The time, approximately 5:30 am. The place, the mean tree-lined streets of Canterbury, CT. The crime is murder. This is my beat. I am Fluffy. I solve crimes.

“What’s the story, Snick?” I said.

“Well I think—“ Snickers said. The chocolate Lab pup was quivering with excitement.

“Cut the nonsense. Give me the facts. Just the facts.”

Snickers ran in a tight circle, tail wagging. Finally he sat down and calmed himself.

“At 5:03 I was making my rounds when I came across a puddle of liquid and shards of glass, on the living room floor,” Snickers said. I remember when I was a pup myself, wet nose, no brains, all heart.

“Good boy,” I said. Snickers started to wiggle again but nipped at his leg to cover his nervous energy. “Assess.”

“Well first I thought someone peed the rug and forgot.” I cuffed his head. “Then I decided one of the humans made a mess in the middle of the night. You know the humans have been weird lately. Sleeping late, staying up to all hours, day drinking.”

I cuffed him again. “Use your senses,” I scolded.

We inhaled. The nose always knows. The answer flashed.

“I smell…fish. Fresh fish and…” Snickers’ eyes narrowed and then recognition dawned across his adorable Lillie face. “And faint traces of Mr. Belvedere. Old Scratchy managed to get his fat butt up the bookshelf and knock over the new fishbowl.”

“Exactly.” My chest swelled with pride. The puppy was coming along nicely for a Labrador.

“But this bookshelf is over six feet. Nothing is out of place.”

I walked away from the ex-fish and headed for that sunny patch in the laundry by the back door. “Remember what I told you.”

“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” answered Snickers.

“No.” I stretched in the patch of warmth and walked in a circle.

“Just cause there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there isn’t a fire in the kitchen?” Snickers cocked his head super cutely.

“No.” I circled again and curled into sleep.”

“I know, I know. The cat always did it,” Snickers yipped. I raised a weary eyebrow. I gave him a nod and the puppy ran off to worry Mr. Belvedere.

“Good boy, Snick, good boy.”