Hey hooman! 🐾 Scar here! Just cracked the case of the missing Baxter in Pawsburgh. Went from gourmet chicken dreams to detective queen. Found Bax tangled in lights, playing accidental festive decor. LEASH mystery? Just a glitzy donation mix-up for a fancy ball. All in a day’s work. 🕵️‍♀️ Time for a celebratory cluck feast! 🍗 #PawPatrol #SnifferExtraordinaire

🐶 Scarlett

Okay, what you need to understand about Pawsburgh is that it’s the sort of town where a Golden Retriever like me can wake up with grilled chicken ambitions and inadvertently stumble into a full-blown mystery before breakfast. And before you ask, no, my snout is not wet from sticking it where it doesn’t belong… much.

So, I’m nosing through Lhasa Lane, sensing that the neighborhood hush is a bit more hushed than usual. Coco, the poodle with an updo that should be registered as a lethal weapon, trots up, her eyes wide circles of midnight poodle panic.

“Scarlett, thank heavens! Baxter’s missing!”

Baxter, my beagle buddy with an olfactory gift that would put truffle pigs to shame, wasn’t the type to stray. He knew every scent from Rottweiler Ridge to Cocker Courtyard, so his going AWOL was as likely as me volunteering for a lemon rinse. I had to do something, and not just because Coco kept piddling with anxiety.

We sniff around, Coco trying to give me clues in her stream of consciousness way, which is a bit like watching someone juggle squirrels—impressive, but you just know it’s not going to end well.

As the sun reaches higher, we scour Pawsburgh, canvassing the crunchy autumn leaves of the parks and questioning the usual street hounds. We pick up a breadcrumb trail of clues, and by breadcrumbs, I mean the actual gourmet crumbs outside Retriever’s Restaurant, which, by the way, serve a mean grilled chicken, not that I’m distracted by food or anything.

We’re like doggie detectives, minus the trench coats and the tobacco-stained teeth because, you know, tobacco’s bad for you. Plus, it probably tastes like citrus. Urgh. The clues, albeit delicious, give us nothing.

Then, instead of a break, we got a break-in. Yep, we nosed our way to Happy Hounds Dog Walking, only to find the door swinging like it’s being wooed by the wind and the register cleaner than the Cat Mayor’s litter box. And before you start with the Cat Mayor jokes, it was a failed social experiment; we don’t talk about it anymore.

A lightbulb pings above my head—or that could just be the glint off Coco’s Swarovski collar. The Barking Boutique had just displayed a crystal-studded leash, perfect for Baxter’s nighttime sniffari. Was it a coincidence that on the night before Baxter goes missing, this fancy schmancy leash vanishes?

We pause at Woof and Whisker Wellness Center because self-care is crucial, even in times of crisis. We’re about to give up when I sense Baxter! You know, you read all these detective novels hoping something rubs off, and then—boom—there it is, the smell of earth and a hint of something… beagle.

We follow the scent to Cocker Courtyard, where lo and behold, we find Baxter, tangled up in Lilly the Cocker Spaniel’s newly installed fairy lights, looking like a Christmas tree that’s seen better days.

Here’s what happened: Baxter was following the scent of the stolen leash to return it, the noble doofus. But you know Pawsburgh, one wrong sniff and you’re someone’s lawn ornament. Lilly and Baxter were glad to see us, more so when we untangled them—stars of their own romcom disaster.

And the leash? Turned out to be a donation for the annual Pawsburgh masquerade ball, because apparently even fairy lights need accessories.

The moral of the story? Every good sniff deserves another. And Baxter, well, he’s grounded until next week. But hey, closing the case calls for celebratory grilled chicken, because let’s face it, solving mysteries works up an appetite and I’m still a Retriever with a taste for the grilled arts, mystery solved or not.

The End.

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