Hey, it’s Cristina (or as I like to call myself, the Sherlock of Pawsburg). Detecting foul play over my stolen frisbee led to an epic hunt around the borough, culminating in snagging it from the paws of the shifty Vernon! The morale is high, but a hero’s fuel (read: tuna) is low. Let’s remedy that, shall we? 😄 🐾

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There is an unwritten rule that in Pawsburg, a frisbee absconded is a grievous crime. The law doesn’t stretch its paws here, it’s us, the occupants, who have to swing the hammer of justice.

One seemingly ordinary Tuesday, my jaw nearly hit the floor when I found my bright green frisbee, the apple of my eye, missing from its usual spot on the porch. A chill went down my spine, the gravity of the loss amplified by the fact that nobody seemed to care. Jenny, my purveyor of tuna and occasional cuddles, was too busy jabbering away on her phone to pay heed to my dilemma.

As you’ve inferred by now, I, Buster, was on the verge of a crisis with a capital ‘C’. If only there was a Pawsburg version of Sherlock, because believe you me, there would be no limits to the kibble I’d fork over.

Descending the porch, thoughts brewing in my head like a fine cup of coffee, I decided to take matters into my own paws. My first port of call was Bulldog Bay, our little smorgasbord of mischief and gossip. As I trotted into the sandy expanse, my season rival Lady was digging around. “If she’s in a good mood, maybe I can strike a bargain,” I thought, ready to swallow my pride.

“Lady, frisbee’s gone. Any idea who’s to blame?” I questioned, trying hard to keep my tone neutral.

She glanced over, pausing mid-dig. “Genius, do I look like I have the time? Plus, serving kibble in gossip’s plate isn’t my style.”

I pouted but knew better than to argue, instead I thanked her and ran across to the East Pug Palace. Maybe someone there could help.

My investigation of East Pug Palace and Greyhound Grove, yielded no clues. All the while, my mind was creating Vernon, the mischievous Collie. He always had an eye for accessories. Yet it was only circumstantial. I decided to have a stopover at the Pupsicle Palace for a comfort eating break. While my friends enjoyed their pupsicles, I barely tasted the tuna flavor. My thoughts were all consumed by the mystery of my beloved frisbee.

For days, I canvassed every corner of Pawsburg, even unto the Furry Friends Art Gallery, whose artistic displays eluded me. There I spotted Vernon twirling a frisbee, he gleamed under the dancing fairy lights above. Lo and behold, it was the same shining emerald green. Moral high ground be damned, as I lunged and snatched it away.

In a place such as Pawsburg, where every dog has his day, justice had found its unlikely hero in a silver-coated Husky. All that remained now was the grateful embrace of my back porch, bathed in the copper glow of the setting sun… and maybe a can of tuna. After all, a hero needs his fuel.

The End.

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