“Hey Mom, remember when we played spies? Well, just had the wildest real-life version! Snuck out with Momo for a secret pickle drop, under the moonlight no less. Momo, the heroic terrier, led the way, sniffed out our contact & even outfoxed the Pawsome Pet Police. All’s safe and intact, especially the darn pickle. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite! Ruff Ruff, Xoxo ~Momo and Me~”

As I tiptoed down the stone-cobbled streets of Spencerville under the light of a waning crescent moon, I could not help but sense the undeniable feeling that I was being followed. Not by some sinister, two-legged predator, mind you. No, the footfalls behind me were too light, too nippy. I knew instantly who it was.

“Momo,” I muttered under my frosty breath, “for crying out loud, aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

His painted eyes shone a musty silver in the moonlight, fixed upon me like the unwavering gaze of a seasoned veteran. He was alert, perhaps alert than I could ever hope to be. I knew why he had followed me out into the chilly night. A clandestine pickle drop was scheduled for tonight, and his nose was far better at sniffing out the stuff than my rusty pair of eyes was.

Job or no job, he knew better than to leave me alone.

A sudden rustling in the distance drew our attention. It was a moment of truth; the source of the sound could have been our pickle contact…or it could have been a trap.

“Do you reckon it’s them, Momo?” I whispered, my heart pounding like a timpani in my chest.

In response, Momo’s ears pricked up, betraying an extraordinary attentiveness. Resolute and committed to the matter at hand, he took off deeper into the gloom of the night, stealthily but speedily, like something straight out of a John le Carré novel.

I trailed behind him, trying my best to keep up with his nimble movements. Hot on his tail, we arced around Cream Maltese Meadow, through the shadows of Western Fawn Pug Palace, up to the foot of Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle. It was here we found our contact…

I’d introduce you to him, but we are in the business of secrecy. He passed over the stuffed pickle with one quick, solid shake of his hand. We had less than a second to spare before we heard the dreaded barks in the distance. The Pawsome Pet Police were closing in.

“Get ready to bolt, Momo,” I whispered, gripping the pickle tightly.

With a swift nod, Momo was ready. Just as the patrol rounded the corner, we darted across the street into a conveniently shaped shadow, a golden plume of dust shrouding our escape.

As we doubled back through the nocturnal landscape of Spencerville, I could not help but think how ridiculously lucky I was to have the best – albeit the smallest- espionage partner in the whole damn world. In his boundless loyalty, infectious spirit and undeniable courage, Momo was not just any other four-pound Yorkshire Terrier. He was a partner, a friend, and undoubtedly, the life and soul of our quaint little espionage act.

The End.