18/05/2025
Eddy the Gingerdog and the Phantom Pooper
In the seaside town of Lee-on-the-Solent, where salty breezes ruffled fur and furrowed brows, lived a clever cockapoo named Eddy. With caramel curls, sharp eyes, and a nose for sniffing out the truth, Eddy was known across the town as “The Nose Who Knows.”
But Eddy never worked alone.
His partner in paw-sleuthing was Fatty the Bagman—a round-bellied fellow with a booming laugh, cargo shorts full of dog treats, and more poo bags than the council bins could handle.
One Tuesday morning, as the sun crept up over the Solent and the gulls cackled suspiciously, the peaceful promenade turned sour.
“It’s happened again!” groaned Mrs. Penfold, whose hydrangeas were under siege.
“Another nasty pile right outside the bakery!” called Mr. Gill from behind his window of sausage rolls.
Eddy growled. Fatty frowned.
This was no ordinary mess.
This was the work of the Phantom Pooper.
Clue #1: It always happened early—before breakfast walkers hit the beach.
Clue #2: The crime scenes were pristine lawns and flowerbeds.
Clue #3: No one had ever seen it happen.
“Time to sniff out the truth,” said Eddy, adjusting his imaginary detective hat.
Fatty nodded and patted his treat pouch. “Let’s bag us a bandit.”
That night, they staked out the coastal park—Eddy hiding behind the bins, Fatty wedged awkwardly behind a bush, armed with a notebook, a torch, and three sausage rolls for morale.
At 6:03 AM, footsteps echoed along the path.
It wasn’t a dog.
It was Mr. Peabody, the proud owner of a purse-sized Chihuahua named Princess Cupcake, strutting like a parade float.
Cupcake paused by the roses.
Squat. Plop.
And Mr. Peabody?
He walked away.
No bag. No bend. Not even a glance.
Fatty leapt from the bush and tripped over a root. Eddy sprang into action.
“Aha! Caught in the act!” he barked.
Mr. Peabody froze. “Wh-what’s the meaning of this?!”
“You, sir,” said Fatty, brushing off a leaf and pointing a sausage roll like a baton, “are the Phantom Pooper!”
Cupcake yipped, “Told him to bring bags. Told him every time.”
Later that day, the townsfolk and their four-legged companions gathered outside the ice cream kiosk for a town meeting.
Fatty explained the evidence with flair (and snacks), while Eddy gave a compelling bark-to-bark reenactment.
Mr. Peabody hung his head. “I just… didn’t think anyone noticed.”
“We always notice,” Eddy barked wisely. “We all love this town. We’ve all got to clean up after our own.”
From that day forward, Lee-on-the-Solent sparkled. Mr. Peabody became a changed man—founding the “Pick It Up, Pal!” Patrol, complete with neon vests and extra bags for anyone caught short.
And Eddy?
He got a new collar, a parade along the promenade, and a golden poo bag dispenser that read:
“To Eddy the Cockapoo & Fatty the Bagman — Thank you for solving The Case of the Phantom Pooper.”
The End.
Good dogs don’t p**p and dash — and neither should their humans.
