Hey Mom,

Believe it or not, I turned detective today! Pawsburgh was in chaos because the famous Bone of Bravura was stolen. Alongside my furry gang, we sniffed out clues and prowled the unsavory underbelly of the city’s dog parks. Turns out, Gerald the blueberry bandit French Bulldog was our culprit! All is well, the bone is back, and I’m the hero of the day. Who knew your Itty Bitty Angel had such sleuthing prowess?

Lick and tail wags,
Angel

I must tell you of the day the whispers fluttered through Cocker Courtyard like forgotten dog biscuits under a fridge: the renowned Bone of Bravura had vanished from Canine Couture Clothing, just as the sun traded its shift with the moon. Who, you ponder, could stealthily embark on such a groundless caper? Who, indeed.

Angel, am I – of the gray suit, with the white knight’s crest – and as the morning burst across the sky of Pawsburgh, I stretched out of my slumber. A day like any other, one would presume, yet not even the slightest hint of my usual zip clung to the air, and my ears saluted not just the sky, but an invisible signal of adventure.

My walk to Woof Waffles, guided by scent and sense of obligation to my grumbling tummy, felt offbeat. Paws tapped the ground more with curiosity than hunger. Jack, the sprightly Corgi mix, greeted me as usual, his voice taut with news.

“Angel! Have you sniffed the scent of scandal?” he yipped with the enthusiasm of a pup promised an eternal supply of treats.

I cocked my head, interest piqued. “Scandal’s not usually my collar, Jack, but go on.”

“The Bone of Bravura is gone!” he exclaimed, and the words scurried around like Bear when he confronts a squirrel.

Indeed, my heart raced like the times I’d tease Dad’s pants leg in our backyard antics; the Bone was no ordinary stick to fetch – it was the jewel in Pawsburgh’s crown of chew toys.

I mused on our plan over a plate of woofy-good waffles. Jack, Bear, Jasper, and I – we were a four-legged pack of detective hounds snuffling out this mystery. As I lapped at my bowl of water, the reflection seemed to say, ‘This will be one of those days, Angel.’

Off to The Groom Room our investigation took us, where the local gossiper, a chatty Chihuahua named Gerti, spilled the kibble. The Bone’s last known location was spotted being toted into The Doggie Daycare by Affenpinscher Avenue.

We pawed it over to Doggie Daycare, where tales of the Bone’s allure had every tail in the room wagging with theories.

A shifty-eyed Shih Tzu suggested, “Heard it was a Beagle from Borough East. Or was it West? Either way, can’t trust those with pockets; they can hide treats… or bones.”

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. As the fluff in this plot thickened, one scent had striped the air – blueberries. My muzzle wrinkled in dreaded familiarity.

“Blueberries,” I muttered, voice flat. “It’s got to be Gerald.”

Jack nodded, “That fruit-fancying French Bulldog?”

I could feel my brave companions rally behind me as I nosed towards the sour trail. Indeed, Gerald fancied himself a bit of a Fido Dillinger, rolling in blueberry bushes to throw off his odor. This time, his crime had a scent no shampoo could mask.

A ruff-match of interrogation at Terrier Tacos led us to a standoff in Chestnut Cocker Courtyard. Gerald, caught with bone-in-jaws, confessed to the crime.

“My apologies, comrades,” whimpered Gerald in submission, “The Bone was a treasure too tempting, much like an unattended steak.”

Thus, the Bone of Bravura was returned before twilight, grace intact and order restored, leaving only whispers of the caper that had shaken Pawsburgh’s serenity.

As for me – dear Angel? I returned to the human abode, a tail-wagging victor. Shrewd. Intrepid. Quiet in my triumph… until the vacuum beast dared to roar.

The End.