Hi. It’s me. Skye.
The blue-eyed Sheltie.
The quality control department.
The one who knows exactly how many cookies were made, because I watched every single tray come out of the oven.
My human made a few hundred Skye Biscuits this week. Hundreds. Tiny bones, paws, and heart cookies, all lined up like they were posing for a picture. The kitchen smelled like peanut butter, oats, and something warm and safe that made me sit very still on the rug and not blink.
And yet.
Somehow.
My personal stash is… missing.
Now don’t get me wrong. I understand the mission. These biscuits are handmade, small batch, and meant for very good dogs. I know they’re heading out to friends and neighbors. I know the humans are excited. I heard the words “we’re out already” and “next batch needs more trays.”
But here’s the thing no one talks about.
Every baker needs inventory control.
And every Sheltie needs her tiny bones.
When my human bakes, I take my job seriously. I supervise. I sniff. I test for consistency. I confirm crunch. I make sure there are no strange smells, no weird textures, no funny business. I do not accept fillers. I do not accept junk. And I definitely do not accept preservatives.
I also expect compensation.
Usually, that compensation comes in the form of a small pile of imperfect cookies. You know the ones. Slightly too brown. One paw missing a toe. A heart that leaned a little to the left. Those are my cookies. Those are the wages of labor.
This week?
The trays were perfect.
Too perfect.
The tiny bones were crisp. The paws were clean. The hearts were shaped like actual hearts, not the weird blobs humans sometimes call hearts. Which is great for business. Less great for Skye’s private reserve.
I watched them cool.
I watched them get counted.
I watched them get packed.
And then I watched them leave.
This is how I know two things can be true at the same time.
One: I am proud of my human.
Two: I would like my stash back immediately.
I am not asking for much. A bone here. A paw there. Maybe one heart, just so I can pretend it was an accident. I am a reasonable Sheltie. I understand supply and demand. I understand small batch production. I even understand that it’s only Tuesday and somehow we’re already out.
But morale matters.
A dog who works this hard needs reinforcement. Not just praise. Not just “good girl.” Physical inventory. Crunchy proof.
The good news is I overheard something important. Something hopeful. Something that made my ears go up.
Cheese.
Next batch, there may be cheese involved. Which tells me two things. First, production is expanding. Second, the quality control role just became more serious. Cheese is not to be taken lightly. Cheese requires vigilance. Cheese requires dedication. Cheese requires taste testing at multiple stages.
I am prepared.
Until then, I will continue my watch. I will monitor the pantry. I will check the counter when no one is looking. I will sit politely near the oven, just in case a tray slips. I am nothing if not patient.
But let the record show:
I noticed.
I counted.
And I remember where the tiny bones used to be.
Don’t order skyebiscuit.com or I’ll run out!