Hey Mom,

Just solved a case where mystery was as thick as peanut butter but less sticky. Turned out Ms. Poodle’s satchel got swiped by a gourmet sausage lover. Don’t worry, I sniffed out the clues and saved the day. Imagine that – your Little One, Pawsburgh’s Sherlock Bones! Tail wags and head pats appreciated.

Love,
Rusty

That mornin’ in Pawsburgh, an audacious whiff of somethin’ peculiar roused me from my slumber. I stretched, shook the sleep off my brindle coat, and padded out the door, my mind all abuzz with visions of intrigue. The aroma was strong, beckoning, not unlike sausage sizzlin’ over a hot griddle but somethin’ was off—sausage don’t leave no invitation nor require detectin’.

“A mystery!” I barked with glee. I, Rusty, the Irresistible Terrier Mix, was on the scent.

I trotted along the Whippet Way, nose sniffin’ the ground and tail a-waggin’, followin’ the curious fragrance all the way to Samoyed Square. There, it hit me like a sack of mail landing on a porch—The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium stood open, but Ms. Poodle, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen. Peculiar, I thought, given that she’s as punctual as the postman and twice as friendly.

“Ms. Poodle?” I called. “You around?” Nothin’. Strange things were afoot, and my detective bones were itchin’ to make sense of it. The shop was quiet as the inside of a bone after the marrow’s been licked clean. The treats still on the shelves, the aisles neat and orderly, it smelled of mystery—and top-notch kibble.

I made my way behind the counter and found evidence of a tussle: a knocked-over display of chew toys, and amongst the fray lay my clue: a whisper of sage and just a hint of mustard. My stomach growled louder than Ace’s bark when the mail carrier’s approachin’, but I kept my sniffer sharp. This wasn’t about hunger; this was about justice.

With determination as firm as my resolve to chase birds, I sauntered over to Wagging Whisk, where the enticing aroma led me next. Chef Beagle, with his floppy ears and dopey eyes, greeted me with a nervous wag.

“Hey, Rusty,” he said, his voice a-tremble. “What can I get ya?”

“Information,” I replied. “Seen anything unusual today, Chef?”

He hesitated; his gaze slipped to a silver platter behind the counter. I caught a glimpse of somethin’ round and succulent, topped with a sprig of, you guessed it, sage. Chef’s specialty, and there it was, sittin’ cool as an ice cube on a summer sidewalk, holdin’ onto a mystery without even knowin’ it.

“Now, Chef,” I ventured, “that wouldn’t happen to be Ms. Poodle’s order, would it?”

His jowls drooped, and he nodded.

“She never came to collect it,” he confessed. “And it’s gettin’ cold.”

A puzzle piece fell into place. But where was that dear Poodle? I thanked Chef and made haste to Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, Ms. Poodle’s known haunt for afternoon promenades, my thoughts racin’ like pups after a squirrel.

I arrived to find a crowd of concerned canines. In their midst was Ms. Poodle herself, Ace at her side. She looked shaken, like a pup separated from its litter, her usual poise replaced by a twitch in her fluffed tail.

“Ms. Poodle!” I barked. “What’s happened?”

She blinked her large poodle eyes and began, “I was takin’ my daily stroll when a curious critter, a vile varmint, took off with my satchel—my shop’s earnings inside!”

The dogs gasped. I mulled over her predicament. Then it clicked.

“A satchel thief with a taste for mustard and sage?” I pieced it together aloud.

Ms. Poodle nodded, impressed by my deductive prowess. “Dearest Rusty, how can we ever thank you?”

“I believe Chef’s otterhound special has grown rather cold,” I hinted with a grin. “Perhaps you could reheat it for our little investigatory group?”

Laughter rippled through the crowd like a brook over rocks.

“In the case of the pilfered purse and the gourmet sausage,” I announced, “I hereby declare this mystery… solved!”

And with a reunited Poodle, a shared meal amongst friends, and the title of Pawsburgh’s finest four-legged sleuth wagging proudly behind me, I proved that even in Pawsburgh, the most savory mysteries are best served with a side of sage and a dollop of wit.

The End.