by Duncan Ball
‘Oh, happy happy day!’ Selby thought. ‘I’m normal again. And from now on I’m just going to be plain old non-pink me and I’ll be happy as Larry. Better still, I’ll be as happy as Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man.
Paw note: I hate Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits!
S
SELBY CONFESSES
‘That little monster, Willy, is coming to stay for a whole week!’ Selby thought. ‘And Mrs Trifle is away. Only Dr Trifle will be here to protect me! Why, oh why, do these things always happen to me?’
Willy was a terrible brat. Worse still, he knew that Selby could talk. Once, when Selby had been really angry he called Willy a brat. And from that day on Willy kept telling everyone that Selby knew how to talk. Fortunately, no one believed him. Unfortunately, every time he saw Selby, Willy tried to torture him into confessing his secret to everyone.
‘I’ve got to find some place to hide — quick!’ Selby thought as Aunt Jetty’s car drew up outside the Trifles’ house. In a second Willy had bounded in the front door with eyes darting in every direction.
‘How are you, Willy?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Where’s that poo-poo stink-face dog?’ Willy demanded.
‘His name is Selby. And if I hear anymore of that language you’ll go straight home. Do you understand?’
‘But he talked to me! He did! He knows how to talk! You’ve gotta believe me!’
‘If you say so,’ Dr Trifle said patiently. ‘Now follow me and I’ll show you my new invention.’
‘I don’t wanna see an invention. I wanna see that stinky doggy.’
‘I have no idea where Selby is,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Come and see my Power-Paddled-Pillow-Plumper.’
‘I’m gonna show you he can talk,’ Willy muttered. ‘What’s a plumper?’
In the doctor’s workroom was a long machine with glass all along the side so that you could see the belts and cogs and wheels and levers inside.
‘It’s a machine that plumps pillows,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘It fluffs them up and makes them nicer to sleep on.’
‘I fluff up my own pillow like this!’ Willy said, grabbing a pillow from a pile of pillows.
Willy hit the pillow with a furious flurry of punches until the air was filled with flying feathers.
‘Yes, yes, all right, Willy,’ Dr Trifle said, rescuing the pillow. ‘But the real secret to pillow plumping is to fluff them up without destroying them. Watch this.’
Dr Trifle held up the pillow at one end of the machine and two mechanical arms shot out, grabbing it around the middle. He then pushed a button and the pillow was carried through the machine. All the way, arms like people-arms prodded and poked and slapped and spanked the pillow until it came out the end of the machine all nicely plumped.
‘Me! Me! Me!’ Willy squealed. ‘That was fun! I want to do it!’
‘All right, Willy,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But don’t get too close to the machine. We wouldn’t want you to get plumped now, would we?’
Willy held up another pillow and the arms reached out and grabbed it. Then he pushed the START button, sending the pillow through the machine.
‘It’s spanking it!’ Willy cried. ‘The arms are spanking it all over. I have to do another one! I have to!’
‘In the morning,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘It’s time for bed now.’
In the middle of the night Selby crawled out from behind the workbench and crept quietly into the kitchen.
‘How am I going to hide from that minimonster?’ he asked himself. ‘The only safe time to come out is in the middle of the night. If I have to dodge him for a whole week, I’ll starve! If only I could find a way to get him to go home early.’
Selby was just grabbing his first Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit when he noticed a string tied to the bowl that led up and up to the ceiling above. Something was moving up there, quivering in the darkness, something that Selby’s tired brain didn’t quite recognise until it was too late.
‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought as the mysterious object dropped over him. ‘Willy’s lion tamer’s net!’
Just then, Willy jumped out of the shadows.
‘Gotcha now you poop-head!’ he cried. ‘Now you talk to Willy!’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Selby thought. ‘The kid’s been lying in wait for me all night!’
‘You talk to Willy! ‘Willy demanded again.
‘He’s got to be joking,’ Selby thought. ‘All I have to do is to wake up Dr Trifle and when he sees that Willy’s captured me with this stupid net, the kid will be in deep, deep strife.’
Selby barked and yelped and howled until his throat was sore.
‘It’s no use,’ he thought. ‘Dr Trifle could sleep through a cyclone.’
‘I’m gonna put you in the machine and plump you,’ Willy said suddenly, as he dragged Selby into the workroom.
Selby gasped as the arms of the Power-Paddled-Pillow-Plump er grabbed him, net and all.
‘You have to tell my uncle you can talk,’ Willy said, ‘or I’m going to plump you. You talk or I’m going to push the button.’
‘Yikes!’ Selby thought, as Willy’s hand went for the START button. ‘He can’t be serious! He couldn’t do it! He wouldn’t do it! Uh-oh, I think he’s going to do it!’
‘Okay, Willy,’ Selby blurted out, ‘you win.’
‘You talked! You talked! ‘Willy squealed.
‘Of course I talked,’ Selby said. ‘Wake up Dr Trifle and I’ll confess. Go ahead, bring him in here.’
‘Goody goody! ‘Willy cried. ‘I’ll go get him.’
Willy started for the door and then suddenly turned around.
‘You’re trying to trick me, you sneaky dumbo dog,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re going to do. I get my uncle and you don’t talk and then he gets mad at me for catching you.’
‘The kid’s not as dumb as he looks,’ Selby thought. ‘Almost — but not quite.’
‘Okay,’ Selby said aloud, ‘what do I have to do to get out of here?’
‘You write it down.’
‘What are you talking about — “write it down"? Write what down?’
Willy dashed out of the room and returned with a pad of paper and a pencil, handing them to Selby through the net.
‘You write that you talk, you stinky dog!’
‘Oh, I see,’ Selby said. ‘You want me to write a confession.’
‘You write, now! ‘Willy said, reaching for the START button.
‘Steady on, Willy. I’ll tell you what; you write it and I’ll sign it,’ Selby said, holding the pad out through the net.
Willy suddenly went quiet. After a minute he said, ‘I can’t read and write.’
‘Just as I thought,’ Selby said, beginning to write. ‘Okay, I’ll do the writing. “My name is Selby. I’m a dog and I can talk.” Signed, “Selby”. How’s that?’
‘Gimme!’ Willy demanded.
‘Oh, no,’ Selby said. ‘If I give the confession to you then you’ll push the START button and send me through the machine.’
‘No, I won’t!’
‘Don’t give me that, Willy,’ Selby said. ‘I’ll tell you what: you push the RELEASE button so that I can climb out of this net and get away from the machine and I’ll give you the confession. Deal?’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise,’ Selby said.
Willy pushed the RELEASE button and Selby climbed out of the net and jumped free.
‘Where is it?’ Willy asked.
‘It’s there,’ Selby said, ‘inside the net.’
Willy reached into the net and grabbed the confession but before he could pull it out, the mechanical arms reached out and grabbed him around his waist.
‘Hey! I’m stuck!’ Willy cried. ‘You let me go! You push the button!’
‘Let’s see now,’ Selby said, reaching out a paw. ‘Would that be the RELEASE button or the START button? I think you must mean the START button.’
‘Nooooooooo!’ screeched Willy.
But it was too late. In
a split second, Selby pressed the START button and the screaming Willy shot into the machine. There followed a deafening series of whumps! and whams! and biffs! and bams! until a well-plumped Willy dropped out the other end.
‘Willy!’ Dr Trifle cried from the doorway. ‘You silly boy! You’ve gone through the pillow-plumper. I told you to stay away from there!’
‘Selby made me do it!’ Willy screamed, wiping away his tears. ‘And he knows how to talk! Look!’ Willy said, holding out the piece of paper.
Dr Trifle took the confession.
“‘Dear uncle,”’ Dr Trifle read out loud, “‘I hate you, you poo-poo stink-face …”’ Dr Trifle read the rest to himself and then glared at Willy. ‘Why, you ungrateful little so-and-so.’
‘I didn’t write it,’ Willy bawled. ‘Selby wrote it! He tricked me!’
‘Shame on you, Willy. Tomorrow you’re going straight back to your mother. It’s bad enough using that sort of language, but blaming it on a poor dumb animal —’
‘He’s not dumb! ‘Willy cried.
‘The kid’s certainly right about that,’ Selby thought, as he trotted back to the lounge room to get some sleep at last. ‘And that’ll teach him to match wits with a Pressure-Powered-Brat-Paddling-Pooch!’
Paw note: The first time I talked to Willy was in the story “Wild West Willy Rides Again’ in the book Selby’s Secret. P.S. It was a big mistake!
S
SELBY SUPERPOOCH
‘Dogs are being stolen all over the country,’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed as she hurried in the door. ‘There’s an international dog-smuggling ring!’
Selby’s eyes popped open and his heart skipped a couple of beats at the thought of the disappearing dogs.
‘That’s terrible,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But surely, no one would steal dogs here in Bogusville.’
‘Oh, yes, they would,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘The Bogusville Canine Society is about to have its annual dog show. It would be a perfect place to steal dogs.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘Yes, but these dog-smugglers are highly-trained, professional thieves,’ Mrs Trifle explained. ‘I was tipped off by an international dog-watch group called InterPooch. They’re coming to Bogusville today to help.’
‘InterPooch? An international dog-watch group? Coming here? To Bogusville? Can this be true?’
‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, and it most definitely is true,’ Mrs Trifle said, answering her husband’s questions in the order he’d asked them. ‘They’ll be after show-dogs, pure-bred dogs, expensive dogs.’
Selby heaved a sigh of relief. ‘That leaves me out,’ he thought as he settled back down to finish his nap. ‘When you’re an interesting blend of different kinds of dogs like me, you’re always safe from dog-nappers.’
‘Shouldn’t we hide Selby away?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘Won’t someone steal him?’
‘Heavens no. He’s only a mongrel.’
‘You’re right. Why would anyone want to steal a mutt like Selby? They’d be more likely to steal Constable Long’s sheepdog, Streak.’
‘Good riddance,’ thought Selby. ‘Streak is the dumbest, nippingest dog in town.’
‘And there’s Sergeant Stiffjaw’s police dog, Biff,’ Mrs Trifle added. ‘He’s such a powerfully built and obedient dog.’
‘Even better riddance,’ Selby thought. ‘That dog’s not a hound — he’s a hoon! Maybe this dog-stealing racket isn’t such a bad thing after all.’
‘And don’t forget Freddington, your cousin Wilhemina’s prize-winning poodle,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘They’d steal him in a flash.’
‘Oh, no, not Freddington!’ Selby thought. ‘He’s such a great little guy.’
‘So what are these InterPoodle people going to do? ‘Dr Trifle asked.
‘InterPooch. We’ll know in a minute,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking out the window at the ute with ‘InterPooch’ written on the door. ‘I think they have just pulled up in front of the house now.’
Mrs Trifle opened the door for a man and a woman who quickly flashed their dog-shaped badges at them.
‘I’m Agent deWurming from InterPooch,’ the woman said. ‘This is Agent Leesh. You must be Mayor Trifle and Dr Trifle.’
‘We are,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘How can we help you?’
‘We have a plan to trap these dog-duffers,’ Agent deWurming said. ‘But we’ll need your cooperation.’
‘Certainly,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We’ll help in any way we can.’
‘First we’ll need an extremely valuable dog to use as the bait to trap the international dog smugglers.’
‘We do have some valuable dogs in town,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘Not just valuable,’ Agent Leesh said, ‘but very, very, very valuable. We need a million dollar dog.’
‘I don’t think there’s a dog in Bogusville that’s worth that much,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘How about him?’ Agent deWurming said, pointing to Selby.
Selby felt a warm glow come over him that turned into a blush.
‘She knows a valuable dog when she sees one,’ Selby thought.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Agent deWurming added. ‘You’re going to say that he’s just an ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill, ugly, worthless mutt, aren’t you?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite that way,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘You’re going to say that he isn’t worth the price of his own dog collar — and you’d be right. But we’re going to pretend that your dog’s a very rare breed of dog,’ Agent deWurming said. ‘Your dog has just become the only Tasmanian Flea-Breeder in the world.’
‘A Tasmanian Flea-Breeder?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Are there any such dogs?’
‘No, I just made them up.’
‘Some dogs are good for leading blind people around,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Others are good at rounding up sheep. What will you say that this new breed is good for?’
‘Nothing,’ Agent Leesh explained. ‘People pay piles of money for useless dogs. We’ll say that your Tasmanian Flea-Breeder sits around breeding fleas and looking ugly.’
‘Ugly,’ Selby thought. ‘Me, ugly? I beg your pardon!’
‘But that’s silly,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Who would want an ugly dog?’
‘Unattractive rich people. They like dogs who are uglier than they are. The dogs make them look good,’ Agent deWurming explained. ‘Now here’s the plan: we tell everyone how valuable your dog is. We spread the story on TV and in newspapers and magazines. Then the dastardly dog smugglers will come looking for him and that’s when we pounce and nab them.’
‘Selby won’t be in danger, will he?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Not at all,’ explained Agent Leesh. ‘If we can get the police in on this, they’ll be watching Selby like a hawk. Nothing can go wrong, trust us.’
‘I’ll have a word to the police tomorrow,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Why is it,’ thought Selby, ‘that I’m getting nervous about all this?’
Two days later Mrs Trifle burst in the door and handed a copy of the Bogusville Banner to Dr Trifle.
‘Have a look at this!’ she cried. ‘Selby’s in the newspaper!’
Sure enough, there on the front page of the paper was a picture of Selby and an article that said:
Bogusville’s Million Dollar Dog
Tonight at the annual Bogusville Canine Society’s Dog Show, the eyes of Bogusville and the world will be on Selby, Mayor Trifle’s superdog, the world’s only Tasmanian Flea-Breeder. The question everyone will be asking as Selby struts his way down the dog-walk towards superpoochdom is: ‘Can this little Bogusville battler carry off the double crowns of Best in Breed and Best in Show?’
‘Actually I wrote it myself,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘and now newspaper and TV people from all over the country want stories about Selby.’
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. When Dr Trifle opened it, in rushed a mob of photographers followed by a bigger mob of journalists. All afternoon they asked the T
rifles questions and snapped photos of Selby. Following the InterPooch agents’ instructions, the Trifles told everyone that if they wanted a really good story they should come back to the Trifles’ house just before the show.
That evening, Selby got more and more excited as the time of judging came closer. Agent deWurming and Agent Leesh arrived at the Trifles’ house along with Sergeant Short and Constable Long and a hundred reporters and photographers.
‘We’re here to catch a gang of dog-smugglers,’ Agent deWurming explained. ‘Since Selby is the most valuable dog in Australia, and perhaps the world, we’re going to use him as bait for our trap.’
‘Gulp,’ Selby thought. ‘This bait business is getting kind of scary.’
‘As soon as it’s dark,’ Agent Leesh said, ‘the Trifles will take Selby to the dog show. The smugglers will be watching and waiting for a chance to grab him. Selby will be left unguarded for a while and that’s when the smugglers will swoop. Of course they won’t know that the police are hiding in the bushes ready to nab them. We’ve explained it all to the Trifles. Any questions?’
‘Where will you and Agent deWurming be?’ one of the reporters asked.
‘We’ll be at the dog show keeping watch on the other dogs,’ Agent Leesh said. ‘It’s getting dark now so we’d better be going.’
A short time later Selby watched through the front window as, one by one, the police and the press crawled into the bushes. Soon each bush in the front yard was filled with people.
‘This is it,’ Mrs Trifle said, grabbing Selby’s leash and taking a deep breath. ‘Here we go.’
Selby and the Trifles stepped out onto the front path in total silence.
‘This is really creepy,’ thought Selby. ‘There are people all over the place but I can’t see or hear anyone.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle walked towards the car and then, suddenly, Dr Trifle stopped and snapped his fingers.
‘Drat!’ he said in a loud voice. ‘I just noticed that my socks don’t match. I’d better go back in the house and change.’
‘And I think I’ve left the iron on,’ Mrs Trifle shouted. ‘I’ll go back and turn it off. But first I’ll tie Selby to a tree. We’ll just leave him here unguarded for a few minutes.’