Selby Supersnoop Page 2

  ‘Tell all you want.’

  Just then, Dr and Mrs Trifle opened the door to the garage and found Willy dangling from the rope.

  ‘I do believe you’ve been caught in your own trap, Willy,’ Mrs Trifle said, untying the rope and lowering him down.

  ‘That dog talked to me!’ Willy screamed.

  ‘Come, come now, Willy,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You’re old enough to know that dogs can’t talk.’

  ‘He can and he did,’ Willy said, running for a shelf and picking up his video camera. ‘And it’s on my video! It was going all the time! Put it in the TV! You’ll see!’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought. ‘The kid tricked me. He wasn’t trying to catch me with the booby trap. He was trying to catch me on his video camera — and he did! I’ve been outwitted by a half-wit nitwit!’

  ‘I’m sure you’re wrong,’ Mrs Trifle said to Willy.

  ‘You look!’ Willy cried. ‘Look at the video!’

  ‘All right,’ Dr Trifle said, taking the tape out of Willy’s hand. ‘If it’ll make you happy.’

  Selby followed the Trifles into the lounge room.

  Dr Trifle wound the video tape back a bit and then pushed the PLAY button.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘This is it. I’m gone. They’ll have to believe Willy now. I can’t stand it! I can’t let that little brat tattle on me. I’d rather tell them myself.’

  Selby stepped up next to the Trifles and cleared his throat. He was about to say, ‘Excuse me, but I’m afraid that Willy is right — I can talk,’ when the video began playing.

  The first thing Selby heard was his own voice saying, ‘If you could see how silly you look, you’d laugh too.’

  ‘That’s him talking!’ Willy screamed, pointing at the TV. ‘That’s Selby! He talks! See?’

  ‘I don’t see anything,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I can hear a strange voice but I can’t see anything. Are you sure that voice isn’t from a TV show?’

  ‘No, no, it’s him! It’s that dummy dog!’

  Selby looked over at the TV, which was all white and snowy. Dr Trifle fast-forwarded the tape and then fast-backwarded it, but it was no use — there was no picture.

  ‘That’s very odd,’ Mrs Trifle said, suddenly looking over at the window which Dr Trifle had used to test his miracle window cleaner. ‘And look, this is even odder: that window cleaner has made the window go all white. You can’t see through it anymore.’

  Selby looked at the window and then at the lens on Willy’s video camera. It, too, had gone white.

  ‘Oops,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I think that window cleaner isn’t such a miracle, after all. And I think I’ve ruined Willy’s camera.’

  By now Mrs Trifle had fast-backwarded the tape to the beginning — the part before Dr Trifle’s lens cleaning, when Selby was hanging upside down by his leg.

  ‘Willy!’ she cried. ‘You horrible child! No wonder Selby doesn’t like to play with you! Look what you did to him! I’m going to give you a good, hard spanking for being so cruel to Selby!’

  ‘No, don’t spank me!’ Willy cried as the first blows began to fall on his bottom. ‘My goldfish died and you have to be nice to me! Mum said you have to! Oooooooowwwwww!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Selby thought as he headed for the backyard again. ‘I guess some things do turn out all right after all. That Breath-Away stuff turned out to be a miracle for me. And it certainly is taking Willy’s breath away right now!

  SELBY ON THE LOO(SE)

  Selby was a very lucky dog. Well at least he thought he was lucky. That is, he would have been lucky if it hadn’t been for a sudden streak of very bad luck just when everything was going so well.

  It all happened the day that Dr and Mrs Trifle were going to dinner at Mascara Mansion. The mansion was the huge old house that the fortune-teller, and now cosmetics millionaire, Madame Mascara, had just bought.

  ‘She’s so proud of that house,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘She’s invited the most important people in Bogusville to dinner — and us, too.’

  ‘What do you mean, and us, too? We’re important, aren’t we? Why, you’re the mayor of Bogusville,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘I guess I just don’t think of us as being important,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We’re just little old Trifle us. We certainly don’t live in a forty-two room mansion.’

  ‘Especially not one that’s haunted,’ Dr Trifle said with a wink.

  ‘I forgot,’ Mrs Trifle laughed. ‘She really believes there are gremlins living there, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I’m afraid that Madame M believes in all those supernatural things: ghosts, goblins, gremlins, ghouls — and that’s just the ones starting with G. That’s why she bought the house.’

  ‘You forgot genies and gnomes.’

  ‘Are you sure they start with G?’ asked Dr Trifle who wasn’t a great speller.

  ‘Pretty sure. Anyway, gnomes or no gnomes, we’re invited to dinner and Phil Philpot who runs The Spicy Onion Restaurant is going to do the cooking. It should be a lovely evening.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love to live in a huge mansion,’ Selby thought as he listened to the Trifles’ conversation. ‘I’d have hundreds of servants and TVs in every room and my own private movie theatre. Oh, how I’d love to go to Mascara Mansion tonight and have some of Phil Philpot’s wonderful peanut prawns! Just my luck: the Trifles will leave me here with a bowl of those awful Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. Oh well, at least I’ll have a chance to play some games on the computer.’

  ‘I thought maybe we’d take Selby along with us tonight,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  Selby’s ears shot up like rockets. ‘Are you sure that Madame M won’t mind?’ Dr Trifle asked.

  ‘No, no. She loves Selby ever since she told his fortune ages ago, remember? She specifically said we could bring him along.’

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ Selby thought. ‘They’re actually going to take me with them! I can’t wait! Oh, lucky me! Peanut prawns, here I come!’

  Selby’s luck began to change the moment he entered the gates of Mascara Mansion.

  ‘Oh, you’ve brought the little poochy-poo,’ Madame Mascara cooed. ‘Isn’t he a darling little doggy-woggy?’

  ‘Forget the poochy-poo and the darling doggy-woggies,’ Selby thought as he trotted into the mansion after the Trifles. ‘Take me to the tucker; I’m one hungry hound.’

  All the guests were seated in their finest clothes around the great, long dinner table.

  Everywhere there was the sound of sizzling food and the heavenly smell of peanut prawns.

  ‘I’ve made a special dish for Selby,’ Madame Mascara said, putting a bowl of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits on the floor. ‘Otherwise he’d have to eat people-food and I know he’d hate that!’

  ‘Oh, woe. I should have known it was too good to be true,’ Selby thought as he crawled under the table and chewed a dog biscuit. ‘I wish they’d left me at home.’

  Throughout the meal everyone listened politely as Madame Mascara talked about all the ghosts and gremlins she’d heard in the house.

  ‘Oh, bother,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to go to the loo. How will I ever get out of this place?’

  Selby went down the hallway and up to the huge oak front door where he barked a couple of barks.

  ‘They’ll never hear me,’ he thought. ‘Besides, this is silly. Why should I have to go out in the cold when I could use a perfectly good people-loo?’

  Selby looked down the hallway.

  ‘If I’m quick about it, no one will notice.’

  Selby dashed off down the hall and then had one last look at the dinner guests before turning the corner and ducking into the loo. He quietly closed the door and in a second was finished, flushed and ready to return to the dining room.

  ‘I feel like a real person,’ he giggled. ‘That was fun!’

  Selby went to open the door and realised that the knob was so high that he couldn’t reach it, even standing on his hind legs.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ he thought. ‘I’m g
oing to have to figure out some way of getting up there. Hmmm. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.’

  Selby scanned the room for anything to climb up on.

  ‘I know!’ he said, opening a cupboard and pulling out a dozen rolls of toilet paper. ‘I’ll make a poo-paper pyramid.’

  Selby made a pile of toilet paper rolls and climbed on top of them. He reached up slowly, stretching his paw towards the knob. At any minute he expected the rolls to fall out from under him and he’d go tumbling down.

  His paw felt its way up, higher and higher, till he touched cold metal.

  ‘That’s it!’ he thought. ‘I’ve got it!’

  Just then, there was a sudden, loud knock at the door.

  ‘Is anyone in there?’ a woman’s voice boomed.

  Selby quickly pushed the big brass bolt across, locking the door.

  Then there was another knock followed by another.

  Selby froze.

  ‘What now?’ Selby thought, trying even harder not to panic. ‘I’m trapped like a rat! Oh, woe, woe.’

  ‘Will you be long?’ the voice asked. ‘I’m in rather a hurry.’

  ‘I’ll stay quiet till she goes away,’ Selby thought.

  But just as he thought this, the toilet paper rolls slipped out from under him and Selby went crashing to the floor.

  ‘Are you all right in there?’ the woman yelled. ‘Hey! Somebody, help! I think someone’s collapsed in the loo!’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘Now they’re going to batter down the door. I’ve got to think of something, fast!’

  Selby’s mind went in every direction at once like a flock of lost racing pigeons.

  ‘I’m all right,’ Selby said finally, putting on a high voice. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, I’ll just be a minute.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’m okay. Just go away.’

  ‘I’ll wait right here, if you don’t mind.’

  Selby felt himself getting angry. Why couldn’t she just go away and leave him to escape?

  ‘Couldn’t you find another loo?’ Selby asked.

  ‘This is the only one.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. There must be dozens in this dump.’

  ‘Listen here, I happen to own this dump. I’m Madame Mascara. And who might you be?’

  ‘None of your business,’ Selby said. ‘Just go away and leave me in peace.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what to do. I’m going to stand right here till you come out!’

  ‘Crumbs,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to think of another way out of this place, fast!’

  Selby looked around the room. There were no windows and no skylight; only a fan in the wall.

  ‘If I can pull the fan out of there, maybe I could climb through the hole,’ he thought.

  Selby leapt up on the toilet, forgetting that the lid was still up, and landed right in the cold water.

  ‘Oh, great. Now I’ve really put myself in it.’

  Selby jumped out and closed the lid. In a minute he’d pulled the fan out and watched it go crashing and sparking to the floor.

  ‘What’s going on in there?!’ Madame Mascara screamed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Everything’s okay,’ Selby said. ‘I’m just having a little difficulty here.’

  ‘And I’m going to break this door down.’

  The full weight of Madame Mascara slammed against the door. When it didn’t open, she tried again and again.

  Then, just as the screws holding the lock began to pull out, Selby leapt for the hole in the wall. His head and front legs shot through to the outside but, unfortunately, his middle didn’t quite make it.

  ‘I’m stuck!’ Selby thought. ‘And Madame Mascara is about to come face to face with a talking dog! Well, not exactly face to face … Oh, why didn’t I just go to the loo in the bushes like a normal dog?!’

  Then, just as the slamming reached its peak, Selby took a deep breath and pushed against the outside wall, popping himself through the hole and tumbling to the ground.

  Inside there was the splinter of wood and the cry, ‘Where are you? Where’d you go?!’

  Selby caught a glimpse of Madame Mascara’s black hair poking through the now opened hole as he tore around the corner of the house and in through the front door. Inside he could see all the dinner guests running down the hall towards the loo. By the time they returned to the table, Selby was lying innocently under the table finishing off a plate of Phil Philpot’s finest peanut prawns.

  ‘I swear there was someone in there,’ Madame Mascara laughed. ‘But there couldn’t have been. No one could have got through that hole.’

  ‘You mean, no person,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ Madame Mascara said. ‘It must have been one of those gremlins I told you about. You see; I knew the mansion was haunted.’

  Later, as the guests were leaving, Madame Mascara leant down and patted Selby on the head.

  ‘Such a lovely dog,’ she said. ‘I hope he enjoyed his dog biscuits.’

  ‘I’m sure he did,’ Dr Trifle said, wondering why there was peanut butter on Selby’s breath.

  ‘Well, toodle-oo, poochy-poo. I hope you had a good time. You’re such a quiet little doggy–woggy.’

  ‘Toodle-oo, my paw,’ Selby thought as he trotted off with the Trifles. ‘That was my big mistake — this poochy-poo should never have gone to the loo.’

  THE FURRED FRENZY

  ‘Look at this little kitten!’ Mrs Trifle said as she came in patting the ball of fur she was cradling in her arms. ‘Isn’t he absolutely gorgeous?’

  Selby lay on the floor watching Dr Trifle paint a picture of some scenery.

  ‘A k-kitten?’ Dr Trifle stammered. ‘You didn’t buy him, did you?’

  ‘No, he belongs to Postie Paterson. He asked me to look after him for a few hours. Postie said to think of a name for the little sweetie.’

  Mrs Trifle put the kitten down on the carpet. The kitten snuggled up to Selby and then fell sound asleep.

  ‘Isn’t he a darling?’ Selby thought. ‘Kittens are so cute. I wish the Trifles would get one. I’d have so much fun.’

  ‘I suggested the name Sunny because he has such a warm and sunny nature,’ Mrs Trifle explained. ‘But Postie said he couldn’t use it because it’s the name of the rhino at the zoo. He said that every time he hears it he thinks of five hundred kilograms of dangerous, horn-headed beast.’

  ‘Fair enough. I guess we’ll have to put our thinking caps on,’ Dr Trifle said.

  Mrs Trifle looked over at her husband’s painting.

  ‘For an inventor,’ she said, ‘you’re not a bad painter. Such pretty mountains. What’s it a painting of?’

  ‘Bogusville, of course. It’s a birthday present for my cousin.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ hmmmed Mrs Trifle. ‘Exactly which part of Bogusville is it?’

  ‘Just look out the window and you’ll see.’

  Mrs Trifle looked out the window and didn’t see anything that looked at all like the scene in the painting, except for the tree in the backyard.

  ‘I’m still a bit confused,’ she said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Your painting is of a very up and down sort of place. It has rocky cliffs and mountain peaks and snow and glaciers and all that.’

  ‘That’s because my cousin only has a narrow place on the wall for the painting. He needs an up and down sort of painting to fit it.’

  ‘But Bogusville is more a side to side sort of place,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘You could even say that it’s dead flat.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I’ve had to change it.’

  ‘And you’ve put in lots of snow. The closest thing the people of Bogusville have seen to snow was when the Girl Guides camped in Bogusville Hall and had a giant pillow fight. By midnight the air was so full of feathers we thought it was a blizzard.’r />
  ‘Ah, yes, I remember,’ Dr Trifle said, dabbing some more snow on the mountain peaks. ‘But none of that matters. My cousin has never been to Bogusville so he doesn’t know that there’s no snow or mountains.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll like it,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But there’s something else about the painting that bothers me. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘There’s something missing, isn’t there?’

  ‘It’s obviously not mountains. You’ve got plenty of them.’

  ‘You can always tell a good painting because it makes you feel all warm inside when you look at it,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘This one doesn’t make me feel warm.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s all that snow,’ Mrs Trifle said helpfully.

  ‘No, no, I’ve got it! It needs a person in it,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘People give paintings warmth. A painting without people is like … like …’

  ‘A sandwich without bread? A car without tyres? A dog without a bone?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dr Trifle said, looking Mrs Trifle up and down the way painters do when they’re going to paint a picture of you.

  ‘I have an urgent errand to run,’ Mrs Trifle said, remembering how he’d given her crossed eyes the last time he painted her. ‘Why don’t you put little fluffpuss here in the painting? That’ll give it warmth.’

  ‘Good idea!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed, mixing up some kitten-coloured paint. ‘I’ll paint him right on the limb of that tree.’

  Mrs Trifle dashed off and Selby watched as Dr Trifle quickly painted the kitten into his picture. When he’d finished, the doctor stood back and looked at his work.

  ‘The rest of the painting’s okay,’ Selby thought, ‘but there seems to be something wrong with the kitten part.’

  ‘The kitten’s okay,’ Dr Trifle said out loud, ‘but there seems to be something wrong with the rest of the painting. It still doesn’t give me a warm feeling. Maybe I’ll mow the lawn and see what I think of it later.’

  ‘You are a little cutie, my furry little purrer,’ Selby said, rubbing his nose against the kitten’s warm fur when the doctor had left the house. ‘Maybe Postie will let you stay here with us.’