Post #4: "The Case of the Vanishing Sandwich"
It started simple. One ham sandwich. Mine. Or at least I thought it was.
Lee left it on the counter — fresh bread, real mayo, extra pickles (the fancy kind she pretends not to like but always buys anyway). She said, "Bear, don’t touch that." Which, as far as I’m concerned, was an invitation.
Except when I came back… it was gone. Plate clean. No crumbs. No scent trail. Vanished like a magician’s trick.
Naturally, I opened an investigation. Step one: sniff perimeter. Step two: glare at all suspects. Step three: sniff again, just in case.
Wesley stopped by and swore he didn’t take it. He even offered me half a doughnut as a peace treaty. Suspicious. Callie claimed she’d been at the bookstore all morning, but her purse smelled faintly of mustard.
Lee, meanwhile, laughed. Laughed! Said it "probably wasn’t important." Not important? That was lunch!
Long story short, I found the truth three hours later. The sandwich had fallen behind the counter, perfectly preserved in a cool little sandwich grave. Mystery solved. Dignity intact. And yes, I ate it.
Lee says I’m dramatic. I say I’m thorough.
Post #3: "Fog, Fish, and Foolish Humans"
Humans say fog rolls in gentle, like a whisper. Lies. It slinks, crawls, and sticks to your fur like cold pudding. Lee calls it "atmospheric." I call it wet disappointment.
We went up Quarry Hill last night — against my better judgment, which, as usual, went unheard. The air smelled like iron and secrets, and every shadow looked like it might lunge. Lee says we were there to "follow a lead." I say we were there because she’s got that look again — the one that means she’s chasing ghosts instead of dinner.
I don’t trust fog. It hides things. It makes sound go sideways, like when you bark and it comes back from behind you. That’s not right. And there was something in it, too. Not a person — at least not a living one. Something wrong.
Lee didn’t see it, of course. She just kept walking, notebook out, all brave and oblivious. I stayed close, ears twitching. Whatever it was out there… it moved quiet. Too quiet.
We made it home eventually, soaked through and smelling of mystery. Lee started scribbling notes by the fire. I curled up beside her, half-listening. She said the words "missing will," "guardianship," and "1913." That’s people talk for "trouble."
Anyway, I’m keeping watch. Fog season brings more than mist — it brings memories. And sometimes, things that shouldn’t still be walking around.
Also, Lee owes me a fish sandwich.
Post #2: "The Mailman’s Secret"
I like the mailman. He’s steady. He scratches behind my ears before heading up the walk. And he always smells faintly of peppermint and ink—two things I’ve learned to trust. But last week, he didn’t smell like himself. He smelled like… paint. Not the fresh, cheery kind Anita uses on her shutters. No. This was old paint. Oil-based. Sticky. The kind that clings to clothes long after it’s dry. I tilted my head, sniffed harder. He patted me like always, but he avoided looking at Lee when he handed her the envelopes. Humans do that when they’re carrying more than mail. I can’t tell you what’s in his secret, not yet. But secrets have a scent, and his was heavy that day, clinging to the seams of his jacket like something he couldn’t wash off. Lee tucked the mail under her arm, distracted. I just watched him walk away, tail flicking once. When you’ve lived in a place as long as I have, you know the difference between normal and not-normal. And the mailman was definitely not-normal that day.
"Why I’m Writing This"
Hello, friends.
My name is Bear. Yes, that Bear—the one who keeps Lee out of trouble, or at least tries. She thinks she’s the detective around here, but between you and me, I’m the one who finds the important clues. Sometimes they just smell like bacon or muddy boots, but they always matter.
Lee said people like reading stories about Cliffside Haven. That makes sense—it’s a good place. Lots of sea air, gulls to watch, and more mysteries than even I can sniff out. But the thing is, she doesn’t always tell it the way I see it. So, I decided to start this blog.
Here’s what you can expect from me:
- Reports from my daily patrols. (Important things, like who smelled of fish, who dropped crumbs, and which shadows didn’t belong.)
- Case notes. (I don’t always get the credit, but I’m the one who nudges Lee toward the right drawer, the right door, the right person.)
- Opinions on humans. (Some are good. Some smell wrong. I’ll let you know.)
- Nap reviews. (Best windowsills, sofas, and sunny patches. I take this work very seriously.)
I don’t use big words. I don’t need to. A good nose, sharp ears, and a loyal heart are better than a thousand fancy sentences.
So welcome to my blog. I’ll keep it short, because the tide’s coming in, and that means the air is carrying new scents from the cliffs. Might be just salt and seaweed. Might be something more. Either way, I’ll be there first.
Until next time—keep your eyes sharp, your nose sharper, and never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs.