Selby Shattered Read online

  ‘Why did they choose Bogusville for their meeting?’

  ‘Apparently Bogusville is a lot like the town in the Selby books,’ Mrs Trifle explained. ‘And, by the way, I’ve invited some of them around for afternoon tea.’

  ‘They’re coming here?’

  ‘Just a few of them,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘When I told them we have a dog, they seemed very excited to meet him.’

  ‘I’ll bet they were,’ Selby silently moaned.

  ‘How old is he?’ Candy asked when the group from SSS arrived.

  ‘He’s ten,’ Mrs Trifle said, passing around a plate of biscuits.

  ‘Why, that’s the same age as Selby in the books!’

  Bambino struggled to drink her tea through the mouth of her dog suit and then said, ‘He’s a very clean dog.’

  ‘Have you ever wondered,’ BeoWoof asked, ‘if he might be inhabited by an alien?’

  ‘Oh, puleeeez,’ Selby thought.

  ‘No, not really,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘but strange things sometimes happen when Selby’s around.’

  BeoWoof, Sausage, Tofu, Candy, Bambino and Fang put down their teacups.

  ‘What sort of strange things?’ asked Fang.

  ‘Yes, what sort of strange things?’ Selby thought.

  ‘Oh, just little things, like the times we’ve come home and found the lights and TV on when we thought we’d turned them off.’

  ‘You call those little things?’ asked Tofu.

  ‘Well, yes,’ Mrs Trifle answered, ‘because we know that we must have left them on. It obviously can’t have been Selby who turned them on while we were out.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Bambino said. ‘When the TV was on, was Selby anywhere near it?’

  ‘Yes, but then he does spend a lot of time in the loungeroom, don’t you, Selby?’

  ‘Why did you ask him a question?’ Candy asked. ‘Do you expect him to answer you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Mrs Trifle laughed. ‘We often ask him questions. He never answers. It’s just a silly thing we do.’

  ‘It might not be that silly,’ Sausage said. ‘We think that people sense when their pets are inhabited by alien life forms.’

  ‘I’m not an alien life form!’ Selby thought. ‘When are these people going to leave me alone?’

  ‘Could you explain that?’ asked Mrs Trifle.

  ‘People are very sensitive,’ Sausage said. ‘We sense when aliens are near. I think you must sense that Selby can understand everything you say and that’s why you talk to him.’

  There was a long silence as the Search for Selby Society dog-people stared at Selby.

  ‘Stop doing that!’ Selby thought. ‘You’re going to make me blush!’

  ‘Well then,’ Mrs Trifle said, changing the subject. ‘What happens at your meetings?’

  ‘Mostly we talk about the clues in the Selby books,’ BeoWoof said.

  ‘Yes,’ Candy agreed. ‘We study the books to see if there are any clues as to what Selby’s real name might be and where he lives and who his owners are. The author of the books says that Selby’s a real dog and that he knows how to talk, and we have no reason to doubt that.’

  ‘And sooner or later he will give himself away and we’ll find him,’ Fang added. ‘Isn’t that right, Selby?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby screamed in his brain. ‘I wish they’d stop staring at me and go to their silly meeting. Come to think of it, I’m the one who should go to their meeting. I should go and see if they’re about to spring me. But how can I be there without being noticed?’

  It was a secretive dog that crept under the house and quietly put on the dog-suit disguise that he kept hidden there. And it was a nervous dog-suited dog that walked into the Convention Centre.

  Selby sat and listened to one speaker after another talking about the clues they’d found in the Selby books.

  ‘I had no idea I gave away that much!’ Selby thought. ‘I’m going to have to stop telling Duncan my stories. These people have almost enough clues to find me! This is awful. (Sniff) I’ll have to leave home and never come back.’

  Selby felt the tears running down his cheeks inside his dog suit at the thought of never seeing the Trifles again.

  ‘Well, that ends our meeting for this year,’ a man named Bazooka said. ‘Bit by bit we’ve found out where he can’t be. One good clue and we could find exactly where he is. We’ll see you all next year. Keep in touch by email.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Tofu said, ‘but haven’t we forgotten to look in the most obvious place of all?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We chose to have our meeting in Bogusville because it’s one of the nineteen towns around Australia that could be Selby’s home. What if he actually does live here?’

  ‘Yes, we know that’s possible.’

  ‘Well, if you were Selby and we came to your town, where would you be?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’d come to the meeting, wouldn’t you? You’d want to see what was going on. And we know from the Selby books that the first thing he’d do is to put on his dog suit so that people would think that he’s a person in a dog suit. They wouldn’t suspect that he’s a dog in a dog suit.

  ‘You mean that he could be here right now?’

  An excited murmur passed through the audience.

  ‘Yes,’ Tofu said. ‘In fact, he could be you! Or you! Or you!’ he said, pointing around the room, and finally pointing to Selby. ‘Or you!’ he added.

  ‘Yeah, well he could be you, too!’ Selby said, pointing back at him.

  ‘He’s right!’ someone yelled. ‘Let’s take off our dog suits and see if there’s a dog in here.’

  ‘Take your own off,’ someone else yelled back. ‘You’re not touching mine!’

  ‘Oh, so you’re him!’ another person yelled. ‘Grab him and take off his head!’

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’

  Soon there were people crash-tackling other people and pulling off their dog heads.

  ‘Kirsty Karpenter!’ a man’s voice said. ‘You’re on that TV show about home renovations.’

  ‘And who are you?’ Kirsty said, grabbing the man’s dog head and pulling it off. ‘Hey! Aren’t you the weatherman on Channel 8?’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone that I’m here!’ the man said.

  One by one, heads were removed until finally they were down to the last dog suit. A dog suit that was running for the door.

  ‘Hey! Stop that dog!’ someone yelled. ‘Stop him, Fang!’

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ a voice yelled back. ‘You’re not taking my head off!’

  ‘It must be him! It must be the real Selby!’

  The little figure started running faster, punching and kicking its way through the crowd, knocking people this way and that.

  ‘We’ve finally got him! Don’t let him get away!’

  ‘If I can only get through that door,’ he muttered,’ they’ll never catch me. Out of my way!’

  But it was no use. There was only one of him and now the whole dog-headless Search for Selby Society pounced, knocking him to the floor. Within a second, someone had ripped off his dog-head.

  There was a huge gasp.

  ‘It’s-it’s him!’ someone stammered, ‘It’s the Prime Minister! We had no idea you were in the Search for Selby Society!’

  ‘Well, now you do,’ he said, dusting himself off. ‘Now will someone give me my head back? My limousine is waiting.’

  ‘Apparently it was a very exciting meeting,’ Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle after the Search for Selby Society had left town. ‘There’s a rumour that even the Prime Minister is in the group and he was there. I think he may even have been one of the people who came here for afternoon tea.’

  ‘Goodness me!’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Who would have expected it?’

  ‘Certainly not me,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And they were a very neat and tidy group. They didn’t leave any rubbish behind at the Convention Centre. The only thing that was le
ft behind was a dog suit. Someone found it by the back window. I put it in the Lost and Found but nobody’s come to claim it.’

  ‘And I don’t think that anyone will,’ Selby thought, as he lay on the carpet remembering his narrow escape when he slipped out of the dog suit and jumped out the window of the Convention Centre. ‘But at least I know exactly where the dog suit is for the next time I need it.’

  Paw note: Of course the Trifles only know my real name — which isn’t Selby. They don’t know that I ring up Duncan and tell him my stories so that he can write these books. Duncan knows that my name’s not really Selby, but even he doesn’t know what it really is.

  S

  Paw note: The town I live in isn’t really called Bogusville. I made that up when I started telling my stories to Duncan so that he wouldn’t be able to find me.

  S

  Paw note: For another story about me wearing my dog suit, see ‘Tricks and Treats’ in the book Selby Snaps!

  S

  Selby Shorn

  ‘How can you possibly help Shawn the shearer?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘You’ve never shorn a sheep in your life.’

  It was a beautiful sunny day and the Trifles were driving out to the country. Selby lay on the back seat half asleep.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Dr Trifle admitted. ‘Shawn will do the shearing. But remember, I’m an inventor and I’ve brought along my newly-invented EPFD to help him.’

  ‘EPFD? What does that stand for? Knowing the way you name your inventions, it’s probably an Ever Popular Fur Demolisher or something like that.’

  ‘That’s close,’ Dr Trifle admitted. ‘It stands for Easy Peasy Fleece Decreaser. The idea is to help Shawn set a sheep-shearing record.’

  ‘A shearing record? But won’t it be cheating to use a machine? Isn’t that like using roller skates to win a running race?’

  ‘No, no. First of all my EPFD isn’t really a machine. It’s just sort of a device.‘

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Here it is,’ Dr Trifle said, taking a tiny black box out of his pocket. ‘This will never even touch the sheep — or the shearer.’

  ‘Then how does it work?’

  Dr Trifle pressed a button on the box and suddenly there was a terrible scraping sound that sounded something like skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  ‘Stop that!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘I can’t stand it!’

  Selby suddenly sat up straight.

  ‘Sheeesh! That was awful!’ he thought. ‘It sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

  ‘That was terrible!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

  ‘You guessed it,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘That’s exactly what it is. This EPFD is just a mini-recorder.

  I recorded the sound of my fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

  ‘Well, it’s a horrible sound!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It made the hairs on my arms stand up. And look at poor Selby,’ she said, looking in the rear-vision mirror. ‘All his fur is standing on end.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Dr Trifle said proudly. ‘When each sheep is about to be shorn, I’ll push the button and the sheep’s fleece will stand up straight. This will make it very easy for Shawn to shear it.’

  ‘How about poor Shawn? If he has to listen to that all day long, he’ll go bonkers.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that. I’ve brought along earplugs for everyone — but not for the sheep, of course.’

  ‘And probably not for me, either,’ Selby thought.

  Soon they turned up the long driveway into the Me & Ewes Sheep Station. Selby watched as the sheep dogs herded a flock of sheep towards the shearing shed.

  ‘Look at all those sheep!’ Selby thought. ‘I wonder if they know they’re all about to have a haircut.’

  ‘G’day,’ Shawn called out. ‘Great to see you, Doc. Did you bring the thingy?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Dr Trifle. ‘Show me to the sheep and let’s get shearing.’

  Selby followed Shawn and the Trifles into the shed and watched them all put in their earplugs. Dr Trifle then pushed the button on his Easy Peasy Fleece Decreaser.

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  ‘Oh, that’s painful!’ Selby thought, covering his ears with his paws.

  ‘Start the clock!’ Shawn yelled, grabbing his clippers. ‘And bring on the sheep!’

  Shawn grabbed the first sheep and flipped it on its back. Dr Trifle pushed the button.

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  The sheep’s wool sprang up straight. Shawn turned on his clippers with a click and a hummmmmmmmm and ran them quickly back and forth till the fleece fell neatly on the floor.

  ‘This is great!’ Shawn screamed, pushing the sheep down a chute and grabbing another. ‘If I can keep this up, I reckon I’ll beat the record!’

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  Hummmmmmmmm.

  ‘I’d love to stay and watch but I can’t stand the noise,’ Selby thought as he trotted outside. ‘I’ll watch the action out here instead.’

  And action there was. Selby watched the sheep being herded into the shed and then shooting out again after they had been shorn.

  ‘Poor little critters,’ he thought. ‘They look all bald and miserable now. I hope they’re not too cold tonight. I’m just glad they don’t shear dogs.’

  As the day went on, Selby lay in the dirt watching the dogs work and listening to the screech of the EPFD.

  ‘How am I doing?’ Shawn yelled.

  ‘Thirty-three seconds for that one!’ Dr Trifle yelled back. ‘Keep this up and you’ll break the record of nine hundred and ninety-nine sheep in eight hours!’

  ‘Wow!’ Shawn screamed. ‘And it’s all thanks to you, Dr T! Shove another sheep over here!’

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  Hummmmmmmmm.

  And so it continued through the afternoon.

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  Hummmmmmmmm.

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  Hummmmmmmmm.

  Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

  Hummmmmmmmm.

  Selby covered his ears with his paws and peeked into the shed.

  ‘Watch him go!’ Selby thought. ‘I can barely see him because of the wool in the air. It’s like a blizzard in there!’

  ‘Ten more minutes!’ Dr Trifle yelled. ‘Shear sixteen more and you’ll break the world record! You’re going to do it!’

  ‘Hey, only sixteen more,’ Selby thought. ‘Oops, we have a problem. There’s only ten left. He’s going to run out of sheep! This is a tragedy! It’s a catastrophe!’

  Selby looked all around the paddock. Suddenly he noticed something moving up on the hillside.

  ‘There are more sheep up there,’ he thought. ‘The dogs don’t see them.’

  ‘Come on, guys!’ he called out to the dogs. ‘Forget about these ones! Look! Up there! Go get ‘em! This is hopeless. They’re not even listening to me. Oh well. Here goes nothing …’

  With this, Selby tore across the paddock and up the hill to where the sheep stood in the shade of the bushes.

  ‘Okay, you lot,’ he said. ‘Time to get moving!’

  Selby barked a couple of barks but the sheep just looked at him.

  ‘Come on. I’m doing you a favour. You’ll feel much better with those winter coats off. Woof! Woof! Woof!’

  The sheep looked startled but kept staring at him.

  ‘No more Mister Nice Dog. Get moving or get nipped!’

  Selby snapped at the back of the sheep’s legs and started chasing them down the hill.

  ‘That’s more like it. Now head for the shed.’

  Selby and his sheep were partway down the hillside when the other dogs joined in.

  ‘Hey, this is fun,’ Selby thought, as the other dogs and he ran back and forth, driving the sheep across the paddock and up to the shed door. ‘I feel like I’m part of a team. I’m a real working dog!’

  The last few sheep squeezed through the small door as Selby and the other dogs circled bac
k and forth.

  ‘Nine hundred and ninety-seven!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘Two minutes to go! You’re going to hit one thousand! You’ll break the world record!’

  ‘Come on, Shawn!'Dr Trifle yelled. ‘Go go go!’

  ‘Uh-oh and double uh-oh,’ Selby thought. ‘There are only two sheep left. We’re a sheep short!’

  As the last sheep disappeared into the shed, the dogs closed in on Selby, pushing him towards the door.

  ‘Hey, stop it, guys! It’s me! I’m not a sheep! I’m one of you! Stop nipping my legs! Get off me!’

  Meanwhile, inside the shed, Shawn’s clippers tore along the last sheep’s stomach and sides.

  ‘You’re almost there,’ Mrs Trifle yelled. ‘Just one more sheep!’

  Blinded by sweat and flying wool, Shawn the shearer grabbed what he thought was an odd-looking sheep and ran his clippers along it so fast that it couldn’t think to blink. Dr and Mrs Trifle were coughing and spluttering now and squinting through a snowstorm of wool.

  ‘Stop!’ Selby yelled. ‘I’m not a sheep! I’m Selby, the only talking dog in Australia and, perhaps, the world! Don’t do this to me!’

  But the sounds of Selby’s cries were muffled by earplugs and lost in the skuuuurrrrreeeexxx! of Dr Trifle’s invention and the hummmmmmmmm of Shawn’s shears.

  ‘Did you say something?’ asked Mrs Trifle, as Shawn the shearer sent the shorn Selby sliding down the chute. ‘Hey, that was a weird one.’

  ‘It didn’t look like a sheep at all,’ Dr Trifle agreed. ‘It looked more like a … a goat or something.’

  ‘One thousand sheep in eight hours! I’m the champion!’ Shawn screamed with joy. ‘Thanks to you, Dr Trifle.’

  And so it was that Selby found himself herded up a ramp by the sheep dogs and squeezed into the middle of a huge threedecker sheep truck. A very tired Shawn climbed into the cab.

  ‘Where are you taking them?’ Dr Trifle asked.

  ‘A few kilometres from here,’ Shawn the shearer said. ‘Better grass over there.’

  ‘Bring them to our place,’ Dr Trifle said with a laugh. ‘It’ll save me cutting the lawn.’