by Duncan Ball
“My goodness! She’s been right up in the stratosphere! Wow!” Selby said as he turned around to hop out and his tail brushed against a row of switches, starting lights flashing, buzzers buzzing and beepers beeping. “I’d love to go straight up to the stratosphere!”
“Your wish is my command,” an electronic voice from the control module said. “Casting off. Casting off.”
“Oh, no!” Selby thought as he peered out the door just in time to see the rope drop from the capsule. “Crumbs! It’s taking off with me in it!”
There was a gasp from the crowd as the balloon lifted.
“I’ve got to get out of here fast or I’m a done dog!” Selby thought as he dived out the door of the capsule — which would have been okay if his foot hadn’t caught in the seat belt that hung down outside the capsule.
“Stop that balloon!” Dame Cecily screamed as she leaped towards the dangling dog. “If that mutt finishes my round-the-world over-the-poles trip I’ll lose the prize money! Help!”
“I’ve got to get my foot loose from this contraption!” Selby thought as the world began moving away from him. “Oh, woe woe! I’m too far up now to jump and if I fall I’m a goner!”
The balloon and the dangling Selby swept along in front of the delighted reporters, whose cameras flashed and TV cameras turned, lifting towards the top of the flagpole as it went.
“My only chance is to yell instructions to the Your-Wish-Is-My-Command Control Module. I’ll just tell it to go back down,” Selby thought. “But … but … they’ll hear me. My secret will be out! The whole world will know I’m the only talking dog in Australia (and perhaps the world). I’ll be put in a laboratory and scientists will ask me dumb questions from morning till night. But if I don’t talk, I’ll be dragged up and up. I’ll suffocate in the stratosphere! Maybe I’ll freeze to death too!”
“I command you to go down!” Selby shouted. But just as he started to speak he felt the curious feeling of Tare-Knot Miracle Flag Fabric flapping against his mouth and making what he said come out more like, “Iicabubbutubugobodonnnn!” the way it would if you tried to say “I command you to go down” with a flag flapping against your mouth.
“It’s the new flag!” Selby thought as he lunged at it and grabbed a corner in his mouth. “My only hope is to hold on tight and pray the flag doesn’t rip!”
“Look! He’s holding the flag with his teeth!” Mrs Trifle yelled at Dr Trifle. “Climb the flagpole and rescue him before the balloon pulls him away!”
“I have a better idea,” said Dr Trifle, who wasn’t much good at climbing flagpoles. “I’ll just lower the flag in the usual way,” he added, pulling on one of the flag ropes. “That should pull Selby down along with the balloon.”
“Don’t just talk about it!” Selby thought, as he felt the flag slipping between his teeth. “Blinkin’ well do it!”
Cameras whirred and clicked and reporters screeched into microphones as Dr Trifle lowered the flag and grasped Selby and the dangling seat belt under one arm. A crowd rushed forward and grabbed Dame Cecily’s balloon.
“If I didn’t know better,” Dame Cecily said, as she helped lash the balloon to the flagpole, “I’d swear that dog was talking. Come to think of that, how did he get the balloon to go up?”
“You see I told you that you could bet your life that Tare-Knot Miracle Flag Fabric wouldn’t tear,” Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle as he prised the flag from Selby’s trembling mouth.
“You were right,” Selby thought as he barged past Dame Cecily on his way home to watch another episode of Balloon Flights of Long Ago. “But it wasn’t your life that was bet — it was mine!”
NOSE BUSINESS LIKE SNOW BUSINESS
“Yahoooooo! It’s my turn in a couple of minutes,” “Head-Plant” Hemholtz shouted as he looked out the window of his ski chalet at skiers jumping off the ski-jump in the annual Twisted Skis Ski-Jumping Championship. “This is my chance to win the championship at last. I’ve always wanted that Golden Twisted Skis Trophy. Grab your parkas, Dr and Mrs Trifle, and follow me. Just watch my technique!”
“I’m afraid that when it comes to technique, Head-Plant doesn’t have very much,” Dr Trifle said as the skier raced towards the ski-jump. “If he’d only land on his feet, I’m sure there would be a big improvement. Do you know that the only time he ever landed on his feet, he skidded off the slope and right into the back of an ambulance?”
“At least he got to hospital very quickly that time,” Mrs Trifle said as she buckled up her boots. “Poor HP. It’s very kind of him to let us stay in his chalet but it’s not much fun watching him break all his bones every year in the Twisted Skis Championship. Sometimes I wonder if he has the foggiest notion what he’s doing.”
Selby was about to follow the Trifles out into the snow when Dr Trifle turned in the doorway and stopped him.
“I’m sorry, Selby, old bean,” he said, not thinking for a minute that Selby could understand everything he was saying, “but your fur just isn’t thick enough for this cold. You’d better stay inside where it’s warm.”
“It’s not fair,” Selby thought as he watched Dr and Mrs Trifle struggle through the snow towards the ski-jump. “They bring me all the way to the Twisted Skis Ski-Jumping Championship and now they won’t let me watch. Last year I only knew Head-Plant had jumped when I heard the ambulance taking him to hospital. If only I had some warm clothing I could go out there without freezing. I’d only have to be careful that no one saw me. Why doesn’t anyone make ski parkas for dogs? But wait! I think I’ve got it!”
Selby raced to a wardrobe and got out stacks and stacks of cold-weather clothing. He pulled on a child’s parka, putting his front legs through the sleeves. Then he put on another one upside down with his hind legs poking out the sleeves.
“I may look like two midgets in a spacesuit,” Selby thought as he put on one of the parka hoods and let the other dangle between his legs, “but in all this blowing snow, no one will notice me and I can watch the ski-jumping without worrying about freezing to death.”
Selby stood in the crowd at the bottom of the ski-jump but it was snowing so heavily that he could hardly see a thing. The ski-jumpers were just blurs in the air until they touched down on the ski slope nearby.
“I think I’d rather watch them start down the jump than land. I’d better go up to the top,” Selby thought as he started up the ski-jump stairs. “That way I won’t have to see Head-Plant’s yearly catastrophe. I do hate the sight of blood and gore. Uh-oh, here he goes now.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said over the loudspeaker, “the final skier, Head-Plant Hemholtz, is about to jump. Anyone at the bottom of the jump, please move back so he doesn’t land on you. And please don’t watch unless you like blood and gore.”
Selby arrived at the top of the ski-jump and stood just above Head-Plant as the skier was about to begin his run.
“All right!” he heard Head-Plant say. “Just tell me when I can go. I just can’t wait to be sailing through the air. It’s such a great feeling. I’m not so keen on landing but.”
“I’ve got a perfect view!” Selby thought as he felt his feet go into a slow slide, bringing him straight down the runway towards Head-Plant. “Yiiiiiiikes!”
“Yiiiiikes! What’s that sliding towards me? It looks like two midgets in a spacesuit!” Head-Plant yelled as he shot off down the ski-jump with Selby sliding after him. “I’d better get out of here before it knocks me over.”
“Heeeeeeeeeeelp!” Selby screamed as he skidded on all fours, gaining on Head-Plant and looking around for something to grab hold of. “I’m going off a ski-jump without any skis! Somebody stop me! I’m sure it’s against the law!”
Just at the lip of the ski-jump Head-Plant crouched down and was about to give an extra big jump when Selby grabbed the seat of the skier’s pants in his teeth — banging his nose in the process — and the two of them went flying head-over-skis through the air.
“Not a bad take-off,” said Head
-Plant, who always went head-over-skis through the air when he went off a ski-jump, “but I wish this thing would let go of my trousers!”
“Oh, noooooo!” Selby thought. “The silly man doesn’t even know he’s supposed to keep his head up and his skis down! Even I know that, and I don’t know how to ski! I’ve got to do something fast or we’ll both land in hospital! I’ll just have to tell him what to do!”
“All right, Head-Plant,” Selby said through his teeth “just do exactly as I say and everything will be okay!”
“Wait a minute! Who are you and who do you think is doing the skiing here?” Head-Plant cried.
“Certainly not you!” Selby yelled as they tumbled over again and again. “Now straighten yourself up and put your arms down at your sides the way the other ski-jumpers do!”
“Hmmmm,” Head-Plant said, straightening up and putting his arms down. “What an interesting idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Never mind about that! Now put your skis together!” Selby shouted, pushing the skis together. “And point them up at a forty-five degree angle.”
“I don’t know anything about angles,” Head-Plant said, pointing his skis in the air, “but how’s this?”
“It’ll have to do!” Selby yelled, wiping the snow from his eyes.
Dr and Mrs Trifle watched as a big blue blur with a smaller blur, that looked like two midgets in a spacesuit sailed past them towards the bottom of the slope.
“That can’t be Head-Plant,” Dr Trifle said, peeping through his fingers at the beautiful landing. “He’s actually landed on his feet.”
“I did it! I did it!” Head-Plant yelled. “Now how do you stop these things?”
“I’m afraid it is Head-Plant,” Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle as Head-Plant skied straight through the crowd and crashed into the window of his own chalet. “I’d recognise that technique anywhere.”
The Trifles and the ambulance attendants raced forward, dragged the injured skier from the wreckage and put him on a stretcher.
“Head-Plant!” Mrs Trifle cried. “Are you alive? Can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you,” Head-Plant said, as they carried him off towards the ambulance. “Have I won the Golden Twisted Skis?”
“Just barely,” Dr Trifle answered. “I just heard the announcer. It seems you won it by a nose.”
“What they’ll never know,” Selby thought as he whipped off the ski gear and crawled out of the wreckage rubbing his sore nose, “is that it was my nose he won it by.”
SELBY SHAKEN
“Earthquake!” Mrs Trifle screamed as she jumped straight over Selby and out the window, landing in some bushes next to where Dr Trifle was clearing away some sticks and rocks.
“Good heavens!” Dr Trifle said. “Are you quite all right?”
“Didn’t you feel that earthquake?” Mrs Trifle cried. “It was just as Professor Rumblecrumble said on TV last night. It felt like a huge truck rumbling along a bumpy street.”
“The only thing I felt,” Dr Trifle said as he helped his wife out of the bushes, “was the council garbage truck rumbling along our street.”
“So it was a truck. How embarrassing,” Mrs Trifle said, turning quite pink. “I wish I hadn’t watched Great Earthquakes of the World. It’s got me so nervous. I just can’t stop thinking about the earth cracking and houses falling down and all that awful business.”
“An earthquake could never happen here in Bogusville,” Dr Trifle (who hadn’t watched Great Earthquakes of the World) said. “Stop worrying.”
“I wish there was something to take my mind off earthquakes,” Mrs Trifle said with a sigh."Something soothing.”
“I’ve got just what you need. Tonight The Screaming Mimis are making a recording at the Bijou Theatre,” Dr Trifle said, referring to the famous pop supergroup. “Apparently they need an audience to help make some noises.”
Inside the house, Selby (who had seen Great Earthquakes of the World) and who would have jumped out the window too if he hadn’t been too busy searching for a pesky flea to notice the rumbling, pricked up his ears.
“Noises is right,” Mrs Trifle said. “They make more noise than a jumbo jet. I’m sure I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“She has a point,” Selby thought as he remembered the time he got stuck in the Mimis’ Computerised High-Pitched Ear-Piercing Brain-Scrambling Blaster during one of their rock concerts.
“They’re not using their Computerised High-Pitched Brain-Scrambling Blaster,” Dr Trifle said. “They’re only making soothing noises now.”
“Are you quite sure?” Mrs Trifle asked.
“Apparently they’re making a whole record with songs about nature. It’s going to be called Earthsongs. They need people to babble like brooks and whistle like the wind apparently. It should be quite soothing music.”
“What sort of people do they need?”
“Clever people like us, I should imagine.”
“I can’t believe it!” Selby thought. “My favourite pop supergroup, The Screaming Mimis, making a record! That Mimi is so great! I just must see her perform, even if I have to sneak in.
When Dr and Mrs Trifle arrived at the theatre that night they saw half of Bogusville seated in the audience. What they didn’t see as they took their seats was Selby creeping in behind them and hiding under Mrs Trifle’s seat.
“That’s her! That’s Mimi!” Selby thought as he peered out through a forest of legs towards the stage. “I can’t wait to hear these nature songs.” He nibbled the fur of his leg, searching for the flea that had been biting him all day.
“You’re probably wondering what all this is about,” Mimi said into the microphone. “Well we’re making a concept album called Earthsongs and we needed some very ordinary people like yourselves to help out. Each song on the record is about a natural disaster like a cyclone or a rockslide or a tidal wave or a volcano exploding. What we want you to do is whistle, break sticks, bang rocks together and stuff like that. We’ll pass around all the necessary materials when the time comes. Got the picture?”
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Selby thought. “She’s so terrific! Even the way she holds the microphone is exciting.”
“While I sing and play the Scream-o-phone,” Mimi continued, “Slam-Bam Benson here will play the Wobble-board and the Explosion-simulator. Okay?”
“Scream-o-phone? Wobble-board? Explosion-simulator? It doesn’t sound very soothing,” Mrs Trifle whispered to Dr Trifle.
“At least it should take your mind off earthquakes,” Dr Trifle answered.
For three hours, The Screaming Mimis recorded each song over and over to get the sounds just the way they wanted them. The audience whistled till their lips were cracked, roared till their throats were sore, banged rocks together till their fingers tingled and screamed themselves silly.
“I’m exhausted,” Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle. “All this rock and stick business is more tiring than gardening. What sort of music do you think they call this?”
“I’m really not sure that it’s music at all,” Mrs Trifle said in a raspy voice. “Doesn’t music have to have notes in it?”
“I don’t know if it’s music either,” Selby thought as he lay back on one elbow, “but I haven’t had such a good time for years.”
“Please sit down!” Mimi yelled as some of the audience started to leave. “We’ve got one more song to do. If we don’t finish this one, we don’t have a record. Okay, now which one are we going to do, Slam?” she asked Slam-Bam.
“This one’s called ‘Earthpeace',” Slam Bam said."It’s a quiet one.”
“Oh, Slam,” Mimi said. “Not a quiet one. That’s no fun. Can’t we do another disaster track?”
“No we can’t!” Slam-Bam boomed. “This one’s supposed to sound like the calm after the storm. You agreed.”
“Okay, okay, keep your shirt on,” Mimi said, then turned to the audience. “Now listen carefully. We only have enough tape for one take so we’ve got to make this one co
unt. No mistakes. It’s simple. All you have to do is some gentle blowing, like a breeze in the trees, and the whistling of birds. Okay, ready, set, go!”
Selby was just puckering up to add to the breeze noise when he felt the flea he’d been after all day on the back of his front leg and began scratching furiously with his hind paw. All of which would have been okay if his leg hadn’t pounded the floor making a thumping noise that sounded sort of like a truck rumbling along a bumpy street.
“Hey! Who’s doing that?” Mimi screamed. “Stop it right now! It’s ruining the song!”
Just then something in Mrs Trifle’s brain snapped. “It’s an earthquake!” she cried. “Earthquake!”
All through the audience (all of whom had seen Great Earthquakes of the World the night before), brains snapped like breaking sticks. Suddenly there were screams of “Earthquake!” and “Help!” and “Save us!” and other things that you can’t write in a book like this, and they thundered out of the theatre leaving the stunned Mimi standing on stage.
“It’s all my fault!” Selby thought as he crept along an empty aisle towards a side window. “I started a stampede! I ruined the record! Mimi will never come back to Bogusville again. This is a real disaster!”
“That was great!” Mimi suddenly yelled to Slam-Bam. “It sounded just like a mob of simple villagers fleeing an earthquake.”
“That’s just what it was: the simple villagers of Bogusville fleeing an earthquake,” Slam-Bam said. “We can call it, ‘Villagers Fleeing'. Now let’s get out of this dump and back to civilisation before there’s another earthquake.”
“A better title would be,” Selby thought as he headed for home,"'Selby De-Fleaing'.”
THE MUMMY’S CURSE
“I just bought this mummy and I’m very excited about it,” said Professor Krakpott when Dr Trifle and Selby visited him at the Department of Old and Crusty Things at the Federal University, “but I can’t quite figure out the writing on the ancient mummy case. I thought you could give me a hand.”