Hey Mom, guess what?? As the legendary Boston Terrier of Pawsburg, I *sniffed out* some shady business at The Woof and Whisker Wellness Center! 😱

Turns out Dr. Lassie was up to no good, and Tigger was almost caught in her ploy! Prescott (yes, the cat) and I exposed her, and now Pawsburg is safe again. Just another day in the life of your furry detective!

Love, Corbeebee 🐾

The moon hovered like a mysterious beacon over the quaint, cobblestoned streets of Pawsburg. As I, Corbin, a Boston Terrier of some repute, sniffed my way past the stone archway marking the town’s entrance, my thoughts whirred like the propeller that was my tail. Tonight would not be like any other. Something strange was afoot.

You see, Pawsburg was no ordinary town. It was a place where dogs—noble, mischievous, free—gathered when their humans were none the wiser. Yet this night held an air of enigma that even my playful, loyal heart couldn’t shake.

Prescott, with his suave tuxedo fur, met me by The Snooty Snout Boutique. “Evening, Corbin,” he purred, his whiskers twitching. I nodded, eyes catching the flicker of unease in his gaze. Yes, Prescott was a cat, the odd feline friend in a canine world, but that wasn’t what set my tail on edge.

“Where’s Tigger?” I asked, my voice a low growl.

“Last I saw, he was headed to The Groom Room,” Prescott replied. “But something’s not right. His fur—never seen it look so rough.”

Prescott’s words triggered my protective instincts. No one, not even an ornery tabby like Tigger, should visit The Groom Room for a casual trim and come out disheveled. I took off at a determined trot, with Prescott shadowing me. The route was familiar, the same cobbles I’d scuffed up during countless capers. Still, tonight, they were cast in an eerie chiaroscuro by the moonlight.

I burst through The Groom Room’s saloon doors. There was Tigger, clutching his old tennis ball like a lifeline, his usually vibrant orange fur a dull ginger. “What in the name of Saluki Sands happened to you?” I barked.

Tigger’s eyes were wide, haunted. “It was… it was at The Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, Core,” he stammered. “An aura of suspicion, like the time you buried that rubber duck in the neighbor’s garden, but… more sinister. Dr. Lassie, she’s not what she seems.”

The room felt colder. My mind whirled, sharper now. Dr. Lassie, the usually genial Labrador who ran the center, benevolent to a fault, was someone I had fetched many a stick with, shared many a chicken feast alongside. I couldn’t ignore the creeping dread in Tigger’s words. This was the stuff of mystery, and in Pawsburg, mysteries were my playground.

Prescott and I made haste to The Woof and Whisker. The moon now covered in clouds as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath. We slipped in unnoticed.

There she stood, Dr. Lassie behind her desk. Her eyes, normally pools of chocolate warmth, were shards of steel. “Corbin, Prescott, what brings you here?” she questioned, her voice a little too smooth.

“Routine check-up, Lassie,” I fibbed, planting my feet firmly. “Mind if we poke around?”

I glanced at Prescott, who nodded and sauntered off to a shadowy corner. As I engaged Lassie in idle chatter about the latest chew toys at The Snooty Snout, Prescott gave a low hiss—a signal. My tail went into propeller mode.

“What’s this?” I barked, joining Prescott. Hidden shelves, filled with strange vials, notes that spoke of experiments, of something more sinister than a routine wellness check.

Dr. Lassie attempted a diversion, but she’d lost her loyal audience. “You’ve no right,” she barked, now showing fangs. “You mutts stick to your squeaky toys and car rides!”

“Not when our friends are in danger,” I snapped back, protecting Tigger’s sulking frame.

The night concluded in an uproar, Dr. Lassie whisked away by the Pawsburg Council, her sanctuary exposed for the purview of justice. Pawsburg would sleep safer, and so would our human caretakers, blissfully unaware of the heroic escapades.

As dawn approached, I reflected on the evening’s events while savoring bits of chicken and cheese at Chowhound’s Chophouse. Prescott’s purr was a comforting hum beside me. My expressive eyes met his, agreement palpable. This night, Pawsburg had one less shadowy secret to obscure our joyous daydreams.

And thus, another chapter in the mysterious life of Corbin, Pawsburg detective, came to an adventurous close.

The End.