Hey Pack Leader,

Just wrapped up a wild chase in Pawsburgh: busted the catnip ring at Newfoundland Nook, kept tails wagging clean, and restored order. Bruno and I are the heroes the town didn’t know they needed. Time to chew on a victory steak and dream of tomorrow’s escapades.

Over and out,
Hound Hank 🐾👮‍♂️🚔

As the first sliver of dawn crept across the horizon of the human world, I, Hank, was already wide-awake. Today wasn’t just another day in Pawsburgh; it was the day we’d finally bust the notorious catnip-smuggling ring that had the feline population clawing for a fix and the doggos of my beat barking up the wrong trees.

“Sapphire Schnauzer Street will be crawling with shady characters,” I thought to myself as I adjusted my badge, reflecting in the glint of my immaculate black and tan coat. This was not vanity, my friends, but necessity; in this line of work, a shiny badge often sniffs out more respect than a keen nose. Still, a dashing appearance has been known to cause some tails to wag in more-than-just-friends fashion—occupational hazard, I suppose.

I met my partner, a bulldog named Bruno with a jowl that could only be described as ‘defined by gravity,’ at the corner of Quartz Qimmiq Quarter. Bruno’s rumbling snore could rattle windows; today, however, his snores had been replaced with determined snorts.

“You ready, Hank?” Bruno growled, his eyes squinting in the sunlight – or perhaps due to the new scent of fashion over at Rottweiler’s Ribs; their new barbecue sauce had been causing a riot in the olfactory senses of the entire police force.

“Born ready,” I replied, feeling the cool morning breeze sifting through my fur. “Let’s sniff out the culprit and make this town safe for every pup and purebred.”

Our first stop was Retriever’s Restaurant. I had a hunch that the owner, a golden retriever known for his impeccable service and the tendency to shed generously, was hidin’ something behind that furry smile of his.

“Morning, Rex,” I said smoothly, sidestepping a well-meaning slobber of a greeting. “Word on the street is you’ve got a special on catnip casserole today.”

Rex’s eyes darted faster than a tennis ball at the dog park. “Now, Hank, why would that be of service in a reputable dog eatery such as mine?”

Before he could waggle his way out of it, Bruno’s meaty paw slapped down a warrant. “We’ll take a look-see in the kitchen, if you don’t mind.”

Turns out, Rex was clean, but he did offer us a lead. A Siamese who fancied herself a feline informant—went by the name of Whiskers. Unofficial meetings took place at Fetch! Toys and Treats under the guise of casual perusing.

There we found her, amidst a pile of chew toys that squeaked out their last will and testament between her teeth.

“Whiskers,” I announced, “fancy finding you in canine territory.”

She released the half-mangled toy and stretched luxuriously. “Hank, darling, you know I can’t resist the allure of your squeaky friends.”

Through the coded exchange and Whiskers’ half-hearted disdain for my species, we gathered that the catnip caper was going down at the Newfoundland Nook—an ironic twist considering its reputation for peace and good manners.

“Ready to collar these cats?” I asked Bruno as we made our way to the Nook. It was almost too easy. The cats were lounging, bags of nip at their paws, clearly overconfident in their stealth.

“In the name of Pawsburgh PD, you’re all under arrest!” I proclaimed, leaping into action, my partner following with a thud that was reassuringly solid.

Cats scattered, but we collared more than a few. It was purr-fect. The operation dismantled, we returned triumphant.

“Good work today, Bruno,” I barked cheerily as we watched the culprits getting processed.

“Nothing gets past those ears of yours, Hank,” Bruno said, his drool now a badge of honor.

Another day’s work in Pawsburgh, my friends—a town of tales (and tails), where even a vacuum’s roar doesn’t deter justice. And for a dog like me, lover of adventure, chew toys, and a good team, it’s just another day on the beat.

The End.