“Hey, this is Samillva 🐾 Today’s adventure? A missing elder dog named Smokey-Hatt. Turned into a full-fledged detective fur the day; led the pack all over Pawsburg sniffing clues. Spoiler alert – found him snoozing, snug as a bug, on a cherry danish at The Woofy Bakery. Hero of the day and still, the nap champion! Catch ya tomorrow, who knows what tail is next. 🐶😴”

Listen to the story here

“Mississippi ain’t got nuthin’ on the pugnacious currents of Upper Black Bulldog Bay. Nor does it compare to the hushed stillness of Siberian Summit during dessert hour at Paws On the Grill. Ah! Just the thought of their steak bites can set my mouth to waterin’. More than once I’ve caught myself drooling into some poor patron’s latte.

A chill shivered through the predawn air as I lumbered through the doors of The Pampered Pooch Salon, my fearsome lieutenant squeaky-chicken clutched firmly in my jowls. The bell tolled above, a discordant knell that stabbed at my ears like the honk of a hundred geese.

“Morning, Samillva,” greeted Mrs. Wiggles, the salon’s matronly golden retriever. Her voice was as sweet as a honeysuckle in May, but it was her sleek coat that drew me in despite the detestable bell.

Upon my cushion I lounged, my hefty frame settling like dough into the soft fabric. Today unfolded into an agitation though, an ordinary became a jumble of mystery.

At noon, the chap we delightfully call Spot strutted in, donned in a conductor’s hat that belonged to Smokey-Hatt, the elder at Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow. I perked up, “That ain’t yer usual attire, Spot. Somethin’ special wagging yer tail today?”

Spot gave a woebegone expression, “It’s Smokey-Hatt. He’s vanished. His hat was all that’s left up at Siberian Summit. No trace of him nor a sniff either.” A murmur spread among our bunch.

Whiskers, the bookish cat with a furrowed brow remarked dryly, “For a dog that takes napping as seriously as you, Samillva, you sure seem awake for this mystery.”

I gave a well-meaning grumble, jowls already formulated into a prudent frown. Now, ain’t that the pickle! A missing elder, and right here in Pawsburg! Ain’t nothin’ set a dog’s heart to thunderin’ like a mystery in these parts, and I declare that as a notoriously lazy bulldog, I was just the unlikely sleuth we needed.

The day turned into a scan for Smokey-Hatt’s whiff. Our noses to the streets, teeth aiming for clues, ours was a pack purpose for truth. Our adventure unfolded past the Waggle n’ Wok, skirting around the Yappy Yogurt, ending outside the Pet Partners Pet Supplies. A Saucy sausage scent pulled us to The Woofy Bakery’s sill. Upon a cherry danish, Smokey-Hatt slept like a agèd pup, oblivious to the hue and cry.

Laughing at ourselves under lantern glow, Pawsburg heaved a wagging sigh of relief. Adventures were to be sneaked, but nothing that switched the peace. It was a hoot though, it was. And as the stars crept into Pawsburg’s quilt, I settled back on my favorite cushion, pledging to the moon, “From dastardly mail carriers to missing dogs, ain’t nothin’ your Samillva can’t sniff out.”

And having emphatically declared my intentions to the wind, I fell promptly asleep, consummate protector and relentless sleuth that I am, to the peaceful snores of Pawsburg. Life, my friend, is never uneventful when you’re connected by the ties of a furred friendship. To more adventures and lesser of missing elders, Pawsburg was home. Underneath the sky blanket, as stars twinkled in merry eyes, peace nestled in every dog’s heart, and anchoring into mine, popped into another joyous dream, mystery solved and normalcy restored.

The End.