Yo, it’s King L – Pawsburgh’s Sherlock Hound in the fur. Cracked the Case of the Silent Squeaky: Max nabbed it for a detective vs. giant Lab tug-of-war. Just another day outwitting friends and sniffing out the truth. Keep your toys tight and your leads tighter! 😎🐾🕵️‍♂️ – King Louie

We were somewhere around Affenpinscher Avenue on the edge of the park when the thrill began to take hold. I remember saying something like, “I feel a bit lightheaded, Bella; maybe you should bark.” And suddenly, there was a thunderous howl booming through the streets of Pawsburgh, reverberating off Hound Heights, abruptly yanking my senses from the warm embrace of sunlight-infused slumber. I’m King Louie, Pawsburgh’s finest pet detective, known for my underwhelming ear and overbearing curiosity, a furry gumshoe with a taste for mystery and peanut butter – creamy, not crunchy.

The day had scampered off to a sauntering start. My rascally ear caught the attention of a fluffy tousle-tailed pup as I lounged near Mutt Munchies, idly contemplating the inscrutability of citrus fruits. “King Louie, the notorious!” she exclaimed, making me raise a brow – the other one, the good one.

It’s a malignant habit, becoming notorious in a place where every wagging tale spins yarns of their escapades among humans. But here, in Pawsburgh, tales such as mine have a tint of the investigative spirit that sets tails wagging among these fur-lined avenues. Did I mention my name is King Louie?

I was roused from my reflections by Bella’s incessant howl. “Bella, suppress your primal scream; we’re not hunting antelopes on the veld,” I chided, but I could tell by the twinkle in her beady beagle eyes that something was afoot. As I sat amidst the warming golden gusts of dawn on my usual spot by Bark Buffet, I reviewed the facts: last night, my squeaky hedgehog was pawsitively present. Now, the sun rose to the absence of its squeal – a silence unappreciated and suspicious.

The town of Pawsburgh lay spread before me, a patchwork of tails and tales, and somewhere within, the answer to my hedgehog’s untimely disappearance. Thankfully, I am a creature of habit, and so my suspect must be. To Canine Couture Clothing, I trotted, my terrier instincts in full swing, my one good ear perked, the other a drooping flag of my indomitable spirit.

Inside the chic boutique, the aromatic trail hit me – the distinct smell of peanut butter, tainted with an unfamiliar, shallow scent of something… citrus. My nose wrinkled in professional distaste, ears back, I paced, making mental notes, weaving through racks of designer dog-wear until I reached the back, where Max’s girthy Labrador shadow hovered over something clandestine.

“Max, my colossal confidant, what crimes conspire under your watch?” I inquired, seeing the guilt flicker behind his brown button eyes. Despite his size, Max had the grace of a whisper on the wind, and somehow, he had slipped in, distracted the clerks with his playful charm, and snagged my beloved squeaky hedgehog. That beagle-heralded bark, it wasn’t a warning – it was excitement.

“Alright, Louie,” Max muttered, his tail betraying his words with a gentle wag. “I figured it was time you played a bit of tug-of-war, detective-style.”

In moments, the mighty Max, the hedgehog, and I tumbled out onto Samoyed Square, barking the echoes of our laughter across the convivial corners of Pawsburgh. The mystery was solved, the hedgehog retrieved, and my legend as a pet detective wagged on in the glow of the dawn’s golden streaks. Lesson learned: in Pawsburgh, keep your friends close, but your toys closer, and always, always bet on the hound with the floppy ear.

The End.