflexes that pilfered Toffee’s beloved chewy bone from the Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store. Spoiler? It wasn’t actually a cat. Mhm, I know. A twist in the tale right at the beginning!

“Now listen, Toffee,” I started, licking up the last of my banana froyo. “All the aromas at the crime scene, I know them well, except for one. But it smells… familiar. Nutty, with a hint of evergreen?”

Toffee cocked his head, his ears pricking up.

“Squirrels!” Max barked, and headbutted me, laughing. Several dogs at the next table whipped their heads around. “Shush! Keep it down, will you, Sherlock?”

“I’m not just any run-off-the-mill lab, Max. Might as well embrace the title. But yes. Squirrels!” A memory, as fresh as summer rainfall, rushed back to me. “And I know just the squirrels.”

And thus, we headed to Collie Canyon, where Dusty lived and where I last sniffed that familiar squirrel smell. My instincts were forgotten as I reunited with my brother, our tails wagging in a swift rhythm of joy. Yet, amongst the joyful ruckus, I spotted a familiar bone nestled within the messy nest of a notorious squirrel clan.

“Toffee’s bone,” I barked, pointing towards it. “I don’t remember giving Cleared-for-Takeoff-Squirrel access to pet stocks. He’s got some answering to do!”

Surprised gasps echoed through the canyon––turns out, even in this paradise, a dog-detective could stir some exciting waves. Oh, and fair warning: don’t you ever trust a squirrel with your chewy bones again. Or Brussels sprouts. Those bitter green orbs could easily be squirrel food for all I care. Now if you’d excuse me, Whistler Park’s waters are calling. Until our next adventure!

The End.