Hey fam,

Cracked the Case of the Vanishing Vittles today. Puddlez and I sniffed out a BBQ bandit and fetched him back to Pet Nine-Nine. Spencerville’s safe once more thanks to this Keeshond’s keen nose! The villain’s stash was steak, but the tale – all wagging success!

Licks and wags,
Curley 🐾✨

Oh, what a swell morning it is in Spencerville, sunshine glinting off my luscious coat like I’m strolling down a red carpet. But who needs Hollywood when you’ve got a gray-furred Keeshond detective trotting through the pristine streets of Fawn Pug Palace? That’s me, Curley, by the way. But you knew that, didn’t you?

Today’s case: The Curious Case of the Vanishing Vittles. I was in the midst of this mind-boggler, holding the fort at our precinct, aptly named Pet Nine-Nine. The air was abuzz with the scent of anticipation – or maybe that was just the aroma wafting from ‘Dog-gone Good BBQ’ down the street. Tricky to tell, really.

I started in my customary chair, which is more of a throne if we’re honest, reviewing reports with the meticulousness of a cat on laundry day. Puddlez, my inimitable sibling and partner in crime-fighting, was already hot on the trail. You see, it’s not every day that Bulldog Bay wakes up to anything less exciting than a floating Frisbee match, but today, something was amiss.

“Curley!” exclaimed Puddlez with a pant that meant business. “The stash of steak at Waggle n’ Wok has gone missing! And after that chicken breast heist at Whiskers and Wings last week, I’d bet my last biscuit we’ve got a pattern on our paws!”

I tilted my head, adjusting my signature black mask – okay, more my fur than a mask, but it’s got flair. Cousin to intuition, the tilt heralded ponderous thought. Crime didn’t stand a chance against us, not when I got the tilt just right.

“You’ve snout it out, Puddlez,” I replied with a sparkle in my eyes usually reserved for the word ‘walk’. “We’re dealing with a gourmet gourmand gone rogue. And we’re gonna collar this culinary criminal.”

With our plan whipping in the wind like my tail at peak excitement, we set out. The streets were alive with the banter of paws against the pavement- Bulldogs, Poodles, even aloof Siamese cats mingling in mutual curiosity about our latest escapade.

We dodged between The Pampered Pooch Salon, where gossip was always a cut above the rest, and The Howling Husky Hardware Store, which stocked everything from hammers to hula hoops. My fluff did a fine job of collecting drifting feathers and wayward leaves – each one, a potential clue. Or so I fancied in a specular spark of whimsy.

By the time we reached Lower Golden Gate Gardens, I was ready for a romp, but duty called and it called loudly, albeit in a pitch only we canines fully appreciate. Diving nose-first into a bush, I emerged with the clue that would crack this case wide open: a tomato. I grimaced; it was the villain of my vegetable vernacular. Who would dare to pilfer prime protein only to litter the escape route with a tomato? Preposterous.

“Got a lead, Curley?” Puddlez queried, head cocked in mirror image to mine.

“Better,” I said, dropping the offending fruit like yesterday’s news. “We’ve got ourselves the scent of a suspect.”

We trailed the tang to the beat-up back door of Dog-gone Good BBQ, where murmurs of mischief met our tuned ears. Exchanging a glance, we bulldozed in, Puddlez by my side, our bravado echoing in each other’s bravado.

There, surrounded by barrels of BBQ sauce and gnawed-on rib bones, was the scoundrel. Unaware of our presence, he was humming a tune that was undeniably catchy but quite suspicious under the circumstances; it was our BBQ bandit all right, donned in a rogue’s regalia of napkin bib and a saucy mustache.

“Alright, ” I barked sharply, startling the steak swiper. “Paws where I can see ’em!”

And that’s all it took. The startled perp surrendered, confessing to the crimes with the wistful expression of a hound dog caught howling at the wrong moon.

As we fandangoed our way back to the precinct, our perp in tow, I couldn’t help but wag in pure triumph. “Another successful collar for Pet Nine-Nine, and another perfect day in Spencerville,” I thought. Partnered with Puddlez and a hot trail leading to success, life at Pet Nine-Nine wasn’t just good – it was simply tail-wagging spectacular.

The End.