Selby Scrambled Page 4

  ‘We don’t know that, do we, team?’ Mrs Trifle called.

  ‘No, we don’t!’ came the reply.

  ‘There you have it then,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘I’m sorry but our team refuses to play against a dog,’ Denis said. ‘He might bite.’

  ‘He most certainly will not!’ Mrs Trifle answered. ‘But if you’re worried about it we’ll just let him sit and watch the game. And, by the way, I’ve been noticing something myself: Poshfield is short a player. That’ll be a thousand dollars, please.’

  ‘You tell him, Mrs Trifle,’ Selby thought. ‘That dirty guy! He’s getting everything he deserves.’

  Denis smiled.

  ‘No, we do have another player. He’s getting dressed. Carlos! Are you ready?’

  A man ran onto the field. Denis threw him the ball and he caught it on his toe and kicked it up over his head and when it came down he kicked it back over again with his heel. For a minute, everyone just stood and stared as the man kept the ball in the air with his feet, his knees and his forehead.

  ‘Wow!’ Selby gasped in his brain. ‘Where did this guy come from?! He’s fantastic! Carlos? Carlos who? I’m sure I’ve seen him before. Hang on a tick, Carlos Rodrigues! He’s the guy who scored the winning goal in the World Cup Final last year. In fact, he scored all of the goals in the World Cup Final.’

  ‘That’s Carlos Rodrigues!’ Camilla Bonzer said and gasped (out loud). ‘He scored all of the goals in the World Cup Final!’

  ‘He can’t play for you,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘This is a game between Poshfield and Bogusville. He doesn’t live in Poshfield.’

  ‘For the moment, he does,’ Denis said.

  ‘But he’s a professional. Professionals aren’t allowed to play against amateurs.’

  ‘What’s the difference between an amateur and a professional?’ Denis asked.

  ‘Professionals play for money.’

  ‘Then we’re all professionals,’ Denis said. ‘Because we’re playing for a thousand dollars.’

  ‘That is sneaky and mean,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Denis Dorset, you tricked us!’

  ‘Me? My dear lady, I did nothing of the kind. Now can we please get this game started?

  Or would you just like to hand over the money and save yourself a lot of embarrassment?’

  ‘We’ll play!’ Aunt Jetty shouted. ‘Won’t we, guys?’

  There was a moment of silence and then a mumbled chorus of,‘I guess so’s’,and ‘Okay,all right’s’,and ‘If you say so’s’.

  Mrs Trifle turned to Selby.

  ‘Stay here, boy,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, how I’d love to play,’ Selby thought. ‘I wish I could kick a soccer ball.’

  Then the game started and Carlos dribbled the ball up the field towards the goal and Aunt Jetty. Bogusville players raced in from all directions but Carlos kicked the ball between their legs, or chipped it over their heads, or even bounced it off them only to get control of it again.

  ‘This isn’t fair!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘None of them has a hope of even touching the ball. Look! They’re falling all over the place!’

  Soon Carlos was facing Aunt Jetty.

  ‘Atta boy, Carlos!’ Denis yelled. ‘Shoot! Shoot!’

  But Carlos just smiled and turned around, dribbling the ball back in the other direction, weaving around the Bogusville and Poshfield players.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Denis shouted. ‘The goal is that way! What are we paying you for?’

  ‘You pay me to play,’ Carlos said. ‘I play. I have good time.’

  ‘Well, you’d better win the game,’ Denis said.

  Suddenly Carlos kicked the ball hard, straight up in the air. And as it came down, he did a bicycle kick up and over his head, shooting the ball straight back towards Aunt Jetty.

  There was terror in Aunt Jetty’s eyes as the ball tore towards the goal, making a highpitched whistling noise as it flew through the air. Aunt Jetty dived to the side to get out of the way, only to have it accidentally hit her arm and bounce out. Jetty jumped to her feet and grabbed the ball in her hands.

  ‘I’ll show you, you boofhead!’ she screamed, throwing it down the field.

  Carlos stopped and wagged his finger at Aunt Jetty.

  ‘Is not nice, Crazy Lady,’ he said. ‘You make Carlos sad you say thees thing.’

  And off he went again, tearing towards Aunt Jetty. This time she stood with her legs apart and her arms out, ready to block any attempt at goal. But Carlos stopped and stood with his foot on top of the ball.

  ‘Go ahead, you nong!’ Jetty yelled. ‘Don’t just stand there!’

  This time Carlos stepped back and kicked the ball very gently up and into the corner of the goal. Aunt Jetty jumped for it but she didn’t have a chance of stopping it.

  ‘One to nothing — Poshfield!’ Denis yelled. ‘Good one, Carlos!’

  ‘Thank you, Boss.’

  Moments later Carlos was kicking the ball up and down the field again.

  ‘See,’ he said, ‘now I do square pass — to me. And I do reverse pass — to me. I chip zee ball … up up up and look! He come down to me again.’

  ‘This is terrible!’ Selby sighed. ‘Nobody but Carlos has even touched that ball. He just kicks it back and forth and does whatever he wants. We don’t have a hope!’

  When the whistle blew for half-time, the

  Bogusville players stumbled off the field, exhausted, while the Poshfield players — who had spent their time standing around doing nothing — pranced off to open their picnic hampers.

  ‘Poor Dr Trifle,’ Selby thought, ‘he’s hardly moved but he’s still exhausted.’

  When the second half started, Carlos again had total control of the ball.

  ‘Now watch, Mister Boss,’ he said, winking at Denis.

  Suddenly, Carlos kicked the ball fast along the ground, making it bounce off Gary Gaggs’ feet and then off Dr Trifle’s feet and then off Mrs Trifle’s feet before they knew what was happening. Then, after bouncing off Camilla’s feet it went straight into the Bogusville goal.

  ‘One all!’ Mrs Trifle yelled.

  ‘Carlos!’ Denis screamed. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘I make game interesting,’ Carlos said. ‘Now is big fun.’

  ‘Well you’d better make it big win, Carlos, or you won’t get paid!’

  ‘Mister Boss worry too much.’

  Once again the ball went back and forth and up and down but always in Carlos’s control.

  ‘This is awful!’ Selby wailed in his brain. ‘This is a disaster!’

  ‘Thirty seconds to go!’ Denis Dorset yelled. ‘Come on! Finish them off!’

  ‘Okay, Boss.’

  Carlos gathered speed, racing around the Bogusville players and came face to face with Aunt Jetty. He let a long, curving shot rip towards the goalie. Aunt Jetty jumped to the side, the ball catching her on the head and sending her crashing to the ground.

  ‘She’s lying there gasping for breath!’ Selby thought. ‘She can’t get up! Denis should be blowing his whistle and stopping the game! But he’s not! That dirty guy! And look, the ball bounced back to Carlos. He’s about to shoot again! This is so unfair! I can’t let this happen.’

  Like a shot out of a cannon, Selby tore onto the field, moving so fast that Carlos, who was just drawing his foot back, didn’t even see him go past. Once again the ball whistled by at the speed of a bullet. But by the time it got to the goal, Selby was standing on his hind legs on top of the gasping lump that was Aunt Jetty.

  ‘I’ve got to stop this even if it kills me!’ he thought. ‘I can’t let it go in! If I can stop it, it’ll be a tie and the Bogusville team won’t lose their money!’

  * * *

  What happened next is unclear. Selby later remembered jumping into the path of the ball, hitting it with his head and sending it back onto the field again.

  But it was the last thing he remembered. He woke up hours later lying on the Trifles’ carpet. Mr
s Trifle was holding an icepack to his forehead.

  ‘He’s coming round,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I think he’s going to be okay. Oh, you beautiful dog, you,’ she said, cuddling him.

  Dr Trifle stood there smiling and shaking his head.

  ‘You certainly saved the day, Selby,’ he said. ‘And it’s a good thing you were a player on the team and not just a mascot or it wouldn’t have counted.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘I don’t suppose he knew what he was doing. Dogs just seem to have this instinct to chase sticks and balls and things. Poor little guy,’ she added. ‘That ball really hit him hard, poor darling.’

  ‘I feel a bit sorry for Carlos,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘He’s such a good player — and to lose to us! Goodness me.’

  ‘Well, if you ask me, he was too good for his own good,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘If he hadn’t kicked the ball as hard as he did Selby would have just knocked it out of the goal. But no, it bounced all the way down to the other end and into the Bogusville goal.’

  ‘It did?’ Selby thought. ‘You mean I actually scored a goal? I beat the best soccer player in the whole world?! It can’t be!’

  ‘That Denis Dorset is not a happy man,’ Dr Trifle said with a laugh. ‘Did you see the look on his face when he had to pay you the money?’

  ‘I certainly did,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Good old Selby. Didn’t I tell you he’d bring us luck?’

  ‘You certainly did,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You know I think I like this soccer business after all. We were really getting into it towards the end, don’t you think?’

  Selby struggled not to smile as he looked up at Dr and Mrs Trifle.

  ‘They may not be very sporty,’ he thought, ‘but I love them all the same.’

  SELBY IN THE SLAMMER

  ‘Your dog is under arrest,’ announced Denis Dorset, the mayor of Poshfield.

  ‘Under arrest?’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘You can’t arrest Selby because you lost the soccer game.’

  ‘Nothing to do with that. You are obviously unaware of Poshfield’s new leash law. No dog is allowed to walk around without a leash.’

  The mayor of Poshfield stood smirking on the doorstep. Behind him were six police officers. And in front of him, held firmly by his leash, was Powderpuff, the mayor’s vicious poodle.

  ‘Mr Mayor,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘you are in

  Bogusville, not Poshfield. We don’t have a leash law in Bogusville.’

  ‘You tell that idiot,’ Selby thought.

  ‘This may be Bogusville,’ Denis said, ‘but your dog was in Poshfield without a leash.’

  ‘Was I?’ Selby thought.

  ‘Was he?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘He was seen running through our beautiful town with no leash and no one to control him. That may be good enough for Bogusville but it’s not good enough for us. Poshfield people are nice people and we like everything to be nice. Out-of-control dogs are definitely not nice.’

  ‘But how would Selby have got to Poshfield?’

  ‘On the fifteenth of last month he was running riot through our fair town,’ Denis Dorset said, grinning a thin grin. ‘We have a photograph to prove it.’

  Powderpuff strained on his leash, baring his teeth at Selby and growling.

  ‘Now I remember,’ Selby thought. ‘I was out for a walk and minding my own business when old fang-face here chased me into Poshfield.’

  ‘Show me the photograph,’ Mrs Trifle demanded.

  ‘It’s in here,’ Denis said, holding up a laptop computer. ‘You will see it in court.’

  ‘This is absurd! You can’t put a dog on trial.’

  ‘Wrong, Mayor Trifle. We can and we will.’

  ‘But how can a dog defend himself?’

  ‘You may defend him if you wish,’ Denis said.

  ‘I don’t care about your silly law!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Selby’s staying right here. Go away!’

  Denis turned to his police officers.

  ‘Cuff him,’ he ordered.

  Before Selby could think to blink, he was grabbed, paw-cuffed and bundled into a police paddy wagon. Within ten minutes, he was in a crowded courtroom.

  ‘This is like a nightmare,’ he thought. ‘I can’t believe it’s happening!’

  The judge rapped his hammer on the desk just as Dr and Mrs Trifle dashed into the courtroom.

  ‘Thank goodness the Trifles are here,’ Selby thought.

  ‘Don’t worry, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle whispered. ‘We’ll get you out of this.’

  ‘Poshfield Court will come to order,’ the judge said. ‘Selby Trifle, you are charged with being without a leash. Do you have anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘Now hold the show!’ Selby thought (he didn’t say it, he only thought it). ‘Of course there’s something I have to say for myself: I was chased here. It wasn’t my fault!’

  ‘Would someone like to speak for the dog?’ the judge said.

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I don’t believe that Selby was ever in Poshfield — at least not since the leash law was passed.’

  ‘Wrong,’ Denis Dorset said, calmly turning on his laptop.

  Suddenly a photo appeared on a big screen at the front of the court. It clearly showed Selby running down the main street of Poshfield.

  ‘Here is the proof,’ Denis Dorset said. ‘See the date code on the photo? That’s one month after our wonderful leash law was passed. Look at that monster’s face. Look at the hatred in his eyes, the bare teeth ready to tear the flesh of some innocent Poshfield person.’

  ‘I was scared, that’s all!’ Selby thought. ‘Old shark-mouth was right behind me nipping at my tail! You just can’t see him because he’s not in the photo.’

  ‘I’m stunned,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Maybe he’s not the sweet and innocent pet you think he is,’ the judge said.

  ‘That’s it,’ Selby thought. ‘I’m gone. Dr and Mrs Trifle will have to pay a fine. But if I tell them the truth I’ll give away my secret. It’s not fair to the Trifles but it’s better if they pay the fine. I’ll make it up to them somehow.’

  ‘I find Selby, the dog, guilty,’ the judge said, rapping his hammer again.

  ‘Okay,’ Dr Trifle sighed. ‘What’s the fine?’

  ‘According to this new law there is either a ten thousand dollar fine or ten years in prison.’

  ‘Prison? For a dog?’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘This is not a joke, Mayor Trifle. And the one who decides which it will be is Mayor Dorset. I am sorry but I don’t make the laws. The Poshfield Council does that.’

  ‘But-but-but you can’t put a dog in prison!’ Dr Trifle cried.

  ‘Oh yes, I can,’ Denis Dorset said, rubbing his hands together. ‘And I will — unless you do us a favour.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Give the town of Bogusville to Poshfield.’

  ‘Why, you sneak! You passed that law and you caught Selby just so that you could take over our town, didn’t you?’ Mrs Trifle said in a very cranky voice.

  ‘Come, come, Mrs Trifle, you’re just angry because you didn’t think of it first. Bogusville is a perfect place for us to dump our rubbish. Our sewers will empty into Bogusville Creek and we’ll send our poor people — not that we have many — to live in Bogusville. Poshfield will be the nicest town in Australia and, perhaps, the world.’

  ‘Hey, that dirty guy!’ Selby thought. ‘He can’t get away with this!’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ Mrs Trifle yelled. ‘The people of Bogusville would never let you turn our town into your rubbish tip and sewer!’

  ‘Is that your final answer?’ Denis asked.

  ‘It certainly is!’

  ‘My advice to you, Mrs Trifle, is to convince your council to go along with the Poshfield Plan. If they don’t agree, then it’s bye-bye to your dog for a long, long time. I’ll give you till tomorrow to decide.’

  The judge rapped his hammer again.


  ’Take the dog to prison,’ he said. ‘Bring him back tomorrow for sentencing.’

  Selby lay on a bed in his cell at Poshfield Prison.

  Across from him was a big man covered in tattoos and snoring loudly.

  ‘What’s to become of me?’ Selby whimpered.

  As he looked up through the bars on the window to the stars above tears rolled down his cheeks.

  ‘It’ll be ten years till I see the Trifles again,’ Selby mumbled. ‘I’ll never see their kind and loving faces again, except when they come to visit —if they come to visit. They must be so angry with me. I wish I could tell them what really happened.’

  ‘Hey, you! Shut up!’ the man said. ‘I’m trying to get some sleep.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘He heard me!’

  The man rolled over and looked at Selby.

  ‘I’ll just pretend I didn’t say anything,’ Selby thought. ‘He’ll think it came from the next cell.’

  ‘Hey, dog,’ the man said, ‘what’s your problem?’

  Selby closed his eyes and lay perfectly still.

  ‘Dog, I’m talking to you. What are you on about? You’re not fooling me. I know you’re awake.’

  ‘What does it matter about my secret now?’ Selby thought. And then he said out loud, ‘Okay, okay. My problem is that I’m in prison.’

  ‘Yeah, well that’s my problem, too. So keep the noise down.’

  The man rolled over again.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Selby thought. ‘I just talked and he doesn’t seem to care at all. Hey, you,’ Selby said out loud again, ‘didn’t you notice that I talked?’

  ‘So what? Go to sleep.’

  ‘But I’m a dog. I’m not supposed to talk. I don’t know how I learned to do it. It just happened. I was sitting in front of the TV one day and suddenly I could understand what they were saying.’

  As Selby talked about his life with the Trifles, the man slowly sat up on his bed listening to every word. On and on Selby talked till the middle of the night. He talked about Dr Trifle’s inventions, and about Mrs Trifle’s troubles as mayor, about Willy and Billy — everything.

  Finally, he had said it all.