Hey Dad,

Cracked the case of the missing mutt in Pawsburgh—turns out, there’s no mess a bit of cheese can’t sort out. Played detective, made a feline friend, and saved the day. Just your regular night for super-sleuth Bubba. 😎🐾

-Hank

It was a fog-laden evening in Pawsburgh when I, Hank, found myself trotting through Pomeranian Park – only there’s no kiddie pools or Frisbee tossin’ for me tonight. My keen eyes were searching for clues, not squirrels; my keen nose sniffing out trouble, not treats.

“Dames and danger,” I muttered to myself. “That’s what this night smells like.”

The streetlamps in Pomeranian Park cast shady pools and the trees whispered secrets on the wind. I’d taken to the quiet life these days, traded wild chases for steadfast loyalty at my old man’s side. But when Sheba, the most tantalizing Terrier in Topaz Terrier Town, sashayed up my walk, I knew quiet was gonna take a backseat. She had a case that reeked of the big leagues: a missing mutt, last seen noshing at Labrador Lunch.

“Why me, Sheba?” I asked, the memory of her scent stirring the embers of old flames. “I ain’t no detective.”

She gazed at me, her eyes wistful. “Because, Hank, you’ve got the smarts and the heart. And I trust you.”

Well, what’s a dog to do? I took the case.

I started with the grub, because let’s face it – a belly’s betrayal tells no lies. A sniff around the Pup’s Paella had all the appeal of a cold bath. No luck. Down at Mastiff’s Meals, I glared at my reflection in the greasy window and asked, “What’re you in for?” No answer.

Then somebody sneezed. It was quiet, like the last biscuit fallin’ from the box – a feline sneeze. And there I was, caught between a twitch and a pawsburgh place. I prefer cats at a distance, but I wasn’t about to back down; I was built of sterner stuff.

Under the moonlit glow of The Groom Room, I met a tabby with eyes like spilled ink, cool as the underside of the pillow.

“What do you know, Tiddles?” I asked. The name was a guess – what do I know about cat names?

She sashayed around me, her tail flicking like a conductor’s baton. “Maybe I’ve seen your dog,” she purred, her voice smooth as tinned tuna. “Maybe I haven’t.”

I flexed my paws, bluffin’ brusqueness. “Don’t toy with me, sweetheart. It’s been a long day and my good mood left with the sun.”

A promise of a portion of cheese got her talkin’. Turns out, our missing mutt had a rep: a tussle at Fetch! Toys and Treats over the last squeaky bone. I thanked her with a nod; we dogs are good like that.

Heel by heel, I traced my way back, my thoughts as tangled as my favorite knotted rope toy. Then it hit me. Woof and Whisker Wellness Center – maybe our pup had a run-in while lookin’ for a nip of nirvana.

Sure as bones are for buryin’, I found him there, hiding behind bravado and a chewed-up rubber steak. A nasty scrap with an alley cat had left him scared and patched up, an underground fight club for dogs who barked on the wrong side of the kennel.

With a mixture of tough love and tail waggin’, I coaxed him out. On our way through Dachshund Dale, he spilled the beans. His tale was a shaggy dog story, but this was Pawsburgh; even a Pitbull knew the world wasn’t always freshly shampooed fur.

I delivered him back to Sheba, a hero once again. With the mystery solved, I sauntered home, ready for tomorrow’s adventure – or just a good scratch behind the ear. My dad would laugh when I ‘fessed up where I’d been, sure as the sunrise…

…and the allure of cheese was enough to make me dance another day.

The End.