Hey Mom and Dad, 🐾

Nooch here saving the day yet again in Spencerville. Just solved the bizarre case of the missing biscuits at The Doggy Bagel Deli. The culprit? A robotic vac with an appetite for crime (and snacks). So the deli’s safe and the treats are back on track 😎. Took my fee in baconchik and now I’m off to dreamland for nap #8.

Your furry Hercule Poirot,
Bucky 🕵️‍♂️🐶

So, there I was sprawled on my favorite rug—the one that smells just ever so faintly of baconchik and dreams—when the scent of an enigma wafted through the window, disrupting my seventh nap of the day. I pried open one reluctant eye, my inner sleuth awakening. Yours truly may be the epitome of a dashing English bulldog—squishy face, adored by all, and a penchant for the dramatic nap—but let’s not forget, I’m Spencerville’s first and only four-legged detective.

I trotted out of my human-like abode, bidding farewell to Dragonchik who watched from the couch with a look that said, “Go get ’em, tiger…or well, dog.” I swayed my hips, the sag of my jowls picking up the momentum. I’m Bucky, remember? Jewel of Spencerville, and currently the only one with the chops to get to the bottom of things.

A morning zephyr streamed through Retriever River as I made a beeline for the scene. Marcel the Mutt, proprietor of Tail Waggers, hailed me with a yip. “Bucky, old chum, did ya catch wind of the to-do at The Doggy Bagel Deli?”

I bobbed my head, my ears flapping slightly. Oh, I had sniffed out more than wind, my friend.

See, I seek the truth with a nose finer than the dining at The Cat’s Meow Sushi—where, between you and me, the fish is so fresh, it’s practically still philosophizing about the great vast ocean it once called home.

Anyway, the mystery. Turns out, someone’s been swiping the savory biscuits from The Doggy Bagel Deli. The audacity! Were they cruelly left biscuitless? Neigh, but this is about principles—and the fact that nothing, and I mean nothing, comes between a dog and their munchies. It’s known to create sighs as heavy as a Great Dane sinking into a cushion too small for his bounteous derrière.

I strolled into the deli, my shadow stretching out before me like a anaconda preparing for leisurely digestion. There sat Fifi the Frenchie, front paws crossed like she owned the joint—which she might very well, if she ever stops losing her savings in poker games at the dog park.

“Bucky, darling,” she lisped, the diamond-studded collar gleaming at her throat, “the biscuits. They disappear with neither bark nor bite. It’s a conundrum that demands your… tenacity.”

I snorted, partly at her choice of words and partly ‘cause, well, allergies. I canvassed the place with a practiced eye, sniffing here and sniffing there. A lesser canine might’ve been distracted by the heavenly aromas, but not I—well, maybe just once, but I’m only canine.

The crumbs led me to the most unexpected of culprits—a robotic vacuum, innocently docked in the corner, its belly undoubtedly full of ill-gotten doggy treats. How daft can you get? It would be like robbing a bank and then sitting in the lobby counting your cash.

I jowled up to the proprietor, the illustrious Mr. Puggles. “You’ve got yourself an automated thief,” I declared, pointing my paw with the drama of a stage actor at the vacuum. “Case closed. Biscuits saved.”

Mr. Puggles’ eyes widened, and he thanked me with a bounty of baconchik (which, for the record, I accepted with dignity and none of the aforementioned anaconda-like characteristics).

As the sun dipped lower, adding a splash of watercolor magic to the sky akin to my coat at the end of autumn, I sauntered home, my snout high and tail a-waggin’.

In Spencerville, the fantastical hums around each corner, but today? Today was about the simple, ludicrous facts of life. With a snore ready at the drop of a hat, and a heart yearning for the day my humans and I reunite, I curled up for nap number eight.

Because in this near perfect town, where even sandwiches go woof, Bucky, the somewhat unlikely pet detective, reigns supreme.

Sweet dreams, Spencerville. Until our next outlandish caper, I bid you ado. Or should I say…a-doo-doo.

The End.