Hey Dad,

Just cracked the case of the unspotted Red Beagle Beach – it was Polly the Pom’s sandy slip-up! Painted Main St with my antics, and no, not literal paint. Spots are back, and Spencerville’s tails are wagging. How’s the juggling act going? Ready for our cuddle session?

Licks and wags,
Moxie 🐾✨

It was a typical sun-drenched afternoon in Spencerville, and I, Moxie, with my tan and white coat groomed to near perfection, found myself trotting down the biscuit-paved Main Street with a particular zest. My tail oscillated with such fervor; you’d think it was trying to semaphore a novel to any who cared to decipher.

Now, you must understand, dear reader, in Spencerville, mysteries are as common as fleas on a stray mutt, but a good unsolved caper? Well, that’s as rare as a cat that admits it’s wrong. And the case that laid before me had all the trimmings of a juicy enigma, a regular whodunit with a side of kibble.

The conundrum had arisen only this morning when the Spotted Red Beagle Beach had found itself sans spots—a phenomenon that perplexed even the most scholarly of Spaniels. The winds of the Tan Dalmatian Desert couldn’t blow away the fog of confusion that had settled on the locales’ collective brow.

I approached the infamous Bow Wow Bistro, the light tinkling of the bell above the door heralding my entry, to conduct what you might call ‘sniffing around’. The air was rich with scents of liver treats and the faint waft of gossip. The patter of paws and murmur of mutts filled the air. Accommodating myself in the corner, I kept an ear pricked up, one particularly vocal Siamese at the next table was having a heated debate about the philosophical implications of chasing one’s tail—a debate for another time perhaps.

“Ah, Moxie,” said a familiar bark, “Here about the beach, are we?”

It was none other than Jasper, the proprietor, a Bulldog who believed every mystery could be solved with a bowl of Fishy Bites or a good sniff. “Indeed,” I replied, “The spots have taken a walk, it seems.”

“You’ll be wanting the usual then.” Jasper didn’t wait for an answer, leaving me to ponder.

The first thing to do, as any detective worth her chew toys knows, is to chew over the facts. The newly unspotted Red Beagle Beach was a conundrum – the spots, symbols of Spencerville heritage, vanished without a trace. Even the clever cats, who normally eyed everything with searing indifference, couldn’t explain the spotless predicament.

With a chunk of pizza crust between my teeth—simply excellent for cogitating—I considered the situation. Being the social butterfly I am, I knew just where to turn my nose; contacts were as plentiful as treats in my drawer back home.

A hop, skip, and a trot later found me at the Canine Couture Clothing shop, speaking with FiFi the Frenchie, who harbored an affection for all things fashionable. “Darling Moxie,” she smooched, “it’s absolutely dreadful! How can one accessorize for a beach with no spots?”

Her dismay was quite understandable. Her newest line of polka-dotted sun hats would now clash frightfully.

Then, there it was, the clue, as subtle as a bulldog’s heartbeat after a flight of stairs. Tiny traces of paint beneath FiFi’s freshly manicured claws? That couldn’t be right, could it?

Taking my leave, I found myself amidst the Fawn Pug Palace, wrestling with the puzzle pieces—a place of paw pampering, and potentially the epicenter of my investigation. There they were, my eclectic friends, each adorned in FiFi’s beachwear and, I noticed, all suspiciously free of any paint marks.

A Pomeranian, dubbed Polly by her human counterpart, pranced by, fresh from the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, “Moxie, darling, care to join a game of ‘Fetch the Clue’?”

The irony was not lost on me.

And then, just like that, dear reader, it clicked; the polka dots hadn’t left. They had been covered up! By what, you ask? Sand! Flawless, dastardly, villainous sand from the Tan Dalmatian Desert itself!

A confession followed, naturally, for the sand removal operation had been instigated by none other than Polly, the Pomeranian, with no ill-intent, merely a misguided attempt at a ‘beach cleaning day.’ The desert winds were nothing if not uncooperative, sweeping sand all over our beloved spotty shore.

The case closed with the sun jauntily dipping beneath the biscuit horizon. Beach-goers banded together, removing the sandy guise to reveal the beloved spots beneath, while my heart swelled with the knowledge of a job well done.

But enough about me, let’s talk about you. What’s new with you and your troupe? Life in Spencerville is never dull, and this dog is always keen on a good yarn, especially now that this particular mystery is all washed up. And speaking of wash, I do believe it’s time for that cuddle session. After all, isn’t love the greatest mystery of them all?

The End.