The Dog That Was “Too Cheerful”
The police station was quiet that morning. At around ten o’clock, the door swung open and in walked a woman in her seventies, holding the leash of a round, reddish dog. The animal bounded forward, tail wagging furiously, eyes gleaming with unusual energy.
“Good morning. I need to speak with your chief,” the woman said firmly.
The duty officer blinked in confusion.
“Do you want to file a report, ma’am?”
“No. I want to share something important. A secret. About my dog… and maybe something bigger.”
The officer glanced at the dog, who was now pawing at the counter, panting happily.
“Your dog?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “He’s… how can I put it… far too cheerful. Too much.”
The officer hesitated. “If he’s unwell, there’s a veterinary clinic across the street.”
“No!” she snapped. “You don’t understand. I live alone. I’m with him every day. This isn’t normal joy—he acts like he’s on… substances.”
The officer frowned. “You think your dog is… taking drugs?”
“I don’t know. But please—let someone check him. Something isn’t right.”
One young officer whispered, “Should we call a doctor? Or social services?” But the senior sergeant, seasoned and cautious, stepped forward.
“Bring her into the interview room. I’ll talk to her.”
Inside, the woman sat down. Her dog, still buzzing with energy, paced in circles at her feet.
“How long has he been like this?” the sergeant asked.
“A week. Before that he was slow, calm—like an older dog should be.”
“What do you feed him?”
“Always the same brand. Food for elderly dogs. One bowl morning, one evening. Filtered water, no extras. We walk twice a day—park in the morning, lake in the evening.”
“And where do you buy the food?”
“Usually the shop near my house. But the last bag I ordered online—delivered by courier. Same label, same flavor. Yet a few days later, he started bouncing like this.”
The sergeant ordered the food and bowl to be tested, and vets ran bloodwork on the dog.
Two days later, the results stunned the team. The dog food contained traces of synthetic stimulants—illegal compounds disguised as harmless additives. The packaging looked genuine but was counterfeit. The dog’s blood confirmed accumulation of these substances, explaining his manic behavior.
Investigators traced the source to a warehouse distributing “fake” pet food. The scheme was disturbing: dogs were given microdoses of psychoactive chemicals, slowly creating dependency. Owners would then unknowingly keep buying that brand, thinking their pets simply loved it.
Thanks to the woman’s persistence, police uncovered at least a dozen other cases in nearby districts. A wave of raids on suppliers and online sellers followed.
When the sergeant called her back, he said simply, “Ma’am, you may have saved dozens of families.” He handed her an official certificate of appreciation.
At her feet, the dog—fresh from detox treatment—sat drowsily, far calmer than before.
The woman smiled. “I hope he goes back to being lazy, like he used to.”
The sergeant chuckled. “If not, we’ll be here. And we’ll keep an eye on him—just in case.”
Both laughed, the tension finally broken.
