by Duncan Ball
Selby had just watched the latest episode of Animal Angels. In it veterinarians race around the world helping to rescue animals that are sick or injured. In this program there had been a kitten in France that couldn’t sleep, a dog in Brazil that wouldn’t eat, and a little bird with a broken beak clinging to a cliff in China.
‘That was soooooo sad when they had to put that poor little birdie down,’ Selby thought as he blinked back a tear, ‘but they’d tried everything to fix him up and nothing worked. Anyway, I loved it when the vets operated on the kitty’s crook neck so that she could sleep again. But that dog with Gutsitis Scrambulitis — now that was amazing!’
The dog had been born with a very rare condition. His insides were all in the wrong places. At first the vets didn’t know what was the matter. The main thing was that he’d lost his appetite. Then they noticed that his stomach was sore. After that he threw up, his tongue became dry, and his back legs shook. The vets worked out the problem and operated just in the nick of time.
‘Those guys are so clever!’ Selby thought. ‘But what a gory operation. They cut his whole belly open from top to bottom and then shifted everything back to where it was supposed to be. If I’d have watched it properly I wouldn’t have been able to eat for a week. But speaking of eating …’
Selby trotted into the kitchen and looked in his bowl.
‘Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits,’ he thought. ‘When are the Trifles going to realise that I hate them? Hey, hang on, it was Mrs Trifle’s birthday yesterday. Dr Trifle got takeaway food from The Spicy Onion Restaurant. I’ll bet there are some leftovers.’
Selby gobbled six peanut prawns, three big spoonfuls of potato salad and a huge slice of meat. After that he ate all the bits of mango in the fruit salad and he was just starting into a huge slice of chocolate birthday cake when Aunt Jetty’s dreadful sons Willy and Billy burst through the door.
‘Hey, Unkie!’ Willy screeched. ‘Look at the dog! He’s in the fridge! See?’
Selby crammed the cake into his mouth and shut the fridge door just as Dr Trifle came into the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ he asked.
‘That poopy doggy was in the fridge!’ Billy yelled.
‘In the fridge?’ Dr Trifle said, as he put the big jar of Snap-Bond Ultra Glue he’d just bought on the kitchen bench. ‘Don’t be silly, boys. Selby is a dog. He doesn’t get into fridges. He wouldn’t even fit.’
‘No no no, Unkie!’ Willy cried. ‘He opened the door!’
‘Are you telling a fib again, Willy?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘No, no, and he can talk and everything! Cross my heart!
‘Boys, listen to me. I’ve got important work to do in my workroom. You watch TV or something. Mrs Trifle will be here soon,’ Dr Trifle said, heading off down the hallway. ‘And don’t you dare be mean to Selby, do you hear?’
‘Yes, Unkie,’ the boys said. ‘Hey, Billy,’ Willy said. ‘Remember that TV show? Remember about cutting up that stupid
doggy?’
‘Yeah. That was so good,’ Billy said. ‘Hey, listen, Billy.’
Willy whispered in his brother’s ear. ‘If Willy is thinking what I think he’s thinking then I’m going to bite him into next week,’ Selby said to himself. ‘I’m getting out of here!’
‘Unkie!’ Willy called. ‘Selby’s sick!’
‘No, I’m not. What’s he on about?’ Selby thought.
Dr Trifle opened the door to his workroom.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t eat nothing,’ Willy said.
‘Yeah, his doggy bowl is full,’ Billy said.
‘Hmmm, that is strange,’ Dr Trifle said, having a closer look. ‘We filled it up this morning but he hasn’t eaten anything.’
‘And I couldn’t eat another thing after all that birthday cake,’ Selby thought.
‘He was chucking,’ Billy said.
‘I what? What’s this kid on about?’ Selby thought.
‘What do you mean, chucking?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Frowing up like this,’ Billy said, pretending to throw up. ‘Nuffing came out but.’
Dr Trifle bent down and touched Selby’s head.
‘He seems okay to me,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Now I’ve really got to get some work done, kids. Please don’t disturb me.’
‘Thank goodness he doesn’t believe them,’ Selby thought as Dr Trifle went back to his workroom. ‘But I’d better eat something to show I’m not sick.’
Selby forced himself to eat the whole bowl of dog biscuits as Willy and Billy watched cartoons on TV. Then Billy turned around and looked into the kitchen.
‘Hey, Willy!’ he said. ‘That poop-face ate his dinner.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Yes, he did!’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Willy said, filling Selby’s bowl again with Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. ‘See? It’s full.’
The boys laughed and then went back to watching TV.
‘I’ll show those brats,’ Selby thought as he struggled through another bowlful. ‘I’d throw it in the garbage but the Trifles might find it.’
But once again, the boys filled Selby’s bowl and once again Selby ate all the dog biscuits.
‘Hey, Billy!’ Willy said, grabbing Dr Trifle’s Snap-Bond Ultra Glue. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Willy filled the bowl again with dog biscuits and then mixed in some glue and stirred them around. In a second, they were glued solid.
‘Unkie!’ Willy called. ‘Hey, Unkie!’
‘I’ll teach them,’ Selby thought as he licked furiously at the biscuits. ‘If I keep this up long enough, the biscuits will dissolve. Oh, woe, they’re killing my tongue!’
Just then Mrs Trifle came home.
‘Auntie!’ Willy said. ‘Selby’s sick and frowing up and everything!’
‘I’m sick of these stupid biscuits,’ Selby thought.
‘Is he really?’ Mrs Trifle asked, kneeling down next to Selby. ‘Hmmm. He’s off his food. I’ve never known him to just lick at it like that. He hasn’t eaten since last night.’
‘Uh-oh,’ Selby thought, as Mrs Trifle pressed harder on his stomach. ‘If she keeps touching me she’s going to make me throw up.’
‘Goodness,’ Mrs Trifle said, as Selby pulled away from her. ‘His stomach must be sore.’
‘Yes, and his legs were shaking, like this,’ Willy said, making his own knees wobble back and forth.
Willy pointed to Selby’s hind legs just as Selby finally gave up the struggle and threw up all over the kitchen floor.
‘Oh, you poor darling,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Not eating. Sore stomach. Throwing up. Back legs shaking. I wonder what could be wrong?’
‘They’re lying!’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, please Mrs Trifle, don’t believe them.’
‘It’s just like on Animal Angels!’ Billy squealed. ‘Call them, Auntie!’
‘Animal Angels?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Oh, yes, I know that program. Maybe they’ll know what’s wrong.’
Mrs Trifle grabbed the telephone and rang the Animal Angels’ number and told them about Selby.
‘Whatever you do, don’t move him,’ the woman on the phone said. ‘The van just happens to be in your area. We’ll be right over.’
Minutes later a huge van screeched to a stop outside the Trifles’ house and two vets jumped out and ran to the door. Dr and Mrs Trifle were waiting for them.
‘From what you said on the phone, Mrs Trifle,’ one vet said, ‘your dog has a very rare disease called Gutsitis Scrambulitis.’
‘Guts what?’
‘Scrambled guts. He was born with his innards out of order,’ the other vet explained. ‘His heart is where his liver should be and his kidneys are where his lungs should be.’
‘Is this serious?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Is this serious? Did you see our last TV show?’
‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t.’
‘Well, let’s put it this way. If we don’t open him up and u
nscramble him right now, then he’s history. Do we have your permission?’
‘No,’ Selby thought.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Whatever you can do to save Selby, please do it.’
‘Look, he’s trembling all over and there’s sweat pouring off him,’ one of the vets said. ‘That’s Stage Two.’
‘Stage Two?’
‘That’s what happens next after loss of appetite, dry tongue and rubbery legs. He’s definitely internally scrambled.’
‘Of course I’m trembling and sweating, you ninny,’ Selby thought. ‘You would be too if you were about to be operated on and you were perfectly okay.’
‘Quick, get him into the van. We have our mobile operating theatre in there,’ the other vet said. ‘Let’s open him up before he gets to Stage Three.’
‘Stage Three?’ Dr Trifle said.
‘Scraping sounds in the back of the throat. Wiggly jaw,’ the vet said. ‘If he gets to that point then his chance of survival is very slim. Let’s go.’
Selby could see Willy and Billy giggling as the vets carried Selby to the van.
‘This is it,’ Selby whimpered in his brain. ‘I’ve got to talk! I’ve got to tell them that those lying little brats made everything up! I’m not having those Animal Angel vets cut me open and unscramble my guts when they aren’t even scrambled in the first place!’
The van doors were folded back. Inside was an operating table and rows and rows of shiny operating instruments. One of the vets turned on some bright lights.
‘But what if I talk and give away my secret and then something happens? What if Willy and Billy feel guilty and confess before they cut me open? Things like that are always happening to me at the last possible second, just when I’m about to give away my secret. It’s happened tonnes of times. I can’t talk just yet! — I can’t! I’ve got to wait till the last tiny fraction of a second.’
Selby watched as they strapped him to the table and got their instruments ready. The vets put on masks and gowns and funny little cloth booties over their shoes.
‘I’ve got to hold out!’ Selby thought. ‘I know something’s going to happen and everything’s going to be okay.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle and Willy and Billy peered in from outside the van.
‘Poor Dr and Mrs Trifle,’ Selby thought. ‘They’re as scared as I am. Well, maybe not quite
…’
Selby looked over at the beaming faces of Willy and Billy.
‘Those little mongrels,’ Selby thought. ‘Some day I’m going to get them. Boy, am I going to get them!’
One of the vets picked up a knife thingy.
‘This is it,’ Selby thought. ‘It’s talking time. Better not wait another teeny tiny fraction of a second.’
Selby cleared his throat and was about to say, ‘Excuse me, but don’t believe a word that Willy and Billy have said. I’m not sick and don’t you dare cut me open!’ when one of the vets looked at him in horror.
‘That’s it! He’s definitely got it! Listen to the scraping sounds in his throat! He’s wiggling his jaw! Quick! Put him to sleep!’
Selby yelled out, ‘Hang on a tick!’ But he was too late. The other vet had clamped one of those clear plastic putting-you-to-sleep-before-an-operation thingies over his mouth and the next thing Selby knew he was drifting into a deep sleep and thinking of the dog on TV and the gory operation that was too horrible to watch.
‘Too late …’ Selby thought, as everything went dark. ‘I’ll get those brats … I’ll bite …
them … till … theyscr … ea …
mmmmmm …’
Soon there was music in Selby’s ears. Beautiful music that drifted through the air — music that he was sure he’d heard before.
Then slowly Selby opened his eyes. The vets and the Trifles were bending over him.
‘That was a close call,’ one of the vets said.
‘I’ll say,’ the other vet said. ‘If you hadn’t noticed that the dog biscuits were all glued together, Dr Trifle, things could have been very serious.’
‘They didn’t operate?’ Selby thought. ‘Do I dare look at my tummy tum tum? No! They didn’t!’
‘Poor darling Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said, holding him in her arms. ‘It’s a good thing you didn’t know what was about to happen to you. And as for you, boys,’ she said, turning to her nephews, ‘I don’t believe in spanking children, but in your case I’m afraid I had to make an exception.’
Selby looked over at the boys, who were wiping the tears from their eyes.
‘So that was the heavenly music I heard — the wonderful sounds of Willy and Billy bawling their eyes out. Oh joy! Oh double joy!’
Paw note: Why, oh why, did I ever let Willy know my secret? (See‘Wild West Willy Rides Again’ in the bookSelby’s Secret.)
S
SELBY ON GLASS
It was the wee hours of the morning in the big city. The sun was still a pink glow below the horizon. Everyone was asleep, everyone except Dr Trifle, Mrs Trifle and Selby. It was an ordinary morning but for one thing — Selby was walking on glass.
Not broken glass in the street.
Not a piece of glass lying on the footpath.
No, Selby was walking up the outside of the newly built skyscraper, the Crystal Tower, his paws clinging magically to the glass sides. Dr and Mrs Trifle were holding a safety net below.
‘This is sooooo scary,’ Selby thought. ‘But it’s great, too!’
Selby lifted one paw at a time, placing each one carefully against the glass before lifting the next.
‘These things are amazing!’ he said, looking at his special gloves and socks. ‘I’m not slipping a bit.’
‘Selby,’ Dr Trifle called from the footpath below. ‘Come down, boy, before someone sees you.’
Selby looked up at the building towering above.
‘Don’t make me come down yet,’ he thought. ‘Just let me go a tiny bit higher.’
‘Selby, come here,’ Dr Trifle called again.
‘Psssst! Selby!’ Mrs Trifle said, clapping her hands. ‘Here, boy!’
‘I’ll pretend I can’t hear them,’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, this is so much fun!’
Selby scrambled up and down the glass, moving this way and that, while Dr and Mrs Trifle called and called to him.
After a while Selby thought, ‘I guess I’d better do as they say.’
But just as he thought this, he noticed something.
What he noticed were cars racing down the street and people running from all directions. Soon there were five police cars, three firetrucks, an ambulance, and two TV news crews stopped out the front.
‘Gulp,’ Selby gulped. ‘They’re going to find out about Dr Trifle’s secret invention and it’s all my fault! I should have gone down when they told me to. Oh, woe woe woe …’
We’d better start this story the day before in the Trifles’ house in Bogusville.
It was then that Dr Trifle came out of his workroom, smiling from ear to ear. He was holding something behind his back.
‘Flies have amazing feet when you think about it,’ he announced.
‘I don’t think about flies’ feet very often,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking up from her newspaper.
‘You mean you’ve never wondered how they can walk up walls?’
‘Not really. They must have sticky gooey stuff on their feet.’
‘No, no. Sticky gooey stuff would just collect dirt and lose its stickiness. Then they’d slide down and fall on the floor — only they wouldn’t really because they can fly.’
‘I guess that’s why they call them flies,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Do they have suction cups on their feet?’
‘Suction cups are too much work,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘The flies would have to keep pulling them loose and then pushing them back on. They’d be exhausted in no time. No, they have teeny weeny itty bitty hairs on their feet.’
‘How do little hairy feet let them walk up walls?’
‘I have no idea,’ Dr Tr
ifle said, ‘but it works.’
‘My sister, Jetty, has hairy feet,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but she can’t walk up walls.’
‘Just as well,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘She tracked mud around the floor last time she was here. It’s a good thing she wasn’t walking on the walls as well.’
‘There’s a very strange woman they call the Human Fly,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘She climbs up cliffs, skyscrapers, lighthouses. You name it, she climbs it. She doesn’t get permission or anything. She just sneaks up things and lets them arrest her when she gets to the top. Now I remember. Her name’s Clemenza Lightfoot.’
At the mention of the Human Fly’s name, Selby’s ears shot up.
‘Clemenza Lightfoot,’ he thought. ‘She’s sooooooo amazing! Just thinking about her makes my little heart go pitter pat. I just love the way she yells, “Hi-ho! and up I go! So long, suckers!” I reckon she’s the bravest person in the world.’
‘Of course she doesn’t climb the way a fly does,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘She uses ropes and bits of metal. Now if she had my Wall Walkers she wouldn’t need anything else.’
With this Dr Trifle took a pair of socks and gloves from behind his back. He put them on and tightened the straps around his wrists and ankles. Then, with one great leap, he threw himself against the wall.
‘Goodness gracious!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘You’re stuck to the wall. How will I ever get you off?’
‘I’m not stuck,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I can move. Watch.’
Mrs Trifle and Selby watched as Dr Trifle put one hand up and then a foot up and slowly walked up the wall.
‘That’s fantastic!’ Mrs Trifle cried.
‘I thought of them when I fell off that ladder last month,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘With these Wall Walkers there’s no more need for ladders. Just put them on and off you go — like a real fly.’
‘But how did you invent them? You said that you didn’t even know how flies’ feet work.’
‘Simple. These are flies’ feet. Look,’ Dr Trifle said, pulling a glove away from the wall and showing it to Mrs Trifle. ‘Remember all the dead flies we vacuumed out of the attic last winter?’
‘I certainly do,’ Mrs Trifle said, moving closer. ‘I filled three vacuum-cleaner bags with them.’
