Hey Mom,

Just cracked a major case in Pawsburgh! Me and Capella sniffed out the Liverwurst Log thief and saved Dachshund’s Deli from despair. Heroics before breakfast is the norm around here. 😉 Now, if only breakfast was a part of the reward… Time for a well-earned nap in the sun with a side of chew shoe.

Your detective son,
Koa the Spirited 🕵️🐾

Every pup in Pawsburgh knows me as Koa, the Spirited. But today, I, Detective Koa of the Pawsburgh Pet Police, have a tale that’ll tickle your whiskers more than a dandelion field in spring.

So here’s the scoop: it’s a crisp morning and I’m strolling through Opal Pomeranian Park, tail high, snout keen, thinking about breakfast—because, let’s be honest, when am I not?—when I overhear a couple of mutts howling about some mischief at Dachshund’s Deli. My buddy Capella is with me, her red curls bouncing with each step, likely thinking about her next accessorizing adventure.

“No decent deli deserves a ruckus this early,” Capella mutters, her concern mixing with her habitual need to organize a protest about something—anything.

“We better check it out,” I say, trying to sound casual, but really I’m hoping there’s still a sausage or two that needs ‘rescuing.’

We hustle our furry behinds over there, and the place looks messier than a chew toy after a teething session. The display window is smudged with excited nose prints, and the scent of chaos hangs in the air like spilled olives.

“You think this means the sausage is on sale?” I ask, eyebrows raising toward the deli heaven.

Capella gives me ‘the look’—you know, the one that says ‘If you think with your stomach one more time…’—when suddenly, Fido from Fido’s Feast pops his head out.

“There’s been a heist!” he woofs. Yeah, a heist. Apparently, the legendary Liverwurst Log has been pilfered, right from under their wet noses. Classic Pawsburgh crime.

I sniff around, my detective senses tingling at the thrill of the chase. “Leave it to me—Detective Koa is on the case!”

Capella rolls her eyes. “Well, Detective, shall we check the security tapes, or are you going to interrogate a ham sandwich?”

Before I can charm my way out of that jab, we’re inside, scoping out the joint. The tapes show nothing but a blur—a blur shaped suspiciously like sneakers.

“Sneakers!” I bark out loud. I’m on to something. I know this, because I have a particular set of skills—skills that involve… okay, mostly just chewing sneakers. But I can track a shoe thief like a bloodhound after barbecue!

We make a beeline for The Pooch Playhouse. If there’s something I know about shoes, it’s that they always turn up where pups play the hardest.

And would you believe it? There, in the corner, next to a slobber-drenched tennis ball, lies a trove of shoes, amidst them our missing Liverwurst Log, being used as a rather unsightly chew toy.

Capella and I corner the culprit, a wiry Schnauzer with twinkling eyes and a tail that’s seen too many tables in its time.

“You’ve got the right to remain silent, and the right to an attorney,” I warn, licking my jowls. If he doesn’t have an attorney, I’d recommend one of them chew bones—helps with stress.

After a chewy standoff, we escort our sneaky friend out, Liverwurst Log securely back in our possession. The deli is saved, breakfast is served, and all is well under the Pawsburgh sun.

So now, after a heroic morning, I drape my heroic self across the sunlit spot in our den. Capella is counting her hair ties—she’s got twenty-three, in case you’re wondering—and I feast upon the tale of our latest adventure.

Because in Pawsburgh, every dog has its day, and I, Koa the Spirited, just had mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a chew shoe calling my name.

The End.