Selby Spacedog (8 page)

And that would have been that again but two weeks later, on a day when the Trifles were out, there came a sudden, sharp knock at the door.

‘Are you in there, Dr and Mrs Trifle?’ the woman’s voice sang out. ‘You don’t know me, but my name is Two-Up Penny — I mean Penny Wise. Could I talk to you for a minute?’

‘Oh, no! It’s Two-Up Penny!’ Selby thought. And in his panic he tripped and fell heavily on the floor.

There was a second’s silence and then: ‘So you are at home,’ Two-Up Penny said. ‘Good, because I must talk to you. It’s very important.’

‘How did she get here?’ Selby thought. ‘Maybe she’s figured out that the messages came from the Trifles’ computer! Maybe when she talks to them she’ll know that
they
didn’t write those stories!’

Crazy thoughts shot through Selby’s brain and then there came another knock at the door.

‘Listen to me,’ Penny said. ‘I know you country people are very shy, but will you just answer a few questions for me?’

‘I’m trapped like a rat!’ Selby thought. ‘If she managed to find me she probably knows that I’m a talking dog! She knows everything about me! I’ve got to get rid of her before the Trifles get back.’

‘You don’t even have to open the door,’ Penny said. ‘Just answer me, please.’

‘You’ve got the wrong house,’ Selby said in a high voice. ‘Please go away.’

‘Mrs Trifle, please let me explain —’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Selby said.

‘But I’ve come all the way from Adelaide. Please. I’ll tell you what happened. I’ve discovered something truly incredible.’

‘I don’t want to hear anything incredible,’ Selby said. ‘We don’t like incredible things here in the country. We just like
usual
things.’

‘But it’s truly fantastic,’ Penny pleaded.

‘All right then, just make it quick and then go.’

‘Well, first of all there’s this man named Paw Paw who was writing messages on the Internet —’

‘What’s that got to do with me?’ Selby said sharply.

‘Well, he’s a friend of yours,’ Penny sighed, ‘and I’ve fallen in love with him.’

‘So what?’ said Selby.

‘So I want to find him.’

‘Well, he probably doesn’t live in Bogusville,’ Selby said. ‘We don’t have people named Paw Paw. We have people named Fred.’

‘Fred?’ Penny asked.

‘And Steve and Arthur and Bob and —’

‘Paw Paw isn’t his real name. It’s a made-up name.’

‘Then how do you know he lives in Bogusville? Maybe he made that up, too.’

‘He told these wonderful stories and he changed names and everything, but he gave too much away.’

‘What exactly did he give away?’ Selby asked.

‘Little things,’ Penny explained. ‘He said that it rained on March fourteenth. Well, I’m no dummy, so I went to the library and checked the weather maps in the newspapers.’

‘And?’

‘And the only rain in the whole country was in a long line across the middle of Australia.’

‘So he could be anywhere across Australia,’ Selby said.

‘Yes, but in another story he said that the sun set at eight fourteen on Christmas Day. So again I looked at the newspapers for Christmas Day. By then I knew he must live around here.’

‘There are other towns in this area,’ Selby pointed out.

‘But none of them has a zoo or a rhino or a tower on a hill. He told a story about how Ibbles kept a principal from blowing up the local primary school. I read through a whole year of
Bogusville Banners
until I found a story about that librarian going round the twist. Do you want to know more?’

‘How did you know that our name is Trifle?’ Selby asked.

‘That was easy. Paw Paw said that the owners of this dog were Mr and Mrs Elfirt — that’s Trifle spelled backwards. I just looked in the phone book and found Dr and Mrs Trifle at this address,’ Penny said. ‘Maybe I should let you read the stories —’

‘That won’t be necessary!’ Selby said, still in his high-pitched voice.

‘But Mrs Trifle, I’m in love with him and I must find him.’

‘He probably doesn’t want you to find him.’

‘Of course he does,’ Penny said. ‘Or he wouldn’t have left all those hints. Then again, he might be just plain stupid —’

‘Now, now,’ Selby said. ‘Don’t go insulting him if you don’t even know who he is.’

‘Well, one thing I do know is that he loves me too,’ Penny said.

‘He does?’

‘Yes, but he’ll need some convincing. I know the sort of man he is,’ Penny said. ‘He’s one of those tough, hard country men with a marshmallow core. He’s rugged but shy and sensitive. That’s why I fell in love with him.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine who he might be,’ Selby said, feeling a bit sorry for her. ‘So you’d better go back to the city.’

‘All right,’ Penny said with a sigh. ‘I guess I’ve come all this way for nothing. Well give Ibbles a pat for me. Or is it Ibbles backwards — is it really Selbbi?’

‘Yes, it is. The Trifles’ dog is named Selby,’ Selby heard a voice outside say.

‘Who said that?’ Selby wondered as he moved around to the front window and peeked out. ‘Why, it’s Postie Paterson delivering the mail.’

‘Just as I thought,’ Penny said to Postie. ‘And you’re just the man I wanted to talk to. A postman like you must know everyone in Bogusville.’

‘Well, yes,’ Postie said. ‘Why?’

‘Is there anyone with the initials P. P. — as in Paw Paw?’

Postie thought for a minute. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But then my nickname is Postie and my last name’s Paterson so I guess my initials are P.P.’

‘Postie, darling!’ Penny screamed, as she threw her arms around him and gave him a big kiss. ‘It’s me, Penny!’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know me, you gorgeous hunk. Two-Up Penny from Adelaide. Only my name’s really Penny Wise. You know, from the Net. I just loved your stories about the Trifles’ dog.’

‘W-W-What dog? W-W-What net?’ Postie asked, feeling distinctly nervous. ‘I’m not the dog-catcher. I’m the postman.’

‘I told you I’d find you,’ Penny said, linking her arm in Postie’s and leading him away. ‘Come along, Paw Paw, let’s go somewhere for a nice quiet chat.’

‘Are you sh-sh-sure I’m the one you’re looking f-f-for?’ Postie stammered.

‘Of course I am,’ Penny said. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Trifle.’

Selby didn’t answer as he watched Penny lead the baffled Postie up the driveway, passing the Trifles along the way.

‘Poor Postie,’ Selby thought, ‘he must think that Penny’s completely bonkers. Or should I say, she’s
a raven nuck ace.

SELBY DYES

‘Why in the world,’ Mrs Trifle asked Dr Trifle, ‘are you painting the front door only minutes before our guests arrive?’

‘Guests?’ Selby thought as he pushed through the new doggy-door at the bottom of the door. ‘I wonder who’s coming?’

‘Guests?’ asked Dr Trifle. ‘Who’s coming?’

‘The BoPoFest organising committee will be meeting here in ten minutes’ time,’ said Mrs Trifle.

‘What in the world is BoPoFest?’

‘You know, the Bogusville Poetry Festival — and now they’ll have to be careful not to get white paint on them when they come in.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Dr Trifle said, touching the door with his finger. ‘This isn’t paint at all.’

‘It looks like paint and it smells like paint and you paint it on with a paint brush,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘But it’s better than paint,’ said Dr Trifle. ‘It’s my newly invented Dry-In-A-Flash Surface Covering Substance. You see — it’s already dry.’

‘Goodness, so it is,’ Mrs Trifle said, swiping her hand down the door.

Minutes later Selby watched as Melanie Mildew, Constable Long, Phil Philpot, and the other poetry organisers arrived to do the last minute planning for the highlight of the BoPoFest: the Sudden-Death Poetry Read-Off.

‘My, how Selby has aged,’ Phil Philpot said, reaching down to pat him.

‘He looks ten years older,’ Melanie Mildew agreed.

‘Is it true?’ Selby wondered. ‘Do I really look old? Have I suddenly aged?’

At the end of the meeting Melanie Mildew turned to Constable Long and said, ‘You won the Sudden-Death Poetry Read-Off jackpot two years ago with that lovely poem about a police constable fixing a punctured tyre on a lonely dirt track, remember?’

‘I remember it well,’ the constable said. ‘It was such a great feeling to win.’

‘Oh, I loved that poem,’ Selby thought. ‘All that business about getting the old tyre off the car and the new tyre on. The sound of cicadas in the afternoon heat. The goanna watching from a tree. I felt like I was right there changing the tyre myself.’

‘Of course it wasn’t really just a poem about changing a tyre, was it?’ Melanie said.

‘Yes, it was,’ Constable Long said.

‘No, no, that tyre wasn’t really a tyre at all. It was really a symbol for the years and how they roll by.’

‘And the sound of cicadas,’ said Phil Philpot, ‘was a symbol for all the happy people the policeman had helped over the years.’

‘And that goanna,’ said Dr Trifle, getting into the spirit of things, ‘it wasn’t really a goanna. It was a symbol of the spirit of the land looking down — protecting us.’

‘Are you sure of that?’ Mrs Trifle asked her husband.

‘Well, I think so,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I don’t know much about poems but I know that they’re
never about what you think they’re about — they’re always about something else.’

‘Goodness me,’ Constable Long said, scratching his head. ‘I thought I was just writing a poem about the time I had a flat tyre out near Gumboot Mountain.’

‘I can’t stand it!’ Selby thought, as he put his paws over his ears. ‘Why can’t people just listen to a poem and enjoy it without all this carry-on?’

Later, when the Trifles and the others had gone to Phil Philpot’s restaurant, The Spicy Onion, Selby trotted into the kitchen. He munched a Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit
and had just turned to his drinking bowl when he saw his reflection in the water.