“Hey Ma, unraveled another Pawsburg whodunit! Location: Fetch! Toys & Treats. Item MIA: stinky stick. Culprit: a confused retriever who can’t play ‘fetch’ right. Case: closed! Send more baby carrots and cheese, the detective work never ends around here. Case in point, Pete the Pug’s squeaker’s gone AWOL. Off to save the day! – Turby Lurby”

Listen to the story here

I’m Turbo, the daring and high-spirited Gray Terrier of Pawsburg. You might wonder what a pint-sized, carrot, and cheese-loving dog is doing in the pet detective business. Simply put, I’m a cut above the ordinary.

So there I was one bright morning, at the Doggy Delight, sipping my bowl of fresh chicken broth when Willie the Whippet sauntered in, slinky as a reed in the wind, bearing news of yet another mystery to solve. Yes, another one — ever since the clock at Shepherd Skyline had been stolen I’ve been neck deep in mysteries. Call it luck or destiny, but the ol’ pet detective business was sizzling.

“Turbo,” squealed Willie, “You remember that super exciting stick, the one that smells like three-day-old tuna?”

I nodded. “The one from Fetch! Toys and Treats?”

“Disappeared,” Willie said, his big eyes rounder than donut at The Doggy Bagel Deli. Déjà vu, you say? Yeah, thought so too. But then, in Pawsburg, strange things happen when our humans are asleep. Or at Zumba. Or, worst case, watching those reality TV shows.

Squirt and Sissy, always in for some adventure, were already turning on their GPS snouts. You heard it right, Pawsburg may be a paradise for us dogs, but throw in mysterious disappearances, and you have the perfect recipe for a fascinating adventure. Or a bumpy car ride, you know which one I dread more.

Luckily, there was a clue -a strand of brown hair – weirdly out of place on the silvery sands of Boxer Beach.

“Darn!” I exclaimed, “That’s just as useful as a bath on my day off!” I nudged the hair with my snout – it was from a dog, one who had a fondness for gravy bones. The undeniable sniff from the morning leftovers at Pooched Potatoes restaurant confirmed it. Let’s just say, my extraordinary talents don’t merely include barking symphonies.

Before you could say ‘fetch’, off we were to Western Husky Hill, chasing the gravy bones traces. A trip to The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, a whiff around and some wagging tails later, we found our perpetrator – a retriever. And guess who came striding out, stick in mouth?

Turns out the retriever wasn’t really a thief. He just misunderstood the word ‘fetch’. Imagine the sights at Boxer Beach – a terrier, a Whippet, and every genetic speculation between, solving mysteries together. Crazy, huh?

Being a pet detective in Pawsburg? Sure, it’s odd, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if it is as noisy as my play basket in full swing. Now if only pet detective work paid in baby carrots and cheese – then life would be as perfect as the Orange Baby in my toy stash. Now excuse me, a terrier’s work is never done, I have a new case. It seems the squeaker in Pete the Pug’s favourite toy went quiet. Time for Detective Turbo to step in.

The End.