Selby's Shemozzle Read online

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Trifle said, giving Selby a good scratch under the chin. ‘Sometimes I get the feeling that Selby understands every word we say. Isn’t that true, Selby?’

  ‘I could answer that,’ Selby thought, sighing secretly at the thoughts of the wonderful times he’d hoped to have with Sylvia, ‘but I won’t — not yet, anyway.’

  Paw note: See ‘Selby in Love’ in the book Selby Screams.

  See ‘Selby Lovestruck’ in the book Selby Snowbound.

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  Paw note: See ‘Selby Smitten’ in the book Selby Snaps!.

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  You Lucky Dog, You!

  ‘What’s this game on TV with the balls and the numbers?’ Dr Trifle asked as he watched a red ball with a number on it roll down a tube.

  ‘It’s called a lottery, dear,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘A lottery? Do people win money or something?’

  ‘Yes. They buy a ticket with numbers on it. If their numbers come up they can win millions of dollars.’

  Dr Trifle scratched his head, then said, ‘What do they do with the money?’

  ‘I guess they buy houses and yachts and they travel.’

  ‘It all sounds pretty silly to me.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘But some people enjoy just the betting part. They feel good when they think they can win and they feel bad when they lose. And if they do win then they jump up and down and scream. They like it when their feelings go up and down like a roller-coaster.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I feel good just the way I am.’

  ‘Oh, how I’d love to win millions of dollars,’ Selby thought as he lay nearby. ‘But what would I do with the money? I don’t really need anything. I have something that no amount of money can buy. I’ve got the wonderful Trifles to look after me.’

  Selby watched another ball roll down and stop.

  ‘But wait,’ he thought. ‘I’ve got everything I need, but how about all the poor people who haven’t? If I won millions of dollars, I think I’d give it away. That would make me feel really good. What am I thinking?, I can’t buy a lottery ticket anyway.’

  Selby was right. He couldn’t buy a lottery ticket. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find one — which is exactly what happened …

  * * *

  Two days later, Selby was out for his morning walk. He’d just passed the Bogusville Newsagency, and there it was on the ground.

  ‘A lottery ticket,’ he thought. ‘Someone must have dropped it. And they didn’t write their name on it so I can’t give it back. Hey, this is going to be fun!’

  That evening the Trifles went out and Selby lay in front of the TV watching the coloured balls roll down.

  ‘Okay,’ Selby thought, ‘I want the first one to be seventeen, because that’s the first number on my card.’

  Selby was daydreaming about giving away millions of dollars, so he wasn’t paying attention when the first ball came to a stop. Then he looked and looked again.

  ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘It is seventeen! How do you like that?’

  Another ball rolled down. This time Selby was paying attention.

  ‘I need five more,’ he thought. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if I got my next one? Come on, sixty-three.’

  The second ball rolled and rolled and then finally came to a stop.

  ‘Sixty-three!’ Selby said. ‘Beginner’s luck. I got my first two numbers. Maybe I should turn off the TV while I’m still feeling good. I know I won’t get three numbers in a row.’

  Selby was about to turn off the TV when the next ball dropped.

  ‘Forty-two?’ he said, looking at his card. ‘That’s my third number! I can’t believe it! That’s three. All I need is three more.’

  Selby watched the next ball start rolling down the long slide.

  ‘Eighty-nine,’ he thought. ‘I want it to be eighty-nine.’

  The ball finally stopped.

  ‘Eighty-nine!’ Selby cried. ‘All I need is two more numbers and I’ll be a multi-multimillionaire! I’ll be rich! Oh, please let the next one be seventy-one. Please, please, please!’

  Selby took a deep breath.

  ‘Calm down. Lots of people get the first four numbers — it doesn’t mean a thing. I’ve got to stay cool or I’m going to feel really, really horrible when I lose. Come on, number seventy-one. Selby needs a seventy-one.’

  The yellow ball rolled down and down the slide. Selby took a deep breath and put his paws over his eyes. Then he opened them very slowly.

  ‘Seventy-one!’ he screamed. ‘I can’t believe it! All I need is a fifteen and I’ll win! Come on, fifteen!’

  The next ball shot up the tube and then started rolling down and down like the others.

  ‘I think I see a one on it!’ Selby squealed while the ball was still rolling. ‘Yes, it’s definitely a one — and a five! There’s a one and a five! Oh, please, please don’t let it be fifty-one! Come on, fifteen! Come to Selby! Selby wants you! Selby needs you! Selby loves you, number fifteen!’

  Selby jumped higher and higher till his head almost hit the ceiling. His heart pounded. His lungs were bursting. Sweat poured down his face.

  Then finally the ball stopped.

  Selby lay on the floor, gasping for breath, as he struggled to make sense of what had happened.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled as he crawled towards the TV. ‘It’s got to be a mistake. Am I wrong? Am I reading the number wrong? No! It’s fifteen! It’s beautiful, gorgeous number fifteen! I’ve won!!!!! Yiiiiipppppppeeeee!’

  Selby panted, clutching his crumpled lottery ticket.

  ‘Some very lucky person,’ the announcer on TV said, ‘has just won ten million dollars, you lucky dog, you!’

  ‘Little does he know,’ Selby thought, ‘that the lucky dog is a lucky dog. I’m a millionaire! I’m a ten millionaire! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! What am I going to do with all that dough?’

  Visions of things to buy danced in Selby’s head.

  ‘Of course, I’ll give most of the moolah to charity,’ Selby said, ‘but I might keep a little bit for a new TV — one of those big flat ones that’s as big as a wall. The Trifles wouldn’t know where it came from.’

  Selby smiled as he imagined the surprise on the Trifles’ faces.

  ‘Of course, we’ll need one of those new satellite dishes that gets thousands of programs. And a better DVD player and some of those fantastic huge speakers. We could have a whole entertainment room with seats like a movie theatre. But hang on a tick — this house is too small.’

  Selby thought again.

  ‘I’ll buy a new house — a nice big one like Madame Mascara’s. I’ll still have half the money to give to the poor people.’

  Selby began to imagine his new life in Trifle Mansion.

  ‘We’ll need lots of servants to do the cleaning. It wouldn’t be fair if Dr and Mrs Trifle had to do it all. And I’ll get them a nice big limo — and a chauffeur to drive it. Maybe I’ll only give a quarter of the money away. The poor people should be happy with that,’ Selby thought. ‘I guess I’d better get down to the newsagency. How will I do this? I think it’s suit time.’

  Selby dashed under the house and started to put on the dog suit disguise he kept hidden there.

  ‘Once we’re in the mansion,’ he thought, ‘I think I’ll tell the Trifles my secret. But if they know I can talk they might put me to work around the house. But hang on, we’ll have lots of servants to do the work, so I really can tell them. Hey, and we can travel. I love to travel! So do the Trifles. We’ll go everywhere first class. No, forget first class — I’ll buy a private jet. And I’ll need bodyguards, cos everyone will know I’m a talking dog and that. Okay, so there will only be a teeny bit of money left for the poor people. That’s okay. They won’t miss it if they never had it. But wait — I guess I should build a private landing strip next to the mansion, so we won’t have to go all the way to the airport.’

  It was a strange and lumpy figure who walked up to the coun
ter in the newsagency.

  ‘I think I’ve won today’s big jackpot,’ it said.

  The newsagent stared for a moment.

  ‘You’re a dog, right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Very clever! Now no one’s going to know who won, so you can’t be hassled for money all the time.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘They can’t rob you either.’

  ‘Right again.’

  ‘Oh, this is exciting,’ the newsagent said. ‘I’ve never sold a winning ticket before. Let me just put your ticket through the machine and make sure that it is the winning ticket.’

  The door behind Selby opened slowly and an old man came in, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

  ‘Could you check my ticket to see if I won?’ he asked.

  ‘This gentleman here thinks he’s won,’ the newsagent said.

  The man looked at Selby.

  ‘He doesn’t look like a gentleman. He looks like a dog,’ said the old man, searching his pockets. ‘Now, where is my ticket … I bought it here yesterday. It should be here somewhere, unless I dropped it on the street. Never mind, I’m sure I didn’t win anything. I never do. Sorry to trouble you.’

  Selby watched the old man shuffling slowly towards the door. He looked at his shabby coat and worn-out shoes.

  ‘It must be his ticket I found,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I feel awful. Here I was all excited about winning the money and giving it away to the poor — well, maybe a bit of it — and it was a poor little old man who really won it. I can’t do this. If I take the money I’ll feel guilty forever.’

  Selby dashed ahead, opening the door for the man and quickly slipping the ticket into his pocket.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Selby said, ‘why don’t you look through your pockets again?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Dog,’ the old man answered. ‘The man said that you won it anyway.’

  ‘Well, maybe I didn’t. I’m not very good with numbers. I might have read them wrong. Have another look … please?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ the old man said. ‘What would I do with all that money anyway?’

  ‘For starters, you could buy some new clothes,’ Selby thought. (He didn’t say it, he only thought it.) Then he said, ‘Please, let me have a look.’

  Selby pulled open the pocket where he’d put the ticket.

  ‘It’s there,’ he said. ‘Look!’

  ‘Goodness me. So it is.’

  Selby took the ticket to the counter.

  The newsagent put the ticket into the lottery machine. Suddenly bells rang and whistles whistled and buzzers buzzed.

  ‘You won, Mr Penticost!’ the newsagent cried. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said to Selby. ‘I guess you lose. And all that trouble with the dog suit, too.’

  ‘But I feel good and that’s all that matters,’ Selby thought on his way home. ‘I had all the fun of winning the money and then the double fun of giving it to someone who really needed it. What could be better?’

  That evening on TV the Trifles saw the shouting and cheering crowd at the newsagency.

  ‘Can you believe this?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Someone here in Bogusville just won ten million dollars in the lottery! It’s Mr Penticost.’

  ‘Maybe he can buy himself some new clothes,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘And fix up that broken-down house.’

  ‘He won’t, you know,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That man is the biggest cheapskate in the world. He’s already inherited millions of dollars and he’s never spent a cent of it.’

  ‘And what will you do with the money?’ the lottery man asked Mr Penticost. ‘Buy a mansion? A yacht? An aeroplane? Or are you going to give it to charity?’

  ‘Charity?!’ the old man said. ‘You’ve got to be joking! I’ll save it. And then it’ll all go to Wilbur when I’m gone.’

  ‘Who’s Wilbur?’

  ‘My cockatoo. Did you know that cockatoos can live to be eighty years old? With all this money, I know he’ll always have enough birdseed.’

  ‘Oh, groan,’ Selby thought. ‘I could have had all the money! I could have given it to charity! How much birdseed can Wilbur possibly eat?!’

  ‘The funny thing,’ the old man said, ‘is that I was in a bit of a shemozzle — I couldn’t find my ticket. So a very kind dog looked in one of my pockets and found it.’

  ‘A dog did that?’

  ‘Yes, and later on I looked in another pocket and found another ticket for the same lottery. I must have bought two tickets without knowing it.’

  ‘Groan and double groan,’ Selby thought. ‘The lost ticket wasn’t even his after all! Life just isn’t fair.’

  ‘Hi, guys, have you heard the exciting news?’ Aunt Jetty said as she bounded through the doorway. ‘That old cheapskate, Mr Penticost, just won ten million bucks! Ten million smackeroos! Why do the wrong people always win? I never win anything.’

  ‘Neither do we,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but then, we don’t buy the tickets in the first place.’

  ‘Well, I do, ‘Aunt Jetty said. ‘In fact, I bought one for today’s lottery but I lost it. I think I must have dropped it when I left the newsagency this morning.’

  ‘I just changed my mind,’ Selby thought, as he struggled to keep from smiling. ‘Maybe life is fair after all — well, a little bit.’

  The Blood of the Wolfman

  Hi, this is Selby and I’m going to tell this story myself. It’s too complicated to let Duncan tell it. Besides, he might try to make it funny. One thing it definitely is not is funny. Anyway, I’m going to tell it myself, if that’s okay with you.

  It was Saturday evening. Dr Trifle was on a stepladder twisting a little metal thingy into the ceiling. What was I doing? I was just lying there sort of watching.

  Dr Trifle said, ‘If this new invention of mine works, everyone will want one.’

  Which is what he always says about his new inventions.

  So Mrs Trifle said, ‘That’s what you always say about your new inventions.’

  ‘Do I?’ he asked. (Dr Trifle always forgets things.)

  ‘Yes. You even said it about the hair restorer you invented this morning.’

  ‘The what?’ (See what I mean about Dr Trifle forgetting?)

  That morning he’d invented some stuff to make hair grow back if you’re bald. At least, that’s what he hoped it would do. He’d put it in an empty bottle of Beautifying and Anti-Ageing Cream.

  ‘This,’ Mrs Trifle said, picking up the bottle. ‘You said that everyone would want it, but I don’t think so. The bald patch on your head is still just as bald as it was.’

  ‘Is it?’ Dr Trifle said, tipping his head so he could see the top of it in the mirror. ‘Oh, well, throw it away. But this invention will be a winner.’

  Mrs Trifle looked up.

  ‘It looks like a water sprinkler, like the ones you see in offices.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it is. But those ones only start spraying water when things really get burning. The heat turns them on. My VAPO invention is much better.’

  ‘VAPO?’

  ‘Voice-Activated Putter-Outer. The second you see the tiniest spark or a bit of smoke, you just yell you-know-what and whoooooooooosh! water sprays everywhere.’

  ‘What is it that you have to yell?’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘You-know-what.’

  ‘So if I yelled out “you-know-what” right now it would start sprinkling?’

  ‘No, you don’t actually yell “you-know-what". You have to yell …’ Dr Trifle scrambled down from the ladder and whispered in Mrs Trifle’s ear.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So you have to yell “Fire".’

  ‘Shhhh! Not so loud, you’ll set it off,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Now, isn’t that the best you-know-what putter-outer invention ever?’

  ‘Maybe, but what if a … a you-know-what starts and there’s no one around to yell … you-know-what?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Dr Trifle hmmmed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Oh well.’

  ‘Goodness me, loo
k at the time!’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘Jetty will be here any minute. She’s leaving her boys with us tonight while she does her Aggressiveness Training class.’

  Now, as anyone who’s read any of the stories about me knows, Aunt Jetty hates me. I think she really started to hate me when I bit her on the bum. But that’s a different story. Why she thinks she needs aggressiveness training is beyond me. She’s already as aggressive as a crocodile with two heads.

  Anyway, her dreadful sons, Willy and Billy, have always hated me. So when the brats come over, I usually disappear. Only this time Mrs Trifle had put a big lacy tablecloth over the dining-room table, so I just crawled under it and hid.

  Minutes later, Willy and Billy were running around the house. Willy was shooting arrows at Billy and Billy was hitting Willy with his cricket bat.

  ‘Settle down, boys, before you kill each other,’ Mrs Trifle ordered.

  ‘It’s okay, Sis,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘The arrows have rubber tips and the cricket bat is only plastic. They can’t hurt each other.’

  ‘I’m not just worried about them,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘They’re knocking things over everywhere. Something’s going to get broken.’

  ‘Time out!’ Aunt Jetty roared, putting her hands up to make a T shape. ‘Stop it right now!’

  Now, when Aunt Jetty roars, she really roars! Willy and Billy stopped in their tracks.

  ‘But we’re not hurtin’ nuffin',’ Willy said.

  ‘Well, it’s time to stop,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We have some books you boys can read.’

  ‘Books?! Yuck! We want to watch our DVDs,’ said Billy.

  ‘What are they?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  Willy got a DVD out of his bag and I could see a horrified look on Mrs Trifle’s face.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to watch a film called The Blood of the Wolfman. Look what it says on the back: “Lock your doors and windows! Hairy Harry the head-chopping monster from hell is back.”’

  ‘Wolfman?!’ Aunt Jetty said, snatching the DVD from Willy. ‘You boys said it was a nature film.’