Selby's Shemozzle (9 page)

‘Excuse me, Mr Dorset,' Selby said. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about something.'

‘What can I do for you?'

‘It's about your New Improved Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits with Vitamin PP.'

‘Aha! So you'd like to place an order, would you? I'm afraid there's a six-month waiting list. I'm now getting orders from all around the world. We're about to build a bigger factory.'

‘Well, don't,' Selby said.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I happen to know that Vitamin PP stands for peanut prawns. And peanut prawns have peanuts in them, and peanuts can be very dangerous. If you don't stop making them, I'll sue you.'

‘You'll
what?
Who are you?'

‘None of your business. All you need to know is that I had one of your new dog biscuits and I landed in hospital. I almost choked to death because I'm allergic to peanut prawns. And now I'm going to sue you if you don't stop making them.'

‘That happened to you?'

‘Yes.'

‘But dog biscuits are for dogs,' Denis Dorset said. ‘You're not a dog, are you?'

‘Yes — I mean, no. I mean, it was actually my dog that was allergic. And he can't sue you
— because he's a dog — but I'm going to. And I'm going to tell everyone in the government and they'll close down your factory.'

There was a moment's silence.

‘This is blackmail,' Denis Dorset said.

‘It certainly is,' Selby agreed. ‘And you'd better do as I say.'

One week later it was a very hungry dog who gagged as he chewed a Classic Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit with even more Vitamin S than before. But he was a happy dog, too.

Selby struggled not to smile as he thought of the dogs with peanut allergies that he'd saved. And he struggled even harder not to smile as he thought about getting Denis Dorset to change the mixture.

Dr Trifle dropped some more biscuits into Selby's bowl.

‘These dog biscuits don't smell like the ones Selby finished last week,' he said to Mrs Trifle. ‘Remember, those ones smelled like peanuts and prawns?'

‘Yes, I do remember,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘But all this talk of peanuts and prawns is making me
hungry. Why don't you ring The Spicy Onion Restaurant and get an order of those lovely peanut prawns they make?'

‘What a good idea,' Dr Trifle said, reaching for the telephone.

‘Oh, groan,' Selby thought. ‘Now I'm going to have to watch the Trifles eat the very food that I want.'

‘Selby! You wrote this, didn't you?' Mrs Trifle demanded, holding out the piece of paper.

Selby stared up at Mrs Trifle, Dr Trifle and Aunt Jetty.

‘Now we know that you can talk just like us,' Dr Trifle said. ‘And to think, you kept it a secret all this time because you were afraid we'd put you to work around the house.'

‘And because you were afraid that if your secret got out you might be dognapped and held for ransom,' Mrs Trifle added. ‘Did you really believe that?'

‘Were you really afraid of becoming so famous that you'd never get a moment's peace
again?' Dr Trifle asked. ‘That's what you wrote. It's true that scientists would want to ask you a few questions about what it's like to be a dog, but is that a good reason not to tell us your secret?'

‘Okay, Selby,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now it's time to talk. Come on, say something.'

Selby looked up at his owners, the Trifles, and at Aunt Jetty. He searched for the right words. But what could the right words be?

He thought of saying, ‘I beg your pardon, Dr and Mrs Trifle, I'm awfully sorry I didn't talk to you before but …' No, that didn't sound right. Or maybe, ‘Hiya, guys, how are things?' No, that didn't sound right either.

Selby heaved a big sigh.

‘How could I have done this to the most wonderful people in the whole world?' he asked himself. ‘I've been living a lie. I was so cruel! I've listened to all their conversations, pretending that I didn't understand. I know all their secrets … and I guess they know
my
secret now.'

Selby's throat went dry. He could feel tears filling his eyes.

‘They might have loved me before, but now they're going to hate me. Oh woe woe woe — another horrible, terrible shemozzle! How did I get myself into this?'

As he opened his mouth to speak, Selby's thoughts came flooding back. He remembered that fateful moment only a week before when Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle, ‘What about a time capsule?'

‘What about a what?'

‘One of those things you bury in the ground and no one's allowed to open it for a long, long time.'

‘But what would we put in it?'

‘A portrait of the town,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘Not a painted portrait, but something that says what life is like in Bogusville right now. Maybe everyone who wants to can keep a diary for a whole week. Then we'll bury what they've written. A hundred years from now the people of Bogusville — Bogusville will be a city by then — can dig it up and see for themselves just what life was like.'

‘Great idea,' Dr Trifle said.

‘But what if someone comes along and digs it up a couple of months from now?' Mrs Trifle wondered.

‘Don't worry about that,' Dr Trifle said. ‘We'll put everything in a steel box and screw the lid on. Then we'll bury it in a ten-tonne block of Quick-Set Super-Hard Killer-Koncrete. Nobody — nobody except someone with a mega-mega-giga-horsepower giant jackhammer — could break into that.'

‘Good,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘I'll put a notice in the
Bogusville Banner
to tell everyone to start writing about their week.'

* * *

One week later Postie Paterson delivered a big bag of mail.

‘The last of the diaries,' he said. ‘Here's mine, too. Have a read of it.'

‘Oh, no, I'm not reading them. That would be rude.'

‘It's okay. I'll read it to you: “Monday, I delivered the mail. Tuesday, I delivered the mail. Wednesday, I delivered the mail.” Do you like it?'

‘Yes, very nice.'

‘Thursday is more interesting,' Postie said. ‘“Thursday, I delivered the mail and cleaned the wombat cage at the zoo.”'

‘Very good,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘We want people in the future to know what we did for the week. You delivered the mail.'

‘And I cleaned the wombat cage at the zoo,' Postie added. ‘Then, on the weekend, I went skydiving but my parachute didn't open and I fell through the roof of a house, which made the house catch fire, but I rescued everyone and … Sorry, I was just kidding. Actually I read a great book about delivering the mail. I thought I knew everything about it, but I didn't. It was
really good. I'd better be going. I've got something to do.'

‘Deliver the mail?' Mrs Trifle said.

‘You guessed it.'

Later that day the trouble started. And of course it started with Aunt Jetty and Willy and Billy bursting into the Trifles' house when Selby least expected it.

‘Hey!' Willy squealed. ‘That's that stupid, stinky dog! Let's get him, Billy!'

‘You leave Selby alone!' Mrs Trifle said, standing between Selby and the boys.

‘But he knows how to talk, ‘Willy said.

‘Yeah, he does,' Billy said. ‘Only he's not telling nobody.'

‘Now don't be silly,' Mrs Trifle said.

‘Here's my diary,' Aunt Jetty said, putting the pages onto the pile.

‘What's all them?' Billy asked.

‘Lots of people wrote what they did last week,' Mrs Trifle explained. ‘We're going to put them in a time capsule so that people a hundred years from now can find out about us.'

‘I wanna write somefing too! ‘Willy said.

‘Me too,' Billy said. ‘I want to! I want to! It's not fair if I don't get to!'

‘All right, boys,' Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘There are paper and pencils in the study.'

‘And don't you dare write anything rude,' said Aunt Jetty.

‘We won't, Mummy,' Willy and Billy said together.

That night when the Trifles were asleep, Selby unscrewed the lid of the time capsule. He tore open the envelope with Willy and Billy's page in it.

‘Just as I thought,' he said to himself as he started reading the page.

Selby stopped reading.

‘It just sounds unbelievably stupid,' he said, throwing the page into the wastepaper basket. ‘No one would believe it. But, hang on a tick, those little monsters have given me an idea. What if I tell my own story in my own words? I can't tell anyone my secret right now, but wouldn't it be great if people in one hundred years' time knew that there actually was a real, live talking dog?'

Selby dashed into the study and started writing. And this is what he wrote:

Selby finished writing the page and then put it in an envelope and wrote ‘Selby Trifle'
on it.

‘Now I feel so much better,' he thought. ‘It's an answer to all my worries. I can keep my secret, but in one hundred years' time the whole world will know everything about me. It's a pity my paw-writing isn't neater. Oh well, that'll show that it was really written by a dog.'

Selby put the envelope in the time capsule and screwed the lid back on.

The next day, Selby, the Trifles and most of the town watched as the capsule was placed in a hole in the Bogusville Memorial Rose Garden. Then a big truck poured in ten tonnes of Quick-Set Super-Hard Killer-Koncrete, which was as solid as stone in minutes.

‘I wonder if people in the future will be surprised about what life was like here in the old Bogusville?' Mrs Trifle said.

‘I can certainly think of one thing that's going to surprise them,' Selby thought, trying not to snicker.

Selby tried to imagine what it would be like when the time capsule was opened. Once the people in the future knew there had been a real talking dog in the world, they'd study the Selby books in every tiny detail. People would write more books about him. There would be TV shows — and even movies.

‘I will be the most famous dog in the history of the world,' Selby thought.

And that would have been that, except for one little thing. It happened a few days later when Mrs Trifle was putting out the rubbish. As she did, a breeze blew a bit of paper onto the ground. And as she stooped to pick it up she noticed Willy and Billy's writing.

‘They wrote what?' Aunt Jetty screamed down the telephone.

‘They wrote horrible things about Selby,' Mrs Trifle said. ‘I found a draft of what they wrote in the wastepaper basket. What they put in the time capsule is probably a hundred times worse.'

‘They will bring shame to my good name!' Aunt Jetty said.

‘It's too late now, Sister,' Mrs Trifle sighed.
‘What's done is done. It would take a mega-mega-giga-horsepower giant jackhammer to break into that time capsule now. Anyway, I guess it won't matter that people in a hundred years' time think that your boys were badly brought up.'

‘We'll see about that!' Aunt Jetty cried. ‘Willy! Billy! Come here!'

An hour later Mrs Trifle opened the door, and there stood Aunt Jetty with the time capsule under one arm and a mega-mega-giga-horsepower giant jackhammer under the other.

‘I couldn't find the boys' page, but have a look at this! ‘Aunt Jetty said, handing Mrs Trifle the envelope marked ‘Selby Trifle'.

‘Why? What is it? “Selby Trifle"?'

‘That mutt of yours wrote it,' Aunt Jetty said, pointing to Selby. ‘Willy and Billy were right all along. That dog of yours can talk — and read and write. And he's a little sneak, if you ask me. Imagine keeping it a secret all this time and eavesdropping on everyone.'