Selby Spacedog (10 page)

‘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!’

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.’