Hey fam, Rosie the Labrolock Holmes here! Solved a puppyrific mystery today. My favorite squeaky duck went missing and Whiskers, that feline foe, was the culprit. Don’t worry, the sherlocktail of Pawsburg solved the case, the duck’s back safe. Saving Pawsburg, one squeaky toy at a time. – Rosie 🐾🕵️‍♀️🦴

Listen to the story here

In a blink, my world had flipped. I wasn’t just Rosie the Labrador anymore; I was Rosie the Detective, the Sherlock of Pawsburg. Let me tell you, it wasn’t initially my choice of career, but finding yourself seeing the uncanny resemblance between the tuna in your dinner bowl and a mystery to be solved can do funny things to a dog.

“Rosie!” Butter’s barking echoed through Pawsburg, snapping me out of a thrilling daydream about collaring Whiskers. Butter had always been the Watson to my Holmes, loyal and a little fluffy around the edges. “We have a case!”

Pawsburge was all hustle and bustle by the time we scampered into the heart of town. Broads skimming the day’s specials off the chalkboard outsides of Paws-A-Latte, gaggles shooting curious glances at Canine Couture’s display window and the erudite few dawdling outside The Wagging Tail Bookstore. The chicest of them all, I must say.

Leaning leisurely at Western Husky Hill was our problem – a purloined squeaky duck. No ordinary duck, but my squeaky duck. The lime-green fellow who had seen better days. The poor thing was now peeking out pitifully from a hole dug in the soft surface of the Husky Hill.

With a step so light that not even the loose dew-laden grass blades around the hill twitched, I approached the spot and scrutinized the area. There was a certain pattern to the earth that was dug out. A dog’s doing, yes, but the paw prints bore an enigma. This was an inside job. Butter, always the ideal support, whimpered in anticipation.

I sniffed at the prints on the ground – a familiar odor that I had previously encountered between the Alsatian’s donuts at Whiskers and Wings. Inch by inch, the suspect’s foul pieces came together, fitting snugly like the patches on a Dalmatian’s back.

A sudden clang from afar snapped my chain of thought. It was the metal trash can lids at Brindle Brown Boxer Beach. “Butter, let’s go!” We took off like a greyhound on its final lap.

Through the sprawling grounds of Poodle Pond and bounding down the pebble-laden alley behind The Snooty Snout Boutique, we finally skidded to a halt. There was our suspect – Whiskers, the pesky neighborhood cat, his whiskers twitching deviously as he pawed at my squeaky duck.

To my surprise, instead of retreating into his usual hissy shell, Whiskers held out the duck, a reluctant apology flickering in his feline eyes. Maybe there is truth to the phrase ‘every dog has its day’, or in my case, ‘every Labrador has her extraordinary detective day’. After all, even the most cunning cat doesn’t stand a chance against a paw-some Labrador detective.

The End.

Share This Story: