Hey Mom! Just wanted to let you know I helped track down a lost little boy and led him back home safely. Everyone’s calling me a hero, but I just did what any good pup would do. Hope you’re proud 🙂

Love, Corbeebee

It was a dreary Tuesday night in Pawsburg, and the moon hung low and silver in the sky as if it had grown curious about the goings-on down below. I padded my way down Setter Shore, the salty breeze ruffling my black-and-white fur with a touch of brindle. They call me Corbin, but to my more intimate acquaintances, I’m Corbeebee – a Boston Terrier with a knack for sniffing out secrets. You might say I’m playful, loyal, energetic, affectionate, protective, and more intelligent than your average mutt. Some prying eyes say I am also too friendly for a gumshoe, but that’s how I get ‘em to bark.

Tonight, as I trotted past Sniffer’s Sandwiches, a thought niggled at me like an elusive flea. Something wasn’t right in Pawsburg, that’s for sure. My whiskers twitched with anticipation of a case, the kind that would take the shine off your collar and hang it out to dry. Rumor had it that someone – or something – was stirring trouble down on Chestnut Cocker Courtyard.

The Pawsburg Gazette had spilled the beans this morning, mere ink and bark claiming that an ancient bone – the Bone of Fortunes – had vanished from the Courtyard. Legends spoke of its ability to bestow undying loyalty and protection to whomever possessed it, and now, it was missing. I reckon if you know what this dog-eat-dog world is like, you know whoever took it had a plan – or worse, a scheme.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard, Corby,” drawled Moe, the grizzled schnauzer who ran Doggie Diner. He had an eye for secrets and a nose for nonsense.

“That Bone of Fortunes has gone missing from Chestnut Cocker Courtyard,” I said, sniffing out his reaction. “I’m on the case.”

Moe’s whiskers twitched, and he leaned in, his voice low, “Stay sharp, kiddo. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”

I gave a brisk nod and headed off. Time was gnawing at my heels. Paw-lickin’ Pancakes offered the usual verve as hounds of all shapes and sizes crushed on buckwheat batter. They had no clue about the bone, and I had no time for pancakes.

Pacing down Bichon Boulevard, I caught sight of the mischievous Tigger, an orange tabby who often slipped into Pawsburg with his tuxedo-clad mate, Prescott. They purred more than they barked, but they were in sync with the buzz of the place. Tigger, spotting me, sauntered over, his tail flicking.

“Corbin, old boy, heard you’re on a hunt for that elusive Bone of Fortunes,” he whispered, eyes gleaming. “Word around these bins is, it ain’t far from where it got nicked.”

“You know anything concrete?” I pressed, sensing a lead.

“More like… a few treats’ worth of chatter, that it may be stashed at The Dapper Doggie,” he purred and sauntered off, leaving me sniffing in suspense.

This was it. The Dapper Doggie, Pawsburg’s most sophisticated tailoring haunt, coughed up secrets easier than shedding fur. I pranced in, collecting my composure under the watchful eyes of well-groomed chihuahuas and dapper dalmatians. Old Bernice, a doddery poodle, always loved a gossip.

“Corbin, darling, what brings you to my haven?” she cooed.

“A bone to pick with someone,” I quipped, eyeing a glint beneath the counter. The Bone of Fortunes, slyly wrapped in Bernice’s knitting wool, gleamed back at me. “Seems like your haven’s harboring some weighty secrets.”

Bernice’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you tread on, Corbin. Some tales are told for reasons beyond your pedigree.”

With a swift wag and a toothy grin, I tugged at the yarn, the sacred bone tumbling free. “Maybe, Bernice – but this yarn ends here.”

Pawsburg had its bone back. As I trotted back through the town, the silver moon ever-watchful, I knew the tales of old wouldn’t be chewed over lightly. But tonight, I earned my bark… and a well-deserved roll in mom’s backyard.