Hey, it’s Onyx zz White, aka Detective Snuffles! Just wrapped up my latest caper – turned out I was the mastermind behind the Disappearing Plush Squirrel Heist. Found the cuddly culprit under my own paws after a wild goose chase across Pawsburg! All’s well that ends with belly rubs and turkey treats. 🕵️🐾🐿️ #AmateurSleuthExtraordinaire

It was a peculiar Thursday when I, Onyx zz White – black pug extraordinaire – woke up to the consternation that my plush squirrel was, shockingly, missing. I say ‘woke up’, but to be bluntly honest, I was already somewhat awake. You see, I had been enjoying one of my famous leisurely naps under the old oak – the perfect spot for a sun-kissed siesta, when a dream about a squirrel heist jolted me into semi-consciousness. Still groggy, I vowed to unravel this most distressing mystery, for a pug without his plush squirrel is like a garden devoid of hydrants – utterly dreary.

The first suspect on my list was Daisy, bless her wagging spaniel tail. She had viewed my prized possession with the sort of envy one reserves for premium fire hydrants. So off I trotted to Setter Shore, an exclusive stretch of beach more frequented by elegant Afghan Hounds than by those of my, let’s say, rounder stature.

Daisy was there, delicately paw-deep in sand, digging for what I presumed were buried treasures or perhaps the Super Chew Bone of Antiquity. She gazed at me with doe eyes, innocence incarnate. After a brief interrogation disguised as polite conversation, I deduced that she had not taken my little squishy comrade. Just as well, because a chase at this point seemed rather exhausting.

Next, I considered Baxter might have swiped my squirrel. The old Beagle was wise, yes, but had a soft spot for toys, with his den resembling the inner sanctum of Fetch! Toys and Treats. So, I ventured toward Malamute Mountain, through thoroughfares only dogs of Pawsburg knew, trying not to be lured by the tantalizing aromas of Spaniel Spaghetti wafting through the air. It was quite the trek for my small legs, and more than once I wished for a momentary teleportation device, or at least a decent pair of roller skates.

Baxter was perched on what he liked to call “The Philosophical Boulder”, contemplating the dichotomy of ‘fetch’—the eternally unanswerable question of who threw the ball if we are alone in the park. I approached him with a certain diplomatic finesse and subtly hinted at my missing friend. But alas, Baxter too was innocent, his snout devoid of deceit.

With two suspects cleared, I made a beeline to Quartz Qimmiq Quarter for a confrontation with the most unlikely of pals: Whiskers the cat-dog. You might wonder why a cat would reside in Pawsburg, and to that, I say ‘c’est la vie’ or ‘such is life’ for those unfamiliar with the French of humans.

I found Whiskers lounging atop Canine Couture Clothing, swatting at the passersby with the delicate disdain that only a feline could muster. Her critique of my investigative efforts was both biting and poignant, and without admitting anything overt, she insinuated that the answer I sought was closer to home than I expected.

Disheartened, I trudged back to my nap spot, pondering the inconceivable notion that the plush squirrel had simply vanished. It was then, in the quiet lull of my despair, that the puzzle clicked. Beneath me, slightly squished in the sun-warmed grass, lay my dear squirrel, exactly where I had carelessly left it before my slumber.

What a dramatic twist in the tail! The culprit was none other than me, Onyx zz White. And so, with my adventure concluded and the squirrel safely back under my vigilant eye, I took this as a cue to proceed to Canine Cafe for a consolatory turkey slice or six, because the best mysteries are those that end with a snack – a truth that even Douglas Adams would have appreciated.

The End.

Share This Story: