Hey Mom,

Unraveled a real tail-wagger in Spencerville; sniffed out a mystery about Mr. Paws’ missing squeaky bone and found it was just a mailman mix-up! I’m like Sherlock Bones over here. 🕵️‍♂️ Paw and order restored, got a treat for my detective snout. Hug the cat for me!

Your pup, Zoey 🐾

Listen to the story here

Hey there! Zoey here. And before you even think it, no, I’m *not* named after the singer. I’m more of a howler than a crooner, thank you very much. But let me tell you about this one peculiar day in Spencerville that had my nose twitching and my mind spinning faster than a pup chasing his tail.

So, there I was, lounging under that wise old elm in Millers Park, the one with more stories than the Wagging Tail Bookstore’s entire mystery section, when the scent hit me. It was the unmistakable whiff of… chaos? Trouble? No, worse: mystery. And not the kind that ends with someone finding an extra treat beneath the couch cushion.

The sun was hanging high like a big, lazy golden retriever in the sky, and it was as good a time as any to start a day-in-the-life-of-Zoey type of adventure. I kicked off with a casual trot to Ruff-n-Ready, dreaming of a peanut butter delicacy when I heard the scuttlebutt: Mr. Paws’ prized squeaky bone had vanished into thin air. Gone! Poof!

“And I bet it was that sly Whiskers!” grumbled Buddy, popping up by my side with his golden mane all ruffled. “I saw her lurking near The Groom Room.”

“Easy, Bud,” I said, giving my best mellow-dramatic sigh. “Whiskers, she’s many things, but a thief? C’mon, she gets belly rubs from security! We need evidence!”

With my trusty, albeit slightly drooled-on, rubber chicken in tow, I made a beeline to the scene of the crime. My beagle senses were on high alert, my eyes scanning for clues. The Groom Room looked like any other day, with furballs in tubs and poodles getting poofed.

Out trotted Madame Fluffington, the most pampered Persian this side of Boxer Beach. “Darling Zoey,” she purred. “Surely a good sniffer like you can find the bone and restore harmony.”

“Watch and learn, sweet Fluff,” I winked.

The scent trail led me in circles, twistier than a hound’s hind leg. Was it sabotage? A conundrum? No, it was just the wind playing tricks on my sniff-sational nose.

Sniffing high and low, I took a detour by Shepherd Skyline, hoping to clear my head and find some inspiration. And would you believe it? Inspiration came bounding up in the form of a tennis ball. But not just any tennis ball—Mr. Paws’ favorite tennis ball, always tucked away in his swag bag.

I flashed my goofiest grin at Buddy. “What could our culprit want with a bone if they’re throwing away primo playtime gear?”

The game was afoot—or apaw, to be more species-appropriate.

Turning tail, we sprinted back to The Groom Room. On arrival, there it was: a shred of fur caught on a nail. Oh, it wasn’t any strand; it was a rare find from the undercoat of a dastardly wily alley cat. Or so it seemed.

Rising tension. Quickening pulse. I barked out, “To Whiskers’ alley!”

We found her lounging atop a heap of cardboard treasures, indignant as always.

“What’s this about a bone and a tennis ball?” I queried, trying my best not to jump to conclusions, or on couches.

Whiskers flicked her tail, “Do I look like I have a use for a bone? Check the tennis ball.”

And check it I did. Aha! Beneath the felt—enough slobber for a DNA test and… an address label?

Turns out, Mr. Paws’ human sent a package filled with his beloved items to the wrong address in Spencerville. The bone was simply being returned by a well-meaning—but terribly clumsy—mailman cat.

Mystery solved, with only minimal distractive sniffing, and the townsfolk cheered our names. I strutted a bit, victorious, and even got myself a free treat at Bone Appetit.

So remember, my pedigree pals, in a place where every day’s an enigma and every wag’s a tale, it’s all about keeping your nose clean and your wits about you. After all, where there’s a Zoey, there’s a way!

The End.