Selby Supersnoop Read online

  ‘Dr Trifle was right,’ Selby thought. ‘This EYES business works for dogs, too. JAWS knows I’m not a leaf.’

  Selby grabbed a big cushion and put it at the edge of the pool. Then he lay down with one foot in the water.

  ‘Just my luck that I’m the only non-swimming dog in Australia — and perhaps the world,’ he thought as he put on Mrs Trifle’s straw hat, her sunglasses, and even plopped a dollop of zinc cream on the end of his nose. ‘But this is great. It’s better than going to the beach.’

  Selby lay there, reading the brochure and, as he did, a breeze came up and sent another leaf down into the water next to his dangling paw. Suddenly Selby saw the shadow of JAWS streaking upwards, breaking the water’s surface like a dolphin.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby cried, pulling his paw out of the water.

  The monster machine went spurting upwards in a great arc and then plunged back down to the bottom again with the leaf in its mouth. All of which would have been okay if it hadn’t been for the huge wave that rose like a volcano and crashed down over Selby, washing him right into the pool.

  ‘Help!’ Selby cried as he scrabbled at the pool’s edge. ‘Get me out of here! I can’t swim!’

  But before he could grab anything, the wind sent another leaf and another and another into the water around him. JAWS broke the surface again and again, knocking Selby about in the choppy water.

  ‘Stop it! You great phoney fibreglass fish!’ Selby gasped. ‘You’re going to drown me!’

  Selby thrashed about as JAWS disappeared to the bottom again with the last leaf clamped firmly in its teeth.

  ‘If only I can stay afloat for a couple of seconds,’ Selby thought. ‘If I keep up the thrashing — gulp — I might get to the side of the pool!’

  Selby slapped the water with his paws, splashing water in every direction and moving slightly sideways towards the edge of the pool. He gasped and sputtered, his head dipping below the surface and then bobbing up for another gulp of air.

  Slowly he moved to within whisker-distance of the edge.

  ‘If I can only — gasp — get a paw — gulp — up on the side of the — glug — pool —’ he sputtered.

  Suddenly, just as he hooked a paw up and over the edge of the pool and was about to leap out of the water, he looked up to see one last lone leaf come fluttering down towards him.

  ‘Oh, no!’ he cried, losing his toenail grip and slipping away from the edge. ‘As soon as that thing hits the water, this stupid synthetic sea-serpent will drown me for sure! I’ve got to keep it from landing!’

  Selby drew in a deep breath and blew upwards, sending the leaf back up in the air. The first blow was followed by another and another as the leaf hovered above his head, not knowing whether to flutter up or flutter down.

  ‘I can’t keep up this blowing forever!’ Selby thought. ‘I’m already so dizzy that I’m about to faint!’

  The leaf teetered back and forth, side to side, fluttering up, then floating down. Then suddenly Selby’s blowing weakened and the leaf took a sudden dive, smack onto the zinc cream on the end of his nose.

  ‘I’ve caught it!’ Selby yelled. ‘Thank goodness it’s stuck to my nose. It can’t hit the water now! Yiiipppeee!’

  But Selby spoke too soon — and too loudly — because the breath of his yiiipppeee! blew the leaf off the end of his nose and smack into the water beside him.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Selby shrieked as JAWS came charging out of the depths, smacking him from below as it sped towards the leaf.

  The next thing Selby knew he was flying through the air, landing on the grass beside the pool. As he hit the ground, Mrs Trifle, who had just come home, tore out of the house and scooped Selby up in her arms.

  ‘Did you see that?!’ she screamed at Dr Trifle.

  ‘Your JAWS-thing actually saved Selby’s life! He must have fallen into the pool. It knocked him back out again! It not only gobbles leaves, it rescues drowning pets! What a marvellous invention!’

  ‘I told you JAWS would be useful,’ Dr Trifle said, feeling very proud of himself. ‘Sometimes my own inventions surprise even me.’

  ‘JAWS, SCHMAWS,’ Selby thought as he coughed some water out of his lungs. ‘I’m just happy to be a PUP — and I don’t mean a young dog. PUP is dog talk for a Pleasantly Undrowned Pooch.’

  SELBY SUPERSNOUT

  It all began the day that Selby read the chapter in The Art of the Private Investigator on using dogs to sniff out clues.

  ‘I’d be a hopeless sniffer-dog,’ Selby thought as he sniffed his way around the house. ‘I couldn’t find a rotten fish in a room full of roses. And all this dust makes me feel like a four-legged vacuum cleaner. Achoooo!’

  That afternoon Dr and Mrs Trifle received an invitation to the launch of a fabulously expensive new perfume made by the famous perfume-maker, Pierre de Paris of the House of Pierre Perfumerie.

  ‘I know they launch ships,’ said Dr Trifle, ‘but I didn’t know they launched perfumes.’

  ‘It’s really just a big party to tell everyone about the perfume,’ Mrs Trifle explained.

  ‘They’ve hired the movie theatre for the evening. This new perfume is called Composure.’

  ‘Composure? What an odd name,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Why don’t they call it Morning Rose or Evening Daffodil — something that smells like something?’

  ‘These days perfumes have much more interesting names like Quest, and React, and Lightning, and Composure. The names have nothing to do with the smell anymore.’

  ‘If you ask me, I think it’s all very silly,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘People should spend their money on more useful things.’

  ‘It’s really just a bit of fun,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And I’m kind of looking forward to going.’

  ‘Well, I reckon it isn’t that difficult to make perfumes,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’ll bet I could whip up a lovely fragrance in no time.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that it’s not that easy.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Dr Trifle said, heading for his workroom.

  ‘Perfumes,’ Selby thought. ‘I don’t understand them. Why can’t people just smell like people? Why do they waste so much money trying to smell like something else? I mean, I’m a dog and I smell like a dog. What’s wrong with that?’

  For the next few days the most revolting smells drifted out of Dr Trifle’s workroom. Finally, Dr Trifle appeared, smiling, and holding three small bottles.

  ‘Ta-da!’ he sang. ‘The House of Trifle is proud to bring you Smell-O-Scents, a new concept in perfumes.’

  ‘A new concept?’ Mrs Trifle said, very suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The thing about ordinary perfumes,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘is that they usually just smell nice. They have the scent of roses, or jasmine, or camellias.’

  ‘What do yours smell like?’

  ‘My Smell-O-Scents don’t smell like any one thing. They remind you of places — tropical islands, mountain peaks, rivers. They don’t just cover up people smells.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d know the smell of a tropical island if I sniffed one,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘That’s because they don’t have just one smell. They have lots of smells all together. Some of the smells are horrible and some are nice. When you mix them together in the right amounts something wonderful happens.’

  ‘Are you talking about scents? Or are you talking non-scents?’ Mrs Trifle laughed. ‘Get it? Scents? Nonsense?’

  ‘Yes, very funny, dear,’ Dr Trifle said, holding up one of his bottles. ‘But have a whiff of this.’

  Mrs Trifle sniffed it and suddenly a smile spread across her lips.

  ‘Mmmmmmm,’ she said. ‘That’s very interesting. It reminds me of something.’

  ‘What?’ Dr Trifle asked eagerly.

  ‘Rafting down a river.’

  ‘Smell-O-Stream,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘That’s what I’ve named it. You see, it works!’

  By now Selby had made his way quietly up to Mrs Trifl
e’s side and had sneaked a secret sniff.

  ‘Crikey!’ he thought. ‘It’s true! It reminds me of wild rivers and forests. Dr Trifle is very clever.’

  ‘Here, try another one,’ Dr Trifle said.

  Mrs Trifle dabbed a drop of the next perfume on her wrist and sniffed it.

  ‘Deserts,’ she said. ‘Dry, wind-swept places. Red rocks with bits of blue grass growing between them. And lots of sand.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Selby thought. ‘That’s what it reminds me of too!’

  ‘Smell-O-Sand,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘And now try this one.’

  ‘Tropical islands come to mind,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That’s the best one.’

  ‘Smell-O-Surf,’ Dr Trifle said proudly.

  Selby put his nose close to the bottle and drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  ‘I feel like I’m lying on a yacht,’ he thought, ‘anchored off palm-covered islands. People are bringing me plates of delicious food. Dr Trifle isn’t just clever — he’s a genius! These Smell—0- Scents are fantastic!’

  ‘Goodness, look at Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I think he likes that one. I guess we’ll never know what it reminds him of.’

  ‘I’d better get back to work on Smell-O-Snow, my mountain perfume,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But I think I’ll take a bottle of the Smell-O- Surf along to the launch tonight to show these House of Pierre people. Maybe they’ll want to buy the formula from me.’

  That evening, the Trifles and Selby were met by Pierre de Paris himself as they entered the Bogusville Bijou Theatre.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said as hundreds of people filed past them. ‘I am told that you’re the mayor of this lovely town.’

  ‘Yes, and this is my husband, Dr Trifle,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He has a little something to show you — his new perfume.’

  ‘A perfume-maker in Bogusville? This is impossible!’

  ‘I’m just an amateur; a dabbler,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Or, should I say, a dabber, since we’re talking about perfume.’

  ‘How very interesting,’ the man said stiffly. ‘But show me later. And please, no dogs.’

  ‘Selby will behave himself,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘It is not the behaviour but the odour,’ Pierre said, pinching his nose with his fingers. ‘Little doggies smell like … little doggies. He will cause confusion to the noses.’

  ‘Confusion to the noses? Doggie odour?’ Selby thought. ‘What does this perfumed poncy pants want me to smell like: an ostrich?’

  ‘Selby, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here,’ Mrs Trifle said, giving Selby a pat. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ thought Selby as the Trifles went into the theatre. ‘Why couldn’t they have just left me at home? I could have watched TV or read a book or something. I’ll tell you what, I’m not sitting around out here.’

  When everyone was seated, the music began, the lights dimmed, and Selby crept into the hall.

  ‘Nobody will notice me back here,’ he thought. ‘And I can watch the show just like anyone else.’

  For the next half hour one beautifully dressed model after another came to the middle of the stage, turned around twice and then walked off again. Each time another model appeared, Pierre’s assistants sprayed a different perfume in the air and Pierre said its name slowly and deeply into his microphone: ‘Suspense,’ he said. ‘Shadows’ … ‘Melancholy’ … ‘Excitement'.

  Finally it was time for the big moment. The hall went completely black, a drum played a drum roll and suddenly the air was filled with a different perfume. A murmur of excitement went through the audience and then the spotlight fell on Pierre, standing in the middle of the stage.

  ‘And now, the moment we have all been waiting for!’ he said. ‘The House of Pierre proudly brings you — Composure!’

  ‘Composure?’ Selby thought, sniffing a big sniff. ‘It smells more like compost. Smell—O-Surf is so much better than any of these Pong de Paris perfumes. It’s all a big con.’

  When the clapping died down, Pierre cried, ‘Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, and tonight only, we have decided to slash our price and give you Composure at the special, once-only, low, low figure of only ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents!’

  ‘One hundred smackeroos!’ Selby thought. ‘That’s outrageous! All that money for a tiny bottle of smelly liquid! What a rip-off! Forget the perfume; this Pierre guy is really beginning to get up my nose!’

  But before these thoughts were out of Selby’s brain a few people dashed up to the stage and began buying the perfume.

  ‘It would almost be worth giving away my secret just to be able to shout out, “Don’t buy that muck; it’s a waste of money!” Hey, now wait a minute! Hold the show! I know what I’ll do.’

  Selby crept down under the seats till he was under Dr Trifle’s seat. Very slowly, and without the doctor noticing, Selby put his snout down into Dr Trifle’s jacket pocket and grabbed the bottle of Smell-O-Surf gently in his teeth. In a minute he had placed the bottle on a table at the back of the theatre and had the cap off.

  ‘Now all I have to do is move the table over in front of the air conditioner,’ Selby said, pushing the table, ‘and I’ll give them a whiff of something really good.’

  Selby stepped outside the door again as the smell of tropical islands spread through the theatre. Suddenly there were ooooohs and aaaaaahs all around.

  ‘What is that heavenly smell?’ someone cried.

  ‘It reminds me of ocean breezes and coral reefs,’ someone else said. ‘I feel like I’ve just gone on holidays.’

  ‘Forget the Composure stuff, Mr Pierre,’ a woman said. ‘Where can we buy some of this?’

  Dr Trifle searched his pockets for the bottle. Soon one of Pierre’s assistants located the bottle of Smell-O-Surf, sniffed it and put the lid back on.

  ‘Whose perfume is this?’ Pierre demanded.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’m afraid this one’s mine.’

  ‘Yours?’ Pierre said. ‘Why did you want to ruin my beautiful launch?!’

  ‘I-I didn’t,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I don’t know how it got there. Honestly, I don’t.’

  Selby chuckled to himself as everyone crowded around Dr Trifle.

  ‘Where can we buy this beautiful fragrance?’ they demanded.

  ‘I don’t have any more,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Only what’s in that bottle. I guess I could make some more though. It’s really not difficult to make.’

  ‘Get out of here, all of you ungrateful people!’ Pierre screamed. ‘You are stupid, uncouth country people! You know nothing! I have wasted my time with you! Out! Out!’

  Everyone filed out of the theatre. Pierre was standing stiffly in the doorway as Dr and Mrs Trifle went out.

  ‘We’re terribly sorry,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We really don’t know what happened.’

  ‘I will tell you one thing,’ Pierre said. ‘I am never coming back to this terrible town!’

  ‘I quite understand,’ Dr Trifle said politely, adding, ‘Oh, by the way, may I have my perfume back?’

  ‘I don’t know where it is,’ Pierre said.

  ‘But one of your assistants had it,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Then it is a mystery,’ Pierre said, blowing his nose in his silk handkerchief. ‘He must have thrown it away.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘I can make some more.’

  ‘That guy’s lying,’ Selby thought. ‘One of these guys has Dr Trifle’s perfume. Now they’ll take it back to their laboratory and figure out how to make it. He’s just stolen Dr Trifle’s formula! And now Pierre will make grillions of dollars from it! Crumbs — and it’s all my fault.’

  Just then, Selby smelled a faint smell of Smell-O-Surf. For a second he was back in the tropics lying on the beach. In his daydream he got up, stretched, and looked up at the coconuts in the palms above him.

  ‘I’d love a nice sip of coconut milk,’ he thought. ‘Maybe I’ll just climb up and pick a coconut.’

&nbs
p; In his mind, Selby leapt halfway up a palm, only to have it fall to the ground under his weight.

  Selby came back to reality with a start.

  ‘Get that savage dog off me!’ a voice cried. ‘He’s trying to kill me!’

  Selby opened his eyes and there was Pierre lying on his back on the floor under him.

  ‘Goodness, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Get off that man. What’s got into you?’

  Mrs Trifle was pulling Selby back by the collar when suddenly Dr Trifle’s perfume bottle rolled out of Pierre’s pocket.

  ‘Just as I suspected,’ Selby thought. ‘That scoundrel had it all the time!’

  ‘I believe we’ve just located the bottle,’ Dr Trifle said, picking it up. ‘Come along, Selby. I think you’ve solved our little mystery.’

  ‘So I have,’ Selby thought. ‘Come to think of it, maybe I’m not such a bad sniffer-dog, after all.’

  SELBY UNSTUCK

  ‘Look! Come quickly!’ Mrs Trifle cried.

  Dr Trifle came dashing into the study with Selby right behind him.

  ‘What is it, dear?’ the doctor asked. ‘A great discovery!’ Mrs Trifle said, holding up an old postcard. ‘I found this in the middle of that book about Canada. I suspect that your great, great, great-grandfather, Fred Trifle, wrote it to your great, great, great-grandmother, Matilda, before they were married.’

  Dr Trifle held up the postcard and read it:

  September 15, 1857

  Dear Matilda,

  The weather is here, wish you were beautiful. Ha, ha. Great joke, isn’t it? See you soon.

  Love, Fred

  Dr Trifle looked puzzled as he re-read the card.

  ‘Yes, very interesting,’ he said, finally, ‘but that’s the oldest, corniest postcard joke in the world. Instead of writing, “The weather is beautiful, wish you were here,” he wrote “The weather is here, wish you were beautiful.” Get it?’

  ‘Of course I get it,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘You used to write it on every postcard you sent me before we were married, remember?’ ‘Did I?’