Hey Grandma,

Marlin here – the Sherlock Bones of Pawsburgh! I just cracked a nutty case of missing peanut butter kongs from The Woofy Bakery. Pounded the pavement with my four paws, kept my snout clean, and sniffed out the culprits. As usual, pots of peanut butter buried beneath my dignity and their guilt. Now, I’m a hero with a belly full of the evidence!

Love from your detective grand-dog,
Marley Moo

Ah, Marlin the Magnificent—that’s me, by the way. You’d be forgiven for thinking my life always glitters like my coat in the Pawsburgh sun, but even the grandest of dogs encounter their canine conundrums. You see, last night at Samoyed Square, while Luna was detailing her latest escapades in her chipper bark, I heard troubling news: the prized peanut butter kong collection at The Woofy Bakery had gone missing. A whiff of mischief was in the air.

Me? I’m just your average Golden/Yellow Goldador with a flair for sniffing out the imprudent from the innocent. So I loafed my hefty frame into action, no mean feat given the aversion I nurse towards exercise. A personal paradox, since athletic prowess practically courses through my veins.

Sauntering through the twisting alleys of Pawsburgh, I made my way to the crime scene. The patisserie bore the sweet scent of fresh biscuits and desolation. “A mystery!” I declared, with a dramatic gaze that betrayed not a hint of the timidity I reserve for our wilder romps in the dunes.

Reviewing the gallery of empty shelves where once peanut butter treasures sat, I contemplated the conundrum. “You know,” I mused aloud, a habit I’ve picked up after one too many Woody Allen pictures, “the key to a good investigation is not unlike resisting a bath: stay focused, and don’t let the suds get in your eyes.”

Mrs. Poodle, the matron of the bakery, was beside herself. “Marlin, those kongs were to be the pièce de résistance at tomorrow’s gala!” she fretted, her poof of fur quivering with each syllable.

Penny Lane and Coobsie looked on, the former flicking her ears with anxiety. True to my magnanimous nature, I comforted them with a nuzzle before setting off to Doberman Dunes. The shifting sands reminded me of the fluidity of a good investigation and the discomfort of wet fur—two truths I could well do without.

There I found Shorts—or ‘Shormtsie Bormtsie Puddin Pormtsie’ as we affectionately called him—arguing with a seagull over the virtues of a monochromatic wardrobe. “Hey Shorts, seen any suspicious pups lugging around peanut butter kongs hereabouts?” I inquired, employing my most detective-like inflection.

Shorts paused, spooned a serving of pudding into his maw (without discretion), and replied, “Might’ve.” He proceeded to divulge a sighting of Alfie and Jinnie near Rottweiler’s Ribs, their muzzles suspiciously slick with what could only be peanut butter bliss.

Aha! A lead. Off I plodded to Alfie and Jinnie’s haunt, where, lo and behold, I unearthed the missing kongs, buried beneath a feigned innocence and a heap of napkins.

“A gentlemen’s mix-up,” Alfie alleged. Jinnie just blushed.

With the mystery solved and the kongs restored, I couldn’t help but reflect on the oddities of my day as I sprawled under my backyard’s dappled shade. I glanced at my reflection in the patio door, thinking about how scare quotes could punctuate my life: “magnificent,” “detective,” “hero.”

Yet, here I was, breathing heavily, nursing a belly full of pilfered peanut butter treats—because, well, who could resist? In Pawsburgh, even the most ‘loyal’ of golden boys can revel in mysteries solved and endings sweet, especially when they taste of success and peanut butter.

The End.

Share This Story: