Chapter 2: The Trail of Pawprints

The scooter screeched to a stop outside a bustling park. Ace leapt off like an action hero dismounting a speeding horse, while Stanley cautiously climbed out of the sidecar, clutching his pajama top to keep it from flapping in the wind.

"Alrighty then!" Ace proclaimed, hands on his hips as he surveyed the park. "The perfect place for a pup's pilgrimage or a perpetrator's plot. Let's sniff out some clues!"

Stanley looked around nervously. "You really think Milo could be here?"

Ace pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slid them onto his face with a flourish. "The only thing I think is that I'm always right. And right now, my gut tells me…" He inhaled deeply through his nose. "…peanut butter sandwiches and… wet dog."

"That could be any dog," Stanley pointed out.

"Ah, but not every dog is Milo. His scent…" Ace bent down and sniffed the ground like a bloodhound. "…is distinct. A mix of liver treats, mystery shampoo, and… shame from wearing that goofy sweater you put him in."

"How do you know about the sweater?" Stanley asked, surprised.

"Intuition, my pajama-clad friend. Also, there's fur on your pants with a faint trace of wool. Bam!" Ace turned to a passing jogger, pretending to blow smoke from imaginary pistols.

As they walked further into the park, Ace's antics continued. He crouched behind a tree to "spy" on a group of squirrels, performed an impromptu dance routine for a startled duck, and at one point attempted to scale a fountain, declaring, "The higher the vantage point, the closer to truth!"

Stanley groaned. "You're not even looking for Milo, are you?"

"On the contrary, my doubting client," Ace said, sliding down the fountain with a splash. "I am always looking. Observe!" He pointed dramatically at a patch of mud near a bench.

Stanley squinted. "What is it?"

"Pawprints!" Ace exclaimed, diving to the ground like a detective in a crime drama. "Four toes, rounded pads… this is our boy." He traced the tracks with his finger, then stuck it in his mouth. "Yep. Fresh. Within the last hour."

Stanley recoiled. "Did you just taste the mud?"

"I prefer to think of it as immersive detection," Ace replied, standing up. "The trail heads toward… that hotdog stand! Move it, pajama man!"

The two hurried over to the stand, where a vendor was handing out mustard-slathered hotdogs to a line of customers. Ace approached the man with an exaggerated swagger.

"Excuse me, fine purveyor of processed meats. Did you happen to see a small, adorably scruffy dog pass this way?"

The vendor raised an eyebrow. "You mean the one that stole my sausage earlier?"

Ace gasped. "Sausage theft! A classic Milo maneuver. Where did he go?"

The vendor pointed toward a nearby alley. "Ran off that way. Little guy was fast."

"Thank you, my good sir. Your cooperation will not go unnoticed. Unless it does." Ace saluted, grabbed a hotdog, and tossed a handful of change on the counter. "Keep the ketchup warm!" He then looked down at the hotdog. "I'm sorry about this, Wilbur, but I'm starving.

"Are you even paying attention?" Stanley asked as Ace scarfed down the hotdog in three bites.

"Always," Ace mumbled through a mouthful. "To the alley!"

The alley was narrow, shadowy, and littered with garbage. Stanley hesitated, but Ace strode in with the confidence of a man who'd seen worse—and probably caused it.

"Milo! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Ace called, whistling.

Suddenly, a faint yip echoed from the far end of the alley. Stanley's heart leapt. "That's him!"

Ace held up a hand. "Wait. Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Stanley whispered.

"The sound of danger. Possibly a cat. Possibly a trash panda. Either way, we proceed with caution." Ace pulled a snorkel from his bag and strapped it to his face.

"Why do you have a snorkel?" Stanley asked.

"Why don't you have a snorkel? Think about it." Ace crouched low, moving toward the sound. As they reached the end of the alley, they saw Milo sitting happily beside an overturned garbage can, wagging his tail.

"Milo!" Stanley cried, running toward his dog. Milo barked excitedly and leapt into Stanley's arms.

"Ah, reunited at last," Ace said, dabbing his eyes with a tissue. "It's enough to make a grown man weep. Not me, of course. I'm too tough."

But just as they turned to leave, a shadow loomed behind them. A deep, menacing growl filled the alley. Ace froze, then turned slowly.

"Well," he said, staring at a massive, snarling dog. "Looks like we found the real sausage thief. Time to make like your ex-girlfriend… and get outta here!"

To be continued...