“Hey Mum, solved another case today. Terrier bud went missing, lemon-gate scared him off. Found hiding at the Bark Shak. All’s good in Spencerville now. Got free salmon treats! Yum! Love from your pawsome detective, Squishface.”

Listen to the story here

Let me take you back to the day I received a knock on my office door. Upon opening, I found myself looking at the stout figure of Roscoe Lonestar. His golden eyes sparkled with anticipation, his tail wagging at the prospect of my assistance.

“Roscoe? What brings you here?” I asked him.

There’s something about Roscoe. It’s not the pushy demanding respect like some dogs, but a gravitas, an old wisdom in his eyes. He looked towards the desk, a worn-out rubber chicken in tow.

“A case?” I sauntered over to my letter-cluttered desk, pushing aside old envelopes to space for the rubber chicken. Our deal was straightforward. He hands me chicken; I take his case. An excellent quid pro quo if you ask me.

In Spencerville, everyone knows everyone. And everyone sure as heck knows Roscoe Lonestar – the English Bulldog Mix with an addiction to salmon treats and an antagonism towards lemons. An eccentricity loved by all even when it made absolutely no sense.

The case was a peculiar one. It involved one of Roscoe’s close friends, a perky Terrier from Western Husky Hill, reported missing. The town’s lap dogs had their bandanas in a twist, Roscoe not exempted. Word spread like wildfire, but no leads were found.

We started at The Bark Shak, where the said Terrier had his last known meal. The owner, a robust German Shepherd mix, wore a melancholic expression. “He loved our bone soup,” he barked mournfully, passing along a fresh plate of salmon treats that Roscoe promptly devoured.

Our next stop led us to Canine Couture Clothing. Roscoe detests these fancy threads, but he bore with it for the sake of his friend. The owner, a fancy Pomeranian with pigtails, was evidently distressed. “He was supposed to come for a new coat fitting, never showed up,” she yipped between sobs.

When evening fell, we headed to Collie Canyon, the reported hangout spot for the Terrier. The spot was deserted, but Roscoe’s snout went into action. A scent caught his attention, leading us on a long journey till we reached back at The Bark Shak.

Right by the corner was the Terrier hiding, spooked by a rogue lemon rolling down Western Husky hill.

“It’s alright,” Roscoe barks, approaching him cautiously, seeking to comfort his friend. Relieved laughs echoed around. The case was closed, Spencerville could breathe again.

In my line of work, it’s normal to hear some tall tales, but middle of the night citric terror – that was unique, even for Spencerville standards. A town full of myth, mystery and loyalty. And at its very heart, its pawsome detective, Roscoe Lonestar. A very good boy indeed.

The End.