Hey Mom,

Just a quick update: been nosing around, wagging some tails, and digging up more than just bones. Seems I’m the glue holding this quirky crew together. All in a day’s work for our resident trouble-sniffer and tail-wagger! 🐾

Love, Fatness

It was a quiet night in Pawsburg. The stars hung heavy in the sky, winking like scattered dog bones. As a detective in the K-9 unit, nights like these usually spelled trouble. My name’s Meili, known to my mom as Missynewstart, but around Pawsburg, everyone calls me Fatness—an affectionate nod to my short, stocky frame. On the surface, I’m just a golden-brown pocket bully with a penchant for treats and an overactive curiosity. Beneath, I’m Pawsburg’s top sleuth.

This night, I was on my regular patrol through Mastiff Meadows. The air was crisp, the scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of biscuits from Barker’s Bakery, which was just around the corner. I had just finished a rather intense round of zoomies when I caught a whiff of something… off.

“Aye, Fatness! What’re you sniffing at, mate?” It was Sergeant Barkley, an old beagle known for his persistent nose and penchant for conspiracy theories.

“Just caught a scent, Barkley. Smells like… trouble,” I replied, keeping my voice low. Not that it mattered; we were the only souls in the Meadows at this hour.

His ears perked up. “Trouble? Like the bone smuggling ring we busted last summer?”

“Could be bigger,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Could be… corruption.”

His eyes widened. “Corruption? Pawsburg?”

Mastiff Meadows was always lively with pups running and playing during the day, but at night, it fell eerily silent aside from the whispering wind and the murmur of secret dog meetings. Tonight, something felt different—off-kilter.

We headed deeper into the Meadows, where the grass grew taller and the shadows longer. A suspicious scent trail led us to Chestnut Cocker Courtyard, the epicenter of the social scene for Pawsburg’s elite canines. As we approached, we heard hushed barks and the distinct click of claws on cobblestone.

“Freeze!” I barked, leaping into the courtyard. “K-9 unit!”

Sergeant Barkley flanked me, his nose vibrating with recognition. “It’s the gang from Rottweiler Ridge! What the tail are they doing here?”

The Rottweiler Ridge gang was infamous for their underpaw dealings—treat rackets, squirrel intimidation, and lately, whispers of high-profile heists involving squeaky toys. There they were, Wolfie, their alpha, barking orders to his pack about securing the next batch of ill-gotten gains.

“Fatness and Barkley,” Wolfie sneered. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“We’ve got intel on you planning something big,” I growled. “And we don’t plan on letting you slip out of our paws this time.”

Just then, a daring golden retriever from the Ridge gang darted toward us with an agility that belied his plush fur. For a split second, I admired his swiftness. Then instincts took over, and I tackled him before he could bolt.

A swift round of questioning followed. Wolfie cracked under the pressure, especially after Barkley invoked the dreaded threat of no treat time. He confessed to plans of distributing counterfeit biscuits—a scheme bound to plunge Pawsburg into chaos.

With an air of victory, we marched the gang to Hound’s Haven Hotel, the de facto headquarters and temporary holding area. As we entered, the aroma of freshly baked Pupcakes from Pawsitively Plush Beds and Bedding café next door filled the air—almost made me drool.

“You did good, Barkley,” I said, clamping my jaws around a celebratory chew toy someone tossed my way.

“And you too, Fatness,” Barkley replied, panting. “Pawsburg sleeps safe tonight.”

And as dawn began to break, we returned to our human homes, our tails wagging with satisfaction from another adventurous night. When mom asked me later about my night, I cuddled up with my favorite blanket and gave her a knowing wink.

Just another night on the job for Pawsburg’s finest.