Hey Mom!

Cracked the case of the forlorn chew toy in Pawsburgh today. Turns out, it was a tiny chihuahua with a big past. Don’t worry, all paws end in warm handshakes here. Still, could use a cuddle and your special chicken seasoning. Rain’s doing the weird thing to my fur again.

– Lex

The moment you cross Terrier Town’s border into Pawsburgh, that sense of enigmatic wonder washes over you like a splash from Basenji Bay. Such a quaint little town, bustling with canine activities and the aroma of steak tartare from Setter’s Steakhouse that hangs in the murky air, virtually simmering with secrets. I, Lexi, am no stranger to this place, nor to the allure of a good mystery.

It was just another Sapphire Schnauzer Street morning when my paws carried me swiftly to the scene of the latest oddity – a half-buried chew toy in the sands of the beach, one that no dog seemed to own nor could claim knowing how it got there. There I was, examining the chewed remnants of what must have been a “chuck it” ball – like the one I treasure, thanks to my predisposition for the thrill of fetch.

A soft mew interrupted my sleuthing thoughts – it was Salem, that crafty feline partner in crime, watching me with bemusement from his vantage point atop the sand dune. Raven skittered to his side, the black and white fluff of alleged innocence. “Morning, detective,” Salem purred mockingly. “On the trail of Pawsburgh’s greatest mystery?”

Indeed, it wasn’t every day that Pawsburgh woke up to such bewildering enigmas. I would know; I am usually the one doing the waking up, sending dust-bunny suspects scurrying as the vacuum monster growls behind me—my sworn enemy.

Raven once suggested that the cats and dogs of Pawsburgh lived in a bubble wrap of peace—a slightly crinkled one—that protected us from the real bone-grinders out there. But with this chew toy debacle, it seemed our serene little bubble had been nudged… gently, frightfully.

Pawprints led us to a winding path that curls up past Canine’s Cuisine and straight to The Groom Room. But here’s the curtailer, folks: those weren’t just any old pawprints. No, no, they were far too delicate, too… kittenish. Ironic, really, considering my companions.

“We have our suspects,” Salem announced, tracing a clawed finger along the tell-tale marks. “And they aren’t us.” Raven rolled her eyes — or was it a wink? — and pranced around as if she had nothing to hide.

From Terrier Town through Sapphire Schnauzer Street to The Pawfect Training Center, we sniffed around for clues, and let me tell you, it seemed every canine around had decided that day was their day to pass through with clandestine cargoes and whispers aflutter. Dachshund’s Deli boasted a boastful queue, and not just because of their famed chicken chunks—they were, of course, irresistibly seasoned with the whispers of gossip.

Amidst the sleuthing and the scent of freshly baked treats from The Woofy Bakery, a thread of longing twined around my heart. Homesickness, much like my despised vacuum, sucked at my insides, pulling me towards thoughts of my human, her chicken seasoned with love, a taste that could give any mystery meat a run for its money.

But the mystery of the beached toy wouldn’t solve itself. So with the help of my comrades, we scoured every nook and woof, until, lo and behold, beneath the wax-styled poster of the town’s founding Siamese at The Groom Room, we uncovered the truth as shiny as a wet schnoz.

A little chihuahua, with quivers equal to my own when facing thundery skies, confessed to the crime of the unwanted toy. A toy that brought memories of abandonment, before Pawsburgh opened its paws to him.

And so, with the case closed, the town breathed a sigh of relief, as did I, for come nightfall, I’d share this tale with my human, letting her know that in Pawsburgh, even the misfit toys find a place of warmth.

Now, if only someone could solve the mystery of why rain must feel so odd on my fur…

The End.