Hey, it’s Bunch,

Into some doggy detective duties today with Chester. Stumbled upon a suitcase with gruyère cheese on Red Beagle Beach. Jackpot right? Not so fast! Found a ticking device underneath. It was our ‘situation’. Bad boy, nearly freaked our fur off! But, pickles saved the day,(never thought I’d say that, yikes!). Pawsburg’s safe; it’s another tail-wagging day in the life of Agent B of Pawsburg.

Woofs,
Bunch & Bee 🐾

Listen to the story here

I was Bunchy, a Mini Goldendoodle with a vest for adventure. Pawsburg had always been my playground, a town that went to the dogs in every sense of the word. So when I woke in the dead of night to Chester nervously pawing at my sleeping quarters, I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow with intrigue.

“We’ve got a, well a..situation,” panted Chester, his words lost in-between gusts of panting.

A situation? In Pawsburg? Now that was interesting.

We scurried through the winding lanes of lower Golden Gate Gardens, the rude glow of dawn barely making an appearance. A swift considerate lick at Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint, and we were standing before Red Beagle Beach. There lay our ‘situation’: a suitcase, large and foreign looking, washed ashore.

Sherlock Bones had nothing on us. Shedding our usual doggies amiability, our snouts went into overdrive. We scuttled the bag further inland, away from the prying eyes of morning dog joggers.

“Paws off, it’s mine!” I growled at Chester as I vigorously scratched open the suitcase, courtesy of my frequent visits to The Howling Husky Hardware Store.

And there it was, waiting for my astute nose, a cheese. Not any cheese, it was gruyère. This was more than a ‘situation’. This was a jackpot.

“What is it?” Chester panted around me, his tail wagging with anticipation.

“Gruy- ” I paused, my mouth filled with that heavenly taste, “—ere.”

Chester’s eyes widened as he understood, his own papillae no stranger to the delights of a good gruyère.

But then we found it, nestled under the cheese, a rather ominously ticking device. I flinched at its incessant noise. Humanoid inanity, like the pointless honking of their vehicles, always irked me.

Being dogs in an espionage didn’t necessarily mean having a high-ranking officer to assign code reds. But this, this was definitely a code red.

With no time to squeak at my favorite hedgehog toy, with grim determination, I grasped the device between my teeth. Dragging it around Pawsburg, to The Canine Cafe, to the artful scratches at Spa for Paws. Each tick, a reminder of our situation going from bad to worse.

The solution finally hit, as swiftly as the scent of Blooming Blossoms. “Chester, fetch me a pickle from Pooched Potatoes.” I requested.

Chester was back with the vile green thing in no time. I gagged slightly, but determination held me through. Pickles, my kryptonite, came to the rescue. We maneuvered it carefully into a small opening in the device. There was a tremor… and then silence. The tick-tock that plagued me was no more.

Apparelled in sighs of relief, we leaned onto each other. Chester pawing me a gentle nudge. The life of Pawsburg canine espionage: definitely not as mundane as fetching balls. But hey, to each dog his own. After all, I am Bunchy, and Pawsburg was my town. Don’t ever forget it.

The End.