Hey Dad,

Just wrapped up Episode 23, where I, Gabby a.k.a “The Beast” of detective work, sniffed out the Case of the Missing Steak in Spencerville with my sidekick Sal. We outsmarted a shifty sheepdog steak-snatcher and saved the day (and the steak). Now sliding back into sun-goddess mode by the pond—paperwork’s for partners, not for sunbathing legends like me 😉.

Catch you later,
Gabby/The Beast

Episode 23: “The Case of the Missing Steak”

Okay, so just to clear the air, I’m Gabby, your quintessential French Bulldog, you know me, right? The one with the curlicue tail that could make a corkscrew jealous. Nowadays, I’m rocking the badge and the collar at Spencerville’s Pet Precinct. If you’re imagining a uniform two sizes too small and a hat that’s more of a fashion statement than a necessity, you’re spot on.

So, there I was on a typical sun-soaked Spencerville afternoon, sprawled out at South Poodle Pond, soaking up rays and doing my best impression of a rug. I mean, even the most tenacious pet detective needs her beauty sleep, am I right?

But our catnap – excuse my French, there aren’t any cats in this squad—was cut short. My partner, a droopy-eared Basset Hound named Sal (short for Salad, because let’s face it, he’s just as interesting), bumbled over like he’d just solved the conundrum of the missing meatball. His excitement was so contagious, it could’ve turned a goldfish into a show pony.

“Gabby! Gabby! Red paw alert!” he howled, his long ears flapping like flags in a tornado.

And just like that, we were on the case. Back at the precinct, Chief, a stern yet cuddly Saint Bernard with a drool problem, briefed us. Apparently, Tail Waggers had reported a high-profile heist—The Case of the Missing Steak. Not just any steak, mind you. We’re talking premium, grass-fed, you-could-bounce-a-quarter-off-it steak.

Right away, I knew we were dealing with a mastermind, possibly a criminal master-chef. I mean, who else could appreciate such a cut? With steak, it’s all about marbling, and in Spencerville, the stakes – err, steaks – were high.

I opened the investigation with my signature move—a round of questioning at The Bone Appetit. I sniffed around, tried to grasp the scent of the situation. It was immediate; the desperation wafted through the air, and it was thicker than peanut butter. Behind every wagging tail lay a potential suspect.

“Eh! Gabby!” barked a familiar bark. It was Amy, the Golden Retriever with the kind of smile that could make a hydrant blush. “Did you hear? Someone swiped a sirloin from under T-Bone Tommy’s Nose!”

Yes, I’d heard. But what Amy had was a lead, the kind of lead that gets a detective’s tail twitching.

So we hit the streets—or more accurately, the picturesque pathways of Spencerville. Heels clicking and nails tapping in sync, we sleuthed from the Silver Siberian Summit to Fetch! Toys and Treats, leaving no bone unturned.

“You know,” I pondered aloud, “the steak-thief must love beef as much as I despise bath time.” Amy just nodded, wise as always, her eyes barking out a “duh.”

And that’s when it hit me like a rubber ball to the face—Rex, the dashing Doberman from The Groom Room, known for his love of the finer things in life. Perhaps too fine.

We arrived at The Groom Room just as Rex was receiving his daily pawdicure. Without a pause for pleasantries, I planted my rump squarely before him and narrowed my eyes.

“Rex, dear,” I started, with all the subtly of a bullhorn in a library, “any idea who might be in the market for a side of beef that’s not theirs?”

Rex played it cool at first, like ice on a cold winter’s nip. But as soon as Amy reminded him of the Pet Nine-Nine’s flawless record in canine court, he spilled the dog food.

Turned out Rex had indeed seen something—a suspicious shaggy mutt with a nose sniffing around Tail Waggers earlier. With my instincts and Rex’s info, we tracked down the culprit to a makeshift grill behind The Howling Husky Hardware Store. It was Mac, the Sheepdog, and he looked like a pup who’d been caught with his paw in the cookie jar, or in this case, the steak.

With a bit of tact, finesse, and the promise of an all-you-can-eat kibble buffet at Pooched Potatoes, Mac returned the steak to its rightful owner. Another case closed, another day saved, and a very grateful T-Bone Tommy.

Sal wagged his tail as if to say, “Good job, partner,” which I appreciated, mostly because articulation isn’t his strong suit.

And me? Well, with the mystery solved and Spencerville safe once more from steak snatchers, I took a moment to bask in the glory, once again assuming my position as the self-appointed sun goddess of South Poodle Pond.

Did I miss something? Oh yeah, the paperwork. But hey, there’s always Sal for that. Now back to sunbathing. I’ve got some rays to catch and, who knows, maybe a catnap or two. Alright, just kidding about the cat thing. It’s an expression, guys, keep up.

The End.