Selby's Shemozzle Page 6

  ‘I’m going to drown!’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to get back on the log.’

  Selby scrambled up onto the log again as he watched Bertha thrashing around in the swirling water.

  ‘I have to speak now or she’ll drown!’ he thought. And then he said out loud, ‘Hey, lady! Stop struggling and I’ll pull you.’

  ‘What was that?’ Bertha spluttered.

  ‘Don’t let go of the leash!’ Selby cried. ‘Hang on tight! Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes, I think I can!’ she yelled back.

  Selby crept across the log, pulling the woman alongside till she finally crawled ashore on the muddy bank.

  ‘You’re going to be okay,’ Selby said. ‘Just rest for a minute and everything’s going to be all right.’

  It was a tired and wet dog that finally made his way home, leading a big woman behind him.

  ‘This is it,’ Selby thought. ‘Now she knows my secret and everyone’s going to find out. Oh, well, it’s my own fault. I never should have tried to be a guide dog.’

  ‘Bertha!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘What happened? You’re all muddy and wet! Your clothes are all torn! What did Selby do to you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the woman said, heaving a sigh. ‘To be honest it was quite a shemozzle. He was hopeless. He almost killed me.’

  ‘I did,’ Selby thought. ‘I guess I did. And now she’s going to reveal my secret. Maybe I should say something first.’

  Selby was just about to say, ‘Okay, so I’m a hopeless guide dog and I’m sorry about that but at least I saved her life', when suddenly Bertha spoke.

  ‘Of course, it was all my fault,’ the woman said. ‘Fortunately a very kind man helped me to safety and, to tell the truth, I had the best adventure I’ve had for years!’

  ‘And so did I,’ Selby thought, sighing with relief that his secret was still safe. ‘So did I.’

  Paw note: See the story ‘Selby Snowbound’ in the book Selby Snowbound.

  S

  Dry-Mouth Drama

  ‘Stop! Don’t eat that!’ Mrs Trifle said as she took a biscuit out of Dr Trifle’s hand.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘It’s just a Heavenly Munch Suga-Kreem Caramel Biscuit.’

  ‘And it’s the very worst thing you could eat!’

  ‘But I love Heavenly Munch Biscuits. They taste great. You make it sound like they’ve been poisoned.’

  ‘They might as well have been. Do you know how much fat is in them?’

  Dr Trifle looked at the packet.

  ‘It says “Fifty per cent fat-free",’ he said. ‘That means that only half of them have fat in them and the other half don’t. I’ll just pick out the fat-free ones and throw the other ones away. Now, how can I tell which is which?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean that at all. Fifty per cent fat-free means that half of each and every biscuit is fat. And that’s really bad for you.’

  ‘But they’re yummy.’

  ‘Well, you’re not having any!’ Mrs Trifle threw the packet in the rubbish and took something from the cupboard. ‘You can have one of these Nature-Good Ultra-Thin No-Fat Dry Rice Wafers — but only one.’

  ‘But those things are terrible. They disappear when they touch your tongue. And they taste like sawdust.’

  ‘They’re good for you. Eat one and then let’s go for a good, long power walk to burn off the calories.’

  ‘Dr Trifle has nothing to complain about,’ Selby thought after the Trifles had gone out. ‘They’re just lucky they don’t have to eat what they feed me. Those Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits are disgusting!’

  Selby looked at the label on a new packet of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits.

  ‘“Ten per cent sawdust-free.” I guess that’s not too bad,’ Selby thought. ‘Now hang on a tick! Ten per cent sawdust-free means that it’s ninety per cent sawdust! I might as well eat a log! What am I, a termite? I’m sure they never used to have this much sawdust in them.’

  Selby grabbed the old packet of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits.

  ‘Just as I thought! This packet says that it’s twenty per 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.

  ‘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.

  ‘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.

  ‘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.

  ‘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.

  ‘Bartleby Boffin!’ one of them boomed. ‘I own this company and you’ll do as I say!’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘But Mr Dorset, we can’t possibly write that they’re only one per cent sawdust-free on the label. Dogs will hate them.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘Ninety-nine per cent sawdust,’ Bartleby said. ‘Dog owners will notice.’

  ‘Okay then, don’t call it sawdust.’

  ‘But we have to say what’s in them.’

  ‘Call it Vitamin S — S for sawdust. Now just do as I say or I’ll sack you the way I sacked everyone else.’

  ‘Okay,’ Bart said meekly. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s time to close up for the night.’

  ‘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.

  ‘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.

  ‘Hello, little guy,’ he said. ‘How did you get in here?’

  He leant down and gave Selby a pat.

  ‘I love dogs,’ he said. ‘And that makes my job even harder.’

  Bartleby Boffin scooped up some of the dog biscuit mix in a spoon and gave it to Selby. Selby licked it and then spat it out.

  ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ the man said. ‘Sorry about that. Follow me, boy, and I’ll give you some decent food.’

  Selby followed the man into a laboratory. There on the shelves were boxes an
d boxes of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits, each one with a date written on it. He opened one.

  ‘Have one of these,’ he said. ‘Thirty years old. That’s when we used to make excellent dog biscuits — long before Mayor Dorset took over.’

  Selby tasted it.

  ‘Not bad,’ he thought. ‘Not as good as people-food, but not too bad.’

  ‘You’re making me hungry, dog,’ the man said. ‘Now to get some food for myself …’

  The man picked up the phone and dialled.

  ‘Is that The Spicy Onion? I’d like to order some takeaway food, please.’

  ‘The Spicy Onion,’ Selby sighed in his mind. ‘I love that place. This guy has good taste in food after all.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like one of those rice dishes with everything in it. Yes, that’s the one. That’s for me, Bartleby Boffin at the Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit Factory in Poshfield. Thanks.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Selby thought. ‘He doesn’t know about their peanut prawns, the most delicious food in the whole world! How can I tell him?’

  As soon as the man went out into the factory again, Selby picked up the telephone.

  ‘The Spicy Onion? Bartleby Boffin here,’ Selby said, imitating Bart’s voice. ‘Cancel the rice thingy and bring me an order of peanut prawns, please.’

  Within a few minutes the food had been delivered and Bart sat at a bench ready to eat.

  ‘Hmmm, what are these?’ he said. ‘They smell like prawns cooked in some sort of peanut sauce. They must have brought me the wrong order.’

  The man took one bite and then another and another until he was down to the last prawn.

  ‘This is heavenly!’ he sighed. ‘It has to be the most delicious food in the whole world! Here, boy, the last one’s for you.’

  Selby gobbled the last prawn, and in a flash the man picked up the phone again.

  ‘The Spicy Onion?’ he said. ‘It’s me again, Bart Boffin at Dry-Mouth. Could you send me another two orders of peanut prawns. No, make that five.’

  ‘Five orders of peanut prawns!’ Selby thought. ‘Oh goody. I wonder if he’ll give me some more.’

  ‘I’ve just changed my mind,’ said Bart.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Selby thought.

  ‘Instead of five orders, bring me one hundred orders. Yes, one hundred. One zero zero. And make it snappy.’

  ‘He’s gone completely bonkers!’ Selby thought. ‘He’s been working too hard and eating too much dog food. He can’t possibly eat one hundred orders of peanut prawns even if I help him.’

  Soon the Spicy Onion van had unloaded the one hundred orders of peanut prawns and driven off. For the next hour, Selby and Bart ate peanut prawns till they were sick of them. But there were still ninety-five containers left.

  ‘I’ll bet you’re wondering what I’m going to do with these,’ the man said to Selby. ‘Just watch.’

  Bart emptied one after another of the containers of peanut prawns into the dog biscuit mix.

  ‘If you’re anything like other dogs,’ he said to Selby, ‘then dogs are going to love these new biscuits. Who cares if I get the sack? At least I will have made a few dogs happy.’

  ‘What a nice man,’ Selby thought as he smelled the heavenly smell of the new peanut prawn-flavoured biscuits coming along the conveyor belt.

  Bartleby Boffin picked up a biscuit and broke it in half. He gave half to Selby and ate the other half himself.

  ‘Not as good as real peanut prawns,’ Selby thought, ‘but still delicious.’

  ‘Delicious,’ Bart said, agreeing with Selby without knowing it.

  The first hint that something strange was about to happen came with sounds in the distance.

  ‘What’s that?’ Selby thought as the sounds grew louder and louder. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it before. It sounds like a stampede!’

  Sure enough, dogs from all around Poshfield and Bogusville ran towards the wonderful smell that came from the factory. Within a minute a huge pack of dogs had rounded the corner of the building and come in through the open door. They tore by Selby and Bart and started grabbing biscuits and jumping into the vat of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit mix.

  ‘This is fantastic!’ cried Bart. ‘These are going to be the greatest biscuits ever!’

  ‘Have you seen the price of the new Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits?’ Dr Trifle asked Mrs Trifle when he held up a package of New Improved Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits with Vitamin PP. ‘They’re twice as expensive as the old ones.’

  ‘Yes, but Selby loves them,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He ate the whole package we bought yesterday.’

  ‘They smell yummy,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I could eat them myself.’

  ‘Apparently the Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit Company is doing huge business in them,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Denis Dorset must be getting very rich.’

  ‘Well, that part of it is too bad,’ Selby thought. ‘But at least I’ve made a lot of dogs very happy — including myself.’

  ‘This may sound funny,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘but they smell a bit like those lovely peanut prawns they make at The Spicy Onion Restaurant.’

  ‘Goodness, I think you’re right — but they can’t be,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking at the label. ‘Ifthey were anything like that there would have to be a warning that there are peanuts in them.’

  ‘Really? What’s wrong with peanuts?’

  ‘Nothing, usually. It’s just that some people — and that goes for dogs too — are allergic to peanuts. They can even die from eating them, so every food that has peanuts in it has to say so on the label.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Selby thought. ‘What have I done?! Dogs could be dropping dead all over the place because of me! Okay, it’s very unlikely, but if even one dog died because of me, I’d hate myself. What a shemozzle! I’ve got to do something — but what?’

  All night long Selby lay awake on his mat thinking of a dog that might be choking on a New Improved Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit with Vitamin PP. In the morning, after the Trifles had each had a Nature-Good Ultra-Thin No-Fat Dry Rice Wafer and were out for their power walk, Selby ran to the telephone and dialled Denis Dorset.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Dorset,’ Selby said. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about something.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about your New Improved Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits with Vitamin PP.’

  ‘Aha! So you’d like to place an order, would you? I’m afraid there’s a six-month waiting list. I’m now getting orders from all around the world. We’re about to build a bigger factory.’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ Selby said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I happen to know that Vitamin PP stands for peanut prawns. And peanut prawns have peanuts in them, and peanuts can be very dangerous. If you don’t stop making them, I’ll sue you.’

  ‘You’ll what? Who are you?’

  ‘None of your business. All you need to know is that I had one of your new dog biscuits and I landed in hospital. I almost choked to death because I’m allergic to peanut prawns. And now I’m going to sue you if you don’t stop making them.’

  ‘That happened to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But dog biscuits are for dogs,’ Denis Dorset said. ‘You’re not a dog, are you?’

  ‘Yes — I mean, no. I mean, it was actually my dog that was allergic. And he can’t sue you — because he’s a dog — but I’m going to. And I’m going to tell everyone in the government and they’ll close down your factory.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘This is blackmail,’ Denis Dorset said.

  ‘It certainly is,’ Selby agreed. ‘And you’d better do as I say.’

  One week later it was a very hungry dog who gagged as he chewed a Classic Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit with even more Vitamin S than before. But he was a happy dog, too.

  Selby struggled not to smile as he thought of the dogs with peanut allergies that he’d saved. And he struggled even harder not to smile as he thought about getting Denis Dorset to change the mixture.
/>   Dr Trifle dropped some more biscuits into Selby’s bowl.

  ‘These dog biscuits don’t smell like the ones Selby finished last week,’ he said to Mrs Trifle. ‘Remember, those ones smelled like peanuts and prawns?’

  ‘Yes, I do remember,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But all this talk of peanuts and prawns is making me hungry. Why don’t you ring The Spicy Onion Restaurant and get an order of those lovely peanut prawns they make?’

  ‘What a good idea,’ Dr Trifle said, reaching for the telephone.

  ‘Oh, groan,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I’m going to have to watch the Trifles eat the very food that I want.’

  Selby’s Secret Diary

  ‘Selby! You wrote this, didn’t you?’ Mrs Trifle demanded, holding out the piece of paper.

  Selby stared up at Mrs Trifle, Dr Trifle and Aunt Jetty.

  ‘Now we know that you can talk just like us,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘And to think, you kept it a secret all this time because you were afraid we’d put you to work around the house.’

  ‘And because you were afraid that if your secret got out you might be dognapped and held for ransom,’ Mrs Trifle added. ‘Did you really believe that?’

  ‘Were you really afraid of becoming so famous that you’d never get a moment’s peace again?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘That’s what you wrote. It’s true that scientists would want to ask you a few questions about what it’s like to be a dog, but is that a good reason not to tell us your secret?’

  ‘Okay, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now it’s time to talk. Come on, say something.’

  Selby looked up at his owners, the Trifles, and at Aunt Jetty. He searched for the right words. But what could the right words be?

  He thought of saying, ‘I beg your pardon, Dr and Mrs Trifle, I’m awfully sorry I didn’t talk to you before but …’ No, that didn’t sound right. Or maybe, ‘Hiya, guys, how are things?’ No, that didn’t sound right either.

  Selby heaved a big sigh.

  ‘How could I have done this to the most wonderful people in the whole world?’ he asked himself. ‘I’ve been living a lie. I was so cruel! I’ve listened to all their conversations, pretending that I didn’t understand. I know all their secrets … and I guess they know my secret now.’