Hey Ma,

Turns out, I’m the Sherlock of the doggo world! Foiled the Great Kibble Caper with Dottie, flushed out Max the collie’s treat-snatching gang, and saved Pawsburg’s tail. Justice served, crime tucked into bed for the night. Don’t wait up, got some stray mysteries to herd.

Licks and wags,
Chunk Doo 🐾🕵️‍♂️🦴

I’ll tell you what – Pbht! – the day began ordinary enough, feet pattering on the brisk cobblestones of Pawsburg where crime was as scarce as a cat in a kennel. I should’ve known something was off when I nosed my way through the waves of scents—beef, chicken, the delicate sprinkle of cheese from Corgi’s Crepes—but it was the whiff of trouble that had my fur standing on edge. Oh, I’ll say!

Dottie was there, her nose buried in her smartphone, bless her. “Chunk, darling,” she yapped without looking up, “you heard about the Great Kibble Caper at Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store?”

Pbht! A mystery? I pawed at the thought like it was my favorite squeaky toy. “Tell me it ain’t so!”

“Mmm, ‘fraid it is. A heist, and their top-tier treats, pinched!” Her tongue lolled around the words as if they were coated in gravy.

Well, ol’ Chunk can’t just let such riffraff disrupt our little canine cosmos. No, sir. Justice might just be another chew toy for some, but me? I fancy it a steak—well-done and worth the effort.

First stop: The Groom Room. The usual crowd—fluffed, buffed, and more pomade than a pooch could shake a stick at. A schnauzer named Fritz with a mustache that put philosophers to shame was manning the counter.

“Chunk, buddy,” he murmured, that mustache twitching with secrets, “got wind of something. Seems this hullabaloo may be bigger than we thought. A crime spree! Could topple the whole doggone harmony of Pawsburg.”

I mulled this over, the taste of the situation not nearly as palatable as my mom’s accidentally dropped pepperoni slices. This called for sly paws and a nose for truth.

Nearing Mastiff Meadows, I keenly observed every twig, every fluttering leaf. What do you know but I got to thinking about that pizza from last Tuesday—it was really something—and that’s when I spotted it. A clue, staring back at me like a second helping. A bag of gourmet kibble half-buried by the weeping willows.

“But of course,” I muttered, my bark barely a whisper. “You can bury the bone, but the crime, it comes digging back to you.”

And there, under Briard Bridge, was the slippery salmon behind it all—Max, a sly old collie with a gambling habit bad enough to shame Las Vegas. He was passing off my bounty, the pilfered kibble, to a gang of terriers tougher than overcooked jerky. The nerve!

Max caught sight of me, his eyes narrowing. “Chunk,” he growled, “they told me you’d sniff your way here.”

“Oh, please!” I retorted with all the dignity I could muster. “Even your lackeys have heard about Chunk’s commitment to law and order. Your little ruse, as transparent as a freshly cleaned window pane.”

We were in the thick of it now, and Dottie, that loyal girl, had circled back with backup in the form of Retriever’s Restaurant’s bravest busboys—the Vizsla twins.

A scuffle, a tussle, tail fur flying this way and that. It was nothing short of a spectacle, Broadway worthy, I dare say!

In the end, we rolled Max and his band of would-be masterminds like they were hot dogs at a fair stand, securing the stolen goods.

As the sun set over Emerald Eskimo Estuary, the peace of Pawsburg was restored. Sitting outside Pooch’s Pub, Dottie laid her head on her paws. “You think it’s over, Chunks?”

Over? Crime, much like an empty food bowl, is merely a temporary condition around these parts. “For now,” I barked with a sigh, “justice sleeps. But when it wakes, you know who’ll be there to fetch it.”

Pbht! A dog’s work is never done, especially when that dog’s me, Chunk. Crime may come and go, but trust this: if mischief stirs, I’ll be right around the corner, my friends. Just like that pizza I can’t stop thinking about. Toodle-oo!

The End.