Hey Mom and Dad,
It’s Jasmine. Just wanted to let you know I’ve been a busy pup lately – saved the neighborhood from that sneaky raccoon gang, helped little Timmy find his way home, and still found time for my afternoon nap in the sun. Life’s barking good!
Love, Baby Girl 🐾

I stood at the entrance of Upper Black Bulldog Bay, the waves lapping the shore with a metronomic consistency, like the pacing steps of a tireless officer at post. Every so often, the mist from the surf would catch the rising sun just right, turning the entire bay into a gleaming mosaic. I had a case to crack, and no amount of pretty scenery could distract me from Jasmine’s mission.

Ah, forgive me. My mind wanders when I recall Spencerville’s beauty. I remember now, vividly, the morning I received the call—a bark from Chief Percy the pug.

“Jas,” Percy barked, his voice riddled with urgency, “We have a situation over in Greyhound Grove. Another dog has vanished.”

My tiny paws trembled slightly as I grasped the badge around my neck. I took comfort in its cool metallic weight—I had earned it with every single pawprint and nose sniff of dedication. The cases had been piling up: dogs disappearing without a trace, right under our noses. But oh, if you knew me in life, you’d know this pug never backed down from a challenge, even one as grim as this.

As my thoughts drifted, I trotted past Ruff-n-Ready, where the scent of freshly baked pupcakes wafted through. My stomach gave a small grumble, longing for a simpler time when my biggest concern was acquiring French fries and popcorn. Detective work had a way of sidetracking you from life’s simplest pleasures. But still, I’d snatch an ice cube or two along the way if they were up for grabs—a girl needs her refreshment, after all.

Percy was waiting outside Paws-A-Latte, his usual haunt, deeply sniffing the aroma of dog-friendly coffee. With my black and gray coat blazing in the rising sun, I made my approach.

“We got another clue,” Percy said, his muzzle close to mine for secrecy. “Found paw prints in Greyhound Grove. They lead to the woods—White Westie Woods.”

I tilted my head slightly, processing. The White Westie Woods was no place for the faint-hearted. “Time to investigate,” I muttered, more to myself than to Percy. I could feel my heart race—an investigation that stretched from the serenity of a coffee shop to the eerie silence of the woods.

We traversed through the heart of Spencerville, my past bouncing back at me in sudden bursts with every familiar place. The Wagging Tail Bookstore, where I’d spend afternoons reading tales of hero dogs, and Pup-Tastic Pizza, where I’d sneak in bites while pretending to be engrossed in a thrilling detective story. All those memories stopped abruptly as the dense, dark mass of White Westie Woods loomed in front of us.

Our first steps into the woods were met with a stillness so uncanny it almost spoke, almost questioned our very courage. Edmund, my trusty R2D2 toy tucked safely in the side pocket of my saddlebag, seemed to hum in encouragement. We walked for what felt like hours, my trusty partner Percy and I, until we reached a small, inconspicuous clearing.

There, among the moss and quiet whispers of the woods, we found an unusual sight—a set of toys, deliberately arranged. Lambchop was there, alongside two familiar figures: C3PO and R2D2. It was a scene painted in deliberate taunting, an invitation to pursue, to play a deadly game of catch-me-if-you-can.

Suddenly, the silence broke—not with words, but with a soft panting. I whipped around, ears perked and eyes sharp. A shadow. A flicker. This was it.

The moments that followed seemed to stretch into infinity. Percy and I moved with synchronized precision, our motions swift and calculated, as we pursued the figure that had so effortlessly eluded us. My paws beat against the earth, not unlike the rapid drumming of my heart.

The chase led us deeper into the woods, tighter turns, lower branches. As we closed in, I felt a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. This was it. We were moments away from uncovering the identity of the elusive figure who had cast a dark cloud over Spencerville.

And then we saw it: Dotty the pug, one of our missing comrades, tied but unharmed. The shadow, almost spectral, dissipated as if it was merely a figment of our collective dread. The scene was both relief and terror wrapped in one, coaxing a growl from Percy’s throat.

We untied Dotty and huddled together, three pugs who had come so close to the maw of darkness but survived. We had cracked the case, but the shadow remained—a lingering promise of challenges yet to come.

As we retraced our steps back to the safety of our beloved Spencerville, I couldn’t help but reflect. In this place, almost perfect, where pets awaited joyful reunions with those they loved, the pursuit of justice had its place too. Here, amidst sunbathing, car rides, and all manner of pleasures, some pugs were called to defend that delicate balance.

I, Jasmine—loyal and brave, intelligent and calm—would always be ready to heed that call.