Hey Mom,

U won’t believe it, but I turned into a regular Sherlock Bones today! 🕵️‍♀️🐾 Stopped a cheese heist with my furry crew, outwitted a dachshund crook with an offer to play fetch! Pawsburg’s safe and the cheese stands alone, thanks to us. 😎🧀 Till our next tail-waggin’ adventure!

Hugs and head pats,
Kiki 🐶💖

Listen to the story here

Dusk had barely cast its shroud over Pawsburg when the scent of mischief wafted through my snout. A day like any other, bound to be chock-full of revelry with my unlikely league at my side – KitKat, Pepper, and Lynard – had taken an uncanny turn. Here I am, Kiki, your four-legged narrator, relaying the day’s curious caper.

A wee hour, whispered to be ’bout half-past seven in human time but prime of the eve to us canines, I found myself trotting down Amber Akita Alley. The piquant aroma of Retriever’s Restaurant tempted my stomach to betray me and roam without my consent, yet duty beckoned.

You see, I’d caught wind of some hush-hush hubbub about a heist planned on the coveted Cheese Wheel, a treasured sculpture in The Furry Friends Art Gallery that was, well, sculpted entirely from the finest cheese – a rarity in our cultured town. Knowing my weakness for cheese, with visions of that scrumptious cheddar tempestuously egging me on, I’d vowed to keep a keen eye peeled.

“Evening, Kiki,” a meek voice chirped from above as Pepper fluttered down, landing upon a nearby hydrant painted a shade of royal purple that really didn’t flatter his feathers. “News percolates down the alley; word has it, the Cheese Wheel’s about to roll into infamy if we don’t step in.”

“Roll into what?” I barked, more out of amusement than concern. “A Cheese Wheel in motion gathers no heists—or so I believe the saying goes.”

Pepper fluttered nervously, lacking my enthusiasm for wordplay.

“The plot thickens like peanut butter on a chew toy, my dear,” chimed KitKat, bounding from the shadows with that feline grace I both admired and envied. “Lynard has a lead on the would-be thief.”

Just then, Lynard, serene as ever, sauntered up to us outside the Barking Boutique, his skin a canvas of perplexity. “I’ve gathered intel,” he drawled, “A shifty-eyed Dachshund, goes by the name Fiendish Frankfurter. Whisper is, he has the thieving paws behind this caper.”

Without further ado, we sprang into action, our quartet a mosaic of the animal kingdom, defying the ordinary with every step. We scurried past Harrier Harbor, where the moonlight glinted off the waves like diamonds tempting a jewel thief.

Upon reaching The Furry Friends Art Gallery, we staked out our positions. Pepper soared to the skylight for a bird’s eye view; KitKat slinked through shadows like they were knit from her own fur; Lynard stationed at the main entrance, an unmoving deterrent; and I, well, I took to the back where secret meetings and shady deals often take root.

And boy, did it. The audacious fiend, the Dachshund, was a sneaky one, creeping along with a shifty gate that reeked of ill-intent. His paws fumbled with a kit of burgling tools, lips twitching at the thought of purloined cheese. Gentle as a lamb, I approached, my gait nonchalant—a masterclass in canine nonchalance.

“Good sir,” I began, my tone quivering with an edge of excitement, “might be you’re looking to unburden yourself of nefarious plans and partake in an honest game of fetch instead?”

Fiendish Frankfurter blinked, his scheme not factoring in an offer of playful distraction. “Game of fetch?” he echoed, clearly torn between malfeasance and merriment.

“Cheese, as wondrous as it is, lacks the zest you seek,” I wagged my tail, “Play, my friend, is the most cherished heist of all.”

He wavered, then, as if the very mention of a game stirred in him the undiluted essence of his doghood.

“Curse it, Kiki,” he grinned suddenly, “I have a soft spot for fetch!”

As Pepper descended with the authorities close behind, Frankfurter surrendered—the caper averted, thanks to a simple, honest joy. Ah, if cheese be the food of play, fetch on. In Pawsburg, even the briefest tale contains an ounce of wisdom and a pound of cheese, though sometimes the two intertwine like an artful dog’s leash around a well-meaning human’s legs.

The End.