“Hey Mom, Turbo here! You know that Eastern Pug Palace situation? Haha, we’re on it! Small bother from some inconspicuous fleas. Don’t worry, your little Cottonpicker and the crew are turning every stone to find the culprit. Pawsburg is a little tense, but hey, just adds to the flavor of our canine opera. Love ya, T.”

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The night had been cool, a welcome respite from the dog days of summer. The fire hydrant on the corner of Brindle Brown Boxer Beach had been running, and the reflection of the moon on the small puddle illuminated Pawsburg, my town. My name is Turbo, and this is my story.

I was at The Cat’s Meow Sushi, indulging in their renowned tuna roll. Sure, the place was a bit uppity, but their food was absolutely unrivaled in the canine community. I had been about to sink my teeth into another savory morsel when I saw them walk in, my motley crew, my partners in crime; Squirt, Sissy, and Willie.

“We’ve got a situation, Turbo,” Squirt blurted out. The poor terrier-chihuahua mix was vibrating with nervous energy just like this palpitating city.

“What sort?” I questioned, nursing a piece of sushi between my jaws.

“A smear on our reputation. Someone has messed up the Eastern Pug Palace.” spoke Willie, with a look of concern across his feline face. The orange tomcat had more fur than we dogs combined but tonight, he lacked his usual humor.

Pawsburg’s East Pug Palace was our collective pride and messing with it was akin to messing with us. This was no ordinary crime, but a declaration of war. We braced ourselves for what would be an exciting caper, filled with intrigue, seasoned with a sprinkle of danger, and topped off with an unmistakeable flavor of thrill, a dish best served at Pupperoni Pizza.

We spread out, combing the streets, questioning every curious cocker spaniel, every lippy labrador, every glib golden retriever we could find. We left no stone unturned in our quest for justice. Our combined determination must have looked like a dog chasing his tail, but we were hoping this particular tail would lead to the crime’s perpetrator.

As I stood there, my Orange Baby clutched tightly in my mouth, I couldn’t help but think that Pawsburg was slipping further into the mouth of anarchy, all its hustling energy now consumed by a tension that nipped at you like a persistent flea, unshakeable and uncomfortable. The Howling Husky Hardware Store seemed desolate tonight and The Canine Cafe served impatience instead of coffee. Pawsburg was not supposed to be this gritty noir town, it was meant to be more canine-operetta with just the right dash of intrigue.

With every scrap of information we picked up, the web of deceit began to take form in our minds, a daunting maze that tested our pet detective abilities. The night grew darker under the cloak of uncertainty in our stroll around this twisted world of Pawsburg.

Every event has more than one interpretation, the problem is that interpretations multiply uncontrollably like the crusts in Pupperoni Pizza, nowadays peppered with unknown troubles. It was us, the four vigilantes of Pawsburg, against the world in this game.

The bath of this murky pool was far from inviting, but then wasn’t I known to loathe baths? Despite this, I knew only the plunge would cleanse Pawsburg of its miseries. And I, Turbo, was ready to take the plunge.

I’d hate to leave you here in a pile of delicious suspenses, like the crusts of a freshly baked pizza, but let’s say, some mysteries need more than just stories. As dawn broke over Pawsburg, the adventure was just about to begin.
Today, Pawsburg seems to have become a playful crime scene, with the underdogs proving their might. Of course, with detectives like us, things were bound to get interesting. And for what it’s worth, we’re known to hound down the truth, fiercely.
Because that’s life, here in Pawsburg, noir yet approachable, just like our infamous Bark Burger.

The End.

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