Hey Mom,

Just wrapped up my latest Sherlock ‘Bones’ adventure! Unraveled a mystery at the Howling Husky and chased down a Terrier crook with a loot-filled sack. Pawsburgh’s safe and I’m officially a four-legged hero. Tell Dad I’ve done it again – the night’s alive with tales of Tomy, the tail-wagging detective. 🕵️🐾

Catch you at the breakfast bowl,
Tomy

Listen to the story here

In the shadowed alleyways of Pawsburgh, where the streetlights cast more shadows than light, I found myself pondering the evening’s eerie quietness. It was the sort of silence that clung to your fur like burrs on a bushwhack. My plush companion, Sir Nutkins, was tucked safely under my arm as I sauntered down Sapphire Schnauzer Street, headed towards The Howling Husky Hardware Store. Duchess had mentioned, in her melodious yap, that something was amiss there—something that made her perfectly permed tail uncurl.

The store was dark, save for the flicker of a neon sign that squinted in the night. I pushed open the door with my snout, letting the scent of sawdust and secrets waft into my nostrils. “Bloody brilliant,” I muttered to myself, my intellect tingling like my spine when caught in a rain shower.

“Is that you, Tomy?” came a voice, as coarse as sandpaper on a rawhide bone from the shadows.

“Buddy?” I recognized the figure of my erratic but endearing Beagle friend, creeping out with that hapless look of his. His ears were drooping even more than usual, like wet leaves clinging to a branch.

“Some thief’s been here, Tomy. We got ourselves a mystery, and you’re the sleuth with the sniffer for the job,” declared Buddy. The perils of Pawsburgh awaited again, and I relished the challenge like a prime cut at Setter’s Steakhouse.

I padded through the aisles, Sir Nutkins and my tail my diligent companions, searching for clues among the hammers and hinges. It then hit me—the soft, ghostly glow faintly lighting Affenpinscher Avenue from the store’s back exit. “Buddy, to Newfoundland Nook, and step on it!”

We darted past Retriever’s Restaurant, avoiding the siren call of their grilled chicken. Not tonight. Tonight was for justice, for order, and for the thrill of the chase. By the time we reached the Nook, the culprit was already embarking on a getaway, tail lights of an illicit dog cart flickering like a guilty conscience.

With stealth inherited from my wise forebears, I crept up, leapt onto the cart’s back, and found myself face to face with a sack spilling over with loot. Kibble, collars, and yes—the unmistakable glint of a bone-shaped name tag I’d seen at The Wagging Tail Bookstore.

“Going somewhere?” I barked, startling the driver, a notorious Terrier from Terrierville. With a howl and a screech, the cart halted, throwing us both off balance. The Terrier, shocked, skidded to a stop, paws up. “I’ll confess. Just don’t turn those eyes on me,” he whimpered, all bravado lost under my gaze.

The town’s purloined property was returned, and Buddy’s joyous barking was music to everyone’s ears. Well, almost everyone’s.

Back under the oak that evening, Sir Nutkins and I considered. Pawsburgh had its darkness, its villains, but it also had me, Tomy: loyal friend, thrillingly intellectual, and defender of canine kind.

As the moon rose higher, I pondered, what is light without a touch of the dark? What is goodness without a fight? And what is Tomy without the wondrous, sometimes wicked, streets of Pawsburgh to roam?

Content, I watched the fireflies spar with the stars, their dances writing stories in the night. So, until my next escapade… Stay pawsome, Pawsburgh. Stay pawsome.

The End.