Hey Mom,

Guess what? I became Sherlock Bones in Pawsburgh today! Uncovered a sneaky toy store plot & saved Tank & Laila from a doggone frame-up. We got the whole town wagging with justice—and snagged some free playthings for the pups. Just another day in the life of Queen Sammie. More tails later! 🐾🔍

– Queen Sammie

Well now, ain’t it a fact that life can dish out some curiosities worth a tale or two. I’m Sammie, lest your memory’s failed you, and I got myself into a bit of a pickle over yonder in that hidden dog’s dream they call Pawsburgh. You see, ’twas on a day when the sun hung high like a golden coin tossed up and lodged in the blue, and Papa had stepped out, leaving that tempting tear in the fabric of ‘Now’ and ‘Then.’

So, I nuzzled my way through the portal ‘twixt Here and There, straight to the heart of Pinscher Plaza. Just minding my business, or so I thought, ’til a scuffle down Amber Akita Alley caught my eye. There I found Tank and Laila, their hackles raised, ’round a pile of gourmet treats spilled like pirate treasure.

Now let me adjure that in Pawsburgh, the only law worth its salt is the unwritten code among us pooches: you don’t paws off another’s bone. But here lay Tank and Laila, accused of snatchin’ the day’s delivery for Puppy Plate, each bark more incriminating than the last. The ruckus had drawn a crowd, and if my snout ain’t lyin’, it was merely an unfortunate accident that got them two in a world of trouble.

I nipped closer. My sleuthing nose smelled a setup fouler than week-old kibble. “Sammie’s on the case,” I announced to no dog in particular, taking charge amid the canine commotion. A spark arose in Tank’s eyes; Laila’s tail gave a tentative wag. They knew I had a penchant for nosing out the truth.

“Now see here,” I barked, mustering my best Twainian drawl. “This here misunderstanding ain’t fit to soil our reputations. We need evidence, witnesses—”

And just as the word left my muzzle, Butch bounded into the scene, his ears back and his little chest puffed. “Mama,” he yelped, “I saw it all! ‘Twas that sneaky crew from Fetch! Toys and Treats—all part of their mischievous marketing scam to rile up their sales!”

Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle; Papa always said Butch had a nose for mischief, too.

With Butch’s account, we marched over to the Barking Boutique, where the crafty proprietor, a sly ol’ Beagle named Benedict, was known to wag his tail on both sides of the fence. Sure enough, we found posters inside—promotional bark-material, proclaiming 50% off on all toys for anyone who witnessed the theft!

The dots connected like cues from an invisible hand. We called ’em out—it wasn’t anythin’ Tank or Laila had done but a ploy to stir the pot! The dogs of Pawsburgh had no patience for such ruses. With a beam in our eyes, we agreed to keep quiet ’bout Benedict’s little scheme, providin’ he’d reimburse Puppy Plate and offer up new toys for the tots at Paw Pad Thai’s daycare.

That afternoon, as the shadows lengthened like stretching cats, I lay down my weary head on my cherished stuffies, this escapade adding another hue to my layered life’s tapestry. But not before I made a mental note to tell Papa ’bout the days’ doin’s when he came home. After all, no human knows better than he that every dog has her day—even us dwellers of the magical tail-waggin’ burg, Pawsburgh.

The End.