“Hey Mom, imagine a Sherlock Holmes movie set in a frosty Siberian dog wonderland! I was on an adventure today looking for Ginger’s beloved squeaky ball. It seems Ginger left more than pawprints here in Spencerville – she left a mystery to solve. Miss her every day but memories like these make me smile. – #GingerStrong”

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I slung myself into Siberian Summit, looking over the hilly ice scapes that once intimidated me. Now, they sing a frosty symphony of dog-sized igloos and ice-skating rinks. Ginger, ever the adventurer – despite her petite stature, had taken to the ice like a penguin, twirling around in her custom-made doggy skates.

I tipped my hat to a group of huskies having a snowball fight, then shook my head at their laughter. Ever since Ginger, my fellow investigator and dear friend crossed the rainbow bridge, my world was tipped off its kilter.

Her petite stature and glossy black coat always stood out among the crowd. She had a touch of white, serving as an artistic streak – a trait of elegance unmatched. I missed her dearly, despite knowing she was in a better place – Spencerville – an Elysium for pets.

I’d been summoned to Shih Tzu Stadium, where the bone of contention was a missing squeaky ball. Allegedly, it belonged to Ginger in her heyday. She adored squeaky balls – as if they were some form of stress reliever, and I knew she had a collection of them.

“Almost a relic at this point, don’t you think?” mused the Bulldog Commissioner. His voice rumbled, reminiscent of a distant thunderstorm.

I could see this was more than just a missing toy. Ginger’s squeaky ball was a symbol of happiness, a mirror of her personality. She would’ve had the whole Spencerville turned upside down looking for it.

I began the investigation by visiting some of her haunts. First stop, Doggy Bagel Deli – her go-to eaterie. Running on ginger’s ham hunches, I inquired about her favorite – the deli ham. Ginger’s dietary choices had always been meat over vegetables, much like any detective worth her salt.

The Dachshund manager looked puzzled. “Can’t remember the last time I saw the ball. She’d bring it every time though. Loved to play a quick game of fetch while waiting for her ham.”

The mystery thickened, like soup over a slow boil. My next stop – Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store. It was there I ran into Tom, the Tortoiseshell seller. “Haven’t seen a ball, but I’ve sure seen Ginger. She’d strut in like the queen of Sheba!”

“Right,” I muttered, more to myself than to Tom. “I suspect there could be foul play.”

A missing squeaky ball, an iconic location, and a hero connecting them: I had a puzzle on my hands. One that I intended to solve. Ginger may not be around, but her spirit – her warmth, her loyalty – lingered with all of us in Spencerville. I was going to bring her squeaky ball home.

The End.