Free Selby's Shemozzle by Duncan Ball

cent
sawdust-free. That’s only eighty per cent sawdust. They keep putting more and more sawdust in them. What kind of people would do a thing like that?’
    Suddenly a light went on in Selby’s head.
    â€˜Hey!’ he thought. ‘It says that Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits are made by DMDB Enterprises over in Poshfield. I think I’ll just nip over there for a look.’
    On the edge of Poshfield, Selby found a big building with a sign that said:
    DMDB Enterprises
The home of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits
    Then there was a picture of a smiling dog and, under it, the words:
    If he could talk, he’d ask for Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits.
    â€˜I can talk,’ Selby thought, ‘and there’s no way I’d ask for them.’
    Selby peered in through a filthy window. Inside the building, a huge machine cranked out rows and rows of dog biscuits and put them into packets. Selby opened a steel door and crept inside. The floor was covered in grease and water, and the air was filled with smoke and steam.
    â€˜This is weird,’ Selby thought as he looked up at the tanks and tubes and conveyor belts that crisscrossed the building. ‘There are no people here. It’s all automatic.’
    Selby took a dog biscuit from the conveyor belt, nibbled a corner off it, and then spat it on the floor.
    â€˜Yuck!’ he cried. ‘These are worse than before! No wonder. The packets now say
five
per cent sawdust-free! Ninety-five per cent is sawdust!’
    Suddenly Selby heard voices arguing behind him.
    â€˜Bartleby Boffin!’ one of them boomed. ‘I own this company and you’ll do as I say!’
    â€˜But — but Mr Dorset,’ the other man said, ‘we can’t put any more sawdust in them. They’re ninety-five per cent sawdust already.’
    â€˜It’s Denis Dorset!’ Selby thought. ‘The mayor of Poshfield! So he’s the guy who owns Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. I might have known.’
    â€˜We have to cut costs,’ Denis said. ‘I’m not making enough money. Sawdust is really really cheap, Bart. Put more in. Make the biscuits ninety-nine per cent sawdust.’
    â€˜But Mr Dorset, we can’t possibly write that they’re only one per cent sawdust-free on the label. Dogs will hate them.’
    â€˜You’re missing the whole point, you lunkhead,’ Denis Dorset said.
‘Dogs
don’t buy dog biscuits.
People
buy dog biscuits. And dogs can’t talk, so they can’t tell their owners how awful the dreadful things taste.’
    â€˜Ninety-nine per cent sawdust,’ Bartleby said. ‘Dog owners will notice.’
    â€˜Okay then, don’t call it sawdust.’
    â€˜But we have to say what’s in them.’
    â€˜Call it Vitamin S — S for sawdust. Now just do as I say or I’ll sack you the way I sacked everyone else.’
    â€˜Okay,’ Bart said meekly. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s time to close up for the night.’
    â€˜Don’t you dare! You stay and keep the machine running. We need to make another ten thousand packets tonight. You can order some takeaway food for yourself if you get hungry.’
    Denis Dorset sped off in his long limousine while Bartleby Boffin turned a few knobs and dials and then took a spoonful of dog biscuit mix and ate it.
    â€˜Disgusting!’ he said. ‘Tastes like old socks. Poor dogs — I feel sorry for them. And to think, Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits are about to taste even worse.’
    Suddenly the man noticed Selby.
    â€˜Hello, little guy,’ he said. ‘How did you get in here?’
    He leant down and gave Selby a pat.
    â€˜I love dogs,’ he said. ‘And that makes my job even harder.’
    Bartleby Boffin scooped up some of the dogbiscuit mix in a spoon and gave it to Selby. Selby licked it and then spat it out.
    â€˜Awful, isn’t it?’ the man said. ‘Sorry about that. Follow me, boy, and I’ll give you some