Hey Mom and Dad,

Just saved a pup from a pastry peril and sniffed out a catnip conspiracy here in Pawsburgh! 🐾 The streets whisper tales of ‘Agent Rose’ by night – your daughter, the pet detective. Ensuring tails wag and justice prevails, one adventure at a time. Tuck this under your pillows: Pawsburgh sleeps soundly thanks to my four-legged feats.

Nighty night,
Rose 🕵️‍♀️🌹

Listen to the story here

There’s a zephyr of mischief in the air as I stare out from my sunbathed hilltop perch, the twilight hues of my coat blending seamlessly into the dusk. Right about now, as the human world slows to the soft murmur of evening routines, Pawsburgh comes alive, thrumming with the prospects of adventures untold.

They call me Rosemary, but tonight, I’m Agent Rose – Pawsburgh’s finest pet detective, with a nose for trouble and a tail that can’t help but betray my excitement. As the moon takes its position in the celestial lineup, a familiar scent wafts through the air, sending my senses into overdrive.

They think peanut butter is my only vice, but there’s nothing that sets my heart aflutter quite like the promise of a new case. The crackle of the radio strapped to my bandana signals the beginning of another escapade. Angus’s gruff voice filters through, “Rosemary, you there? We got a hot tip on a catnip caper down at Shiba Inlet.”

“Copy that,” I murmur quietly, as though the shadows might be listening. With a spring in my step, I saunter towards the Howling Husky Hardware Store to gear up. The bells jingle as I nudge the door with my snout, offering a bark of greeting to the husky behind the counter.

“Evening, Rose. Another late-night fixer-upper?” Gus asks, with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Something like that,” I reply, selecting a flashlight. “Make it snappy.”

Pawsburgh’s streets are alive with the clandestine hustle of nocturnal escapades. The gleam of Barking BBQ beckons in the distance, but duty calls. The night air smells of the ocean, but I never had a taste for the salty abyss – I’m a landlubber, through and through, even if the city cops disagree.

As I approach Shiba Inlet, the faint scent of catnip stings my nostrils. A shadow darts across the corner of my eye – a blur against the darkness of Amber Akita Alley. My paws hit the cobblestone with the softest patter, my roving beacon cutting a swathe through the gloom.

“There!” I bark, subdued, as I spot a figure near the Canine Cafe. A Siamese delinquent, no doubt. But as I close in, the wail of a young boxer pup catches my attention. I pivot on my hindlegs, the situation escalating faster than a hound at Setter Shore’s free steak Sundays.

“Distract her, Rosemary!” Angus’s voice is urgent over the radio. The pup’s cries crescendo as I spot him trapped atop a towering pile of Puppy Patisserie’s finest confections. “Hang tight!” I call to the whimpering furball, climbing with a grace my cattle dog ancestors would admire. Swooping the pup up with a jaw gentle as a spring breeze, we slide down a rainbow of eclairs and donuts.

With the pup safely on the ground and the scent of catnip still in the air, I hear Angus’s panting as he catches up. “You always know how to steal the show, don’t you, Rose?”

As Angus radios in that the catnip culprits were apprehended by backup at the inlet, I can’t help but let out a satisfied woof. The pup, shaken but unharmed, looks up with big, grateful eyes. “Rosemary to the rescue,” he breathes in awe.

“Part of the job, kid,” I say with a nonchalant nose boop before we head back into the neon glow of Pawsburgh, my red frisbee momentarily forgotten in the wake of this sweet success. It’s nights like these that keep me sharp – that remind me why Pawsburgh’s just another bone’s throw from perfection. And as I watch the moon’s reflection in the puddles of Puppy Patisserie’s demolished front, I think, ‘You did good, Rose. You did good.’

The End.

Share This Story: