Yo, it’s your detective extraordinaire, Bria! 😎 Just cracked the case of the missing squeaky duck—turned out to be an inside job courtesy of our feathered prankster, Pippin. Love keeps this quirky Spencerville crew together, even when our cherished chew-toys go walkies. Family and chaos go paw-in-hand, don’t they? 🐾🦜 #TheGreatSqueakyDuckHeist #PetHouseMysteries

– Bria 🐾

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Episode 4: The Great Squeaky Duck Heist

Okay, I’m going to level with you: life in Spencerville is pretty much a tail-wagging utopia for a pet like me. I’m Bria, the Doberman with the shiny coat and a magnetic pull towards Granny Smith apples.

No morning is complete without a sun-drenched stretch across the Southern Golden Retriever River, which, sure, has a name that’s a mouthful, but it’s my favorite spot. Pippin, my feathered sidekick with the comically oversized ego for a parrot, usually perches on my back like he’s the king of the world.

Now, onto the real drama. This day was different. This was the day of The Great Squeaky Duck Heist. The duck, my pride and joy, a relic of yappy, tail-chasing youth, had gone missing. I noticed its absence when I trotted past Marnie and Finn’s snoozing forms to the corner where my duck usually lay—pristine, untouched, worshipped. It wasn’t there. Cue the gasp, the widening of eyes, the slightly dramatic pause. Yeah, I could totally pull off a soap opera if I wanted to.

My first suspect? Marnie. She has the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and a penchant for mischief. So, I sauntered over to Kibble Cuisine, where she often goes for a ‘snack,’ which, in her case, could mean anything from a banquet to a nibble.

The bell above the door tinkled as I entered. It smelled like doggy heaven—the heavenly aroma of Furrific Fried Chicken mixed with traces of Fishy Bites that filled the air. A burly bulldog eyed me with mild interest, but nah, this was a family affair.

“Bria!” Marnie greeted me, her tail a dangerous weapon of exuberance. “What brings you to this fine-

“Marnie, have you seen my squeaky duck?” I cut to the chase, my eyes narrowing ‘just’ enough to let her know this was serious biz.

She feigned innocence – poorly. “What? Your little squeaky thingy? Nah, haven’t seen it,” she said, but her gaze darted away for a nanosecond, and that’s all I needed.

Lies. Lies and a wagging tail.

I turned my snout up in the air. “Alright, keep your secrets. But my detective skills are second to none.”

Next on my list was Finn, the Bassett Hound who could sleep through an earthquake. I found him lounged at Canine Couture Clothing, presumably dragged there by Marnie on some ‘sibling adventure.’ My little nap lover wore a fancy beret that, quite frankly, he did not appreciate enough.

“Finn, your lovable ol’ droopy eyes can’t hide truths from me. Where’s my duck?”

He rolled his eyes, perfectly embodying that old-soul sarcasm. “Bria, I love you, but your squeaky toys hold no appeal for an aesthetic hound like myself.”

Ugh, dead end.

Okay, time for detective Bria to work her magic. It’s a classic who-paw-dunnit, after all. As I circled back home, glancing around our Spencerville abode, it hit me. My duck was perched high atop our mailbox, squeaky and proud, with a note attached to its beak: “Just because you’re easy to find doesn’t mean all your things have to be. Xoxo, Pippin.”

Pippin. That bird had pluck, and I couldn’t help but smile. I had to hand it to him; he sure knew how to stir up an otherwise serene day in paradise.

Returning the duck to its rightful place, I encountered Marnie and Finn entering the room, their expressions a mix of guilt and a poorly stifled need to burst into laughter.

And there it was, the joy of family—eccentric, quirky, and tightly knit by paw and claw. It was the love that made the Spencerville sun shine brighter and every heartwarming caper worth its squeaks.

So, I nosed the duck over to them, the spoils of a joke well played. And we all knew, with each mischievous plot and loving tease, we were stories in the making—our own, silly pet house.

The End.