Hey Mom, your dozy bulldog did some sleuthing! Helped a buddy find a missing toy duck – turned out some party animals ‘temporarily borrowed’ it. Who knew, your Butters could be Sherlock Holmes in a fur coat? Lots of puppy love, Buddy.

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Listen, I know what you’re going to say, “An English bulldog named Buddy? A sleuth?” but hear me out. Just ’cause I spent afternoons basking in the sun, doesn’t mean I didn’t possess a keen intellect.

So there I was in Spencerville, post-mortem of course, sunbathing at the Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, contemplating the meaning of my existence, when a doggo named Max sauntered over. Max was troubled; it was in the way he wagged his tail.

“What’s cooking, Buddy?” he asked, sadness clouding his eyes.

I affixed him with a chewed-out bone gaze that’s become my detective’s trademark. “Let’s see you’re gloomy, your tail is dragging, did you run out of steak at the Pooched Potatoes?”

“Na, it’s not that,” Max said with a sigh, “my favorite rubber duckie has disappeared. I took it to the doggy court yesterday, and that was the last I saw of its bright yellow.”

I saw an adventure brewing, the kind that could break an afternoon sunbathing monotony. So I, Buddy, the legendary English bulldog, the certifiable gumshoe of Spencerville, agreed to help.

First stop was the East Pug Palace. The last time I was there, it was over a scandal involving a missing beef bone. You wouldn’t believe the kind of intrigue that goes on in this town. Anyway, I questioned the palace pugs, each one squished face after another, but they swore on their favorite chew toy that they did not take the duck.

Now, I don’t have a bone to pick with vacuum cleaners like others do. However, my investigation led me right to Howling Husky Hardware Store. The appliances there knew a lot more than they let on, I’m telling you.

It wasn’t until I made it to the Best in Show Photography shop I found a clue, the faintest quack from one of the cameras’ digital memory. “Max’s rubber duckie… at the Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow?” I speculated out loud.

I dashed across Spencerville, barely stopping for a Custard Donut at Doggy Donuts. Hit a snag when two of my feline siblings Squirt and Star, decided to play tag round my legs. “Not now kitties,” I mumbled, “Detective Buddy is on duty.”

There it was, lying amidst the Maltese, Max’s rubber duckie! Turned out the Maltese puppies had borrowed it for a pool party and forgotten to return it.

Of course, Max was beyond grateful, but for me, it was just another day in Spencerville. Perhaps I should take up this detective gig seriously, instead of laying around all day like a – well like a dog.

The End.