Hey Mom,

Cracked the case of the Pawsburgh biscuit scandal with some sleuthing and left no stone—or bone—unturned. Political pup-pery averted, the council’s integrity is intact, and all tails are wagging once more. Your son, Gabriel, the Justice-Sniffer.

Gabriel 🐾🕵️‍♂️

In the shrouded early hours of Pawsburgh, when the hush of the human world gave us canines leeway to our secret lives, I found myself awake with a peculiar sense of urgency. Gabriel. That’s me—the Black and Rust Doberman of some renown among the tail-waggers. I could smell intrigue on the breeze, wafting from the direction of Pyrenean Peak, and I knew this wasn’t a day to laze upon Lhasa Lane or catch up on literature at The Wagging Tail Bookstore.

Paige, with her Chiweenie mix of sprightliness and spunk, seemed already privy to the call when she nabbed me by my collar.

“Gabriel, have you heard?” she barked, her words quick as her gait.

“Heard? I’ve been too obsessed with a peculiar squeak from the Canine’s Cuisine dumpster—thought it was a political statement against overcooked kibble,” I retorted wryly. Paige gave me a look that was all exasperated eye-roll.

“Not that,” she huffed. “There’s a scandal afoot! Rumor has it the leader of the Pawsburgh Council has been harboring biscuits from Barker’s Bakery under the table… literally.”

Spies and biscuit embezzlement? I frowned. Such affairs reeked of human shenanigans, which we prided ourselves on outsmarting regularly. If there’s one thing to stir a Doberman, it’s intrigue. I’d spent enough time surveying the realm from the backseat window of a car to know the signs of political unrest when they appeared.

“Gabriel, we can’t let them crumble the council. Pawsburgh depends on its integrity,” She implored, her brown eyes almost comic in their earnestness.

The sun was a ripe peach over the horizon when we reached Pyrenean Peak. A shifty-eyed Airedale in a houndstooth coat diverted his gaze from our arrival. The tension among the gathered dogs was thick enough to slow even the waggiest of tails. I had a knack for smelling out the truth, and right then it reeked more than stuffed felt toys left in the rain.

“There’s only one way to unearth this,” Paige whispered. “You’re the most persuasive canine here—”

“I’m also the most recognizable,” I interrupted, glancing at my sleek silhouette. “And did you just call me verbose?”

“Persuasive,” she corrected, “and able to sniff out a rotten scandal… with a friend to help.”

Thus, Paige and I embarked on our quiet investigation amid the hum of the council. In the town square, doggos spoke of misaligned fire hydrants and strangely vanishing tennis balls, but beneath the yips and howls, I picked out the murmurs of discontent.

Dinner at Labrador Lunch saw me prying into whispers over bowls of savory pig ear stew. I realized then, even a Doberman could find himself in too deep. It wasn’t just biscuits—there were collars and leashes at play, ones meant for the decorations of the annual Pawsburgh Parade. Was someone trying to leash us in more ways than one?

I cornered the Airedale post-dinner, my voice cool as I mentioned Barker’s Bakery. He exemplified the phrase ‘tucking tail,’ but not before dropping that the council leader’s advisor had a paw in the pie, or rather, the treat jar.

The break of dawn had long since passed when I sat with Paige on Papillon Promenade, our reflections warped in the trickling fountain.

“Political intrigue isn’t much my game,” I confessed to her. “I’m more of a jump-in-the-pool-first, bark-at-the-water-later dog.”

“But you do have a taste for justice,” Paige countered. “You saw through the lies like a bone sees through a steak.”

She wasn’t wrong. The Airedale, under a little persuasive nudging, confessed to the advisor’s ploy, and his testimony was all it took to topple a potential canine crisis. In Pawsburgh, freedom isn’t given—it’s fought for with tooth and claw, or in our case, a good sniff and a well-asked question.

Ah, but even when the day screamed tension, the night sang peace, and I found solace in the familiar squeeze of a bite glove and the echo of a tale well told.

The End.