by Duncan Ball
‘Yes, of course. Everyone knows Selby. I’ve often thought that he was a bit like our Selby — only our Selby can’t talk. Why?’
‘Well, it turns out that he’s real. He is an actual real live talking dog.’
‘Noooooooo!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘How can a dog talk?’
‘Apparently it’s true. There’s this live TV show and they reckon they’ve found him. They’re about to catch him and get him to talk. Quick! It’s on TV right now. Everyone in the whole world is watching.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle dashed to the TV and watched a team of detectives quietly surround a house under the cover of darkness.
‘That’s him now,’ one of the detectives whispered. ‘He’s been out for a walk and he’s coming home. Get ready to grab him.’
‘But, hang on, isn’t that the mayor’s dog?’
‘Don’t worry about the mayor. We’re working for Mr Big, and Mr Big doesn’t worry about little mayors of dinky little Australian towns.’
‘But what if the dog won’t talk?’
‘After a few days under a spotlight and not being able to sleep, he’ll talk. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll hypnotise him. Don’t you worry, one way or another that mongrel will spill the beans.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle watched as the dog walked towards the house. Suddenly floodlights lit up the front yard.
‘Get him, guys!’ a detective yelled, throwing a net over the unsuspecting dog.
’Goodness me,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Now wait just a minute! Isn’t that Denis Dorset’s dog, Powderpuff?’
‘It certainly is,’ Selby thought as he lay beside the Trifles, watching the scene on TV and trying not to smile.
‘It certainly is,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Honestly, I hate this sort of program. Now I suppose they’ll take Powderpuff away and try to get him to talk and that’ll be on TV, too. I can’t say that I’m especially fond of the dog but I do feel just a wee bit sorry for him.’
‘I wonder where they got the idea that Powderpuff was a talking dog?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘Surely a real talking dog would be smarter than him.’
‘I not only would be,’ Selby thought, ‘I am. And if there’s a lesson in this it’s that you can never be too careful about telling people your secrets.’
Paw note: You probably know that my real name isn’t Selby. My real name is a secret.
S
Paw note: Sorry, I can’t tell you what I told her.
S
Paw note: I can’t let Duncan write down my real name, so I’ll just keep it as Selby. Sorry.
S
MILD-MANNERED MILES
‘Excuse me, Madam, I’m terribly sorry to intrude but my name is Miles and I’m here to help you.’
The man at the door wore a grey suit and a thin black tie. His shoes were shiny and his hair was parted in the middle. In his hand he held a black briefcase.
‘This guy has to be the most boring person I’ve ever seen,’ Selby thought. ‘Even the way he talks puts me to sleep.’
‘What sort of help?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘With your accounts and bookkeeping. Bills to be paid. Cheques to be written. Books to be kept. Adding. Subtracting. Taxes. Bank balances. Keeping track of your money. I’m a door-to-door bookkeeper and accountant.’
‘I’ve never heard of a door-to-door bookkeeper and accountant,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘I may be the only one. I just happened to be passing by and I could see that your dining-room table and floor is covered in folders and papers. That is a sure sign of someone in financial difficulty.’
‘Yes, and I’m at my wits’ end,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘I’m so confused. The situation is hopeless.’
‘Nothing is ever hopeless, Madam,’ the man said. ‘Allow me to help you.’
‘It’s not me who needs help,’ Mrs Trifle explained. ‘It’s the council. But I’m the mayor and I also look after money matters. I’ve been so busy that I’ve got behind. Now I don’t know who’s paid their rates and who hasn’t. The electricity people are about to shut off the lights. And the council workers haven’t been paid for weeks.’
‘Why not start by paying them?’ the man said.
‘Because I can’t find the council’s cheque book. Oh, Mr Miles, I feel like I’m suffocating in paperwork!’
‘It’s Miles Manerd,’ the man said. ‘But call me Miles. And don’t worry about a thing, dear lady. When can I start?’
‘But I don’t even know if the council has enough money to pay you.’
‘Let me sort out the accounts,’ the man said. ‘If there isn’t enough money in the bank then it’ll be bad luck for me. If there is then I’ll only charge my usual modest fee.’
‘But there’s days and days of work here,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Do you live nearby?’
‘No, I live in the city.’
‘Where will you stay? How will you pay for your meals?’
‘How would it be if I stayed here with you and your husband?’
‘Oh, Miles!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed, throwing her arms around the man. ‘You’re a lifesaver!’
‘Please, please,’ the man said, turning a deep shade of red. ‘I’m only an accountant.’
Miles got to work straightaway. He started by putting all the folders in piles in the study and then vacuuming the study floor. When he finished he started vacuuming the rest of the house.
‘I’ll do that when I get back from the council. Dr Trifle would do it but he’s very busy with a new invention,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Cleaning surely isn’t part of your job?’
‘Oh, but it is,’ the man said. ‘I can’t work until I’ve made everything clean and tidy, spick and span. Clean house, clear mind, that’s what I always say. You go to work. I’ll have this finished very soon and get to work on the accounts.’
Selby watched as Miles cleaned the study floor and then cleaned all the other floors in the house. When he was finished he washed the dishes, mopped the kitchen floor, cleaned all the windows, polished the furniture, and skimmed the leaves off the swimming pool.
‘This guy is bonkers and he’s going to drive me bonkers,’ Selby thought, as he watched the accountant cutting the grass. ‘I can’t stand this.’
When he’d finished with the housework Miles headed for the study but stopped to give Selby a pat.
‘You look like a good dog,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if I can find some nice food for you in the fridge. I threw out those awful dog biscuits when I cleaned your bowl. I’m sure the Trifles won’t mind.’
‘I think I’ve just changed my mind about this guy,’ Selby thought as Miles served him some slices of leftover roast and a bowl of bread and butter pudding with ice-cream on top. ‘He’s neat but he’s nice.’
That afternoon Selby watched as Miles worked in the study, mumbling numbers and then shaking his head and saying things like, ‘Goodness me,’ and ‘Tut tut.’
On he worked through the afternoon and into the evening.
‘How’s it going, Miles?’ asked Dr Trifle at dinner.
‘Getting there,’ the man said. ‘It’ll be a few days till I know exactly what shape the council is in. Now if you’ll both please excuse me, I really should get back to work.’
That night, while Dr and Mrs Trifle slept, Miles worked on and on, neatly writing numbers on pieces of paper. Early in the morning he took Selby for a walk and then had a breakfast of yogurt and cereal with the Trifles.
‘I’ll wash the breakfast dishes, Dr and Mrs Trifle,’ Miles said. ‘And I’ll feed Selby. I’m sure you both have more important things to do.’
‘Oh, Miles,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘you really are a blessing.’
And wash the dishes he did. After that he cleaned the walls, patched a crack in the ceiling, and found some paint to touch up places where the paint was peeling.
‘This guy fascinates me,’ Selby thought. ‘He must love putting things in order. I guess that’s why he’s a good accountant. I wonder what he does on his days off?’
And on Miles worked,
and on, and on until Friday afternoon.
‘I’m off for the weekend,’ Miles announced. ‘I should be able to finish the accounts on Monday but there’s a special exhibition of pencils I wanted to see at the Museum of Accountancy in the city.’
‘A pencil collection?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Oh, yes, and a wonderful one, too. I believe they have a Birmingham Triangle from 1640. And it’s never even been sharpened. There’s also an ancient Babylonian clay tablet with a complete set of income tax figures from one thousand b.c.’
‘That sounds very exciting,’ Mrs Trifle said, yawning.
‘Oh, it is, Mrs Trifle, it is. And you may also be excited to hear that I think the council will still have money left over after you pay all the bills.’
‘That’s wonderful news!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘So we’ll be able to pay you your fee.’
‘Absolutely. But you should make sure that you save and budget from now on. Saving and budgeting, Mrs Trifle, those are the keys to everything. When I was a little boy my parents gave me an allowance of twenty cents a week. I calculated that if I saved it all and never spent a cent and if I could get a good interest rate then I could afford to buy a lovely pen and a pocket calculator by the time I was fourteen. And that’s exactly what I did. Other children wasted their money on ice-creams and chocolates but not me. By the way, would you mind if I took Selby with me to the city? He’d be good company on the drive.’
‘Selby? You want to take Selby with you for the weekend?’
‘I’m sure he’ll love my apartment. It’s right on the beach.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind …’
‘Oh boy, oh boy!’ Selby thought. ‘This is going to be so much fun!’
Selby’s first surprise was Miles’s car. Parked about a block away was a fire engine-red sports car with exhaust pipes sticking through the bonnet. Miles let Selby in and then jumped in the driver’s seat. In a second, the engine roared and the car flew off down the street, leaving a long black strip of rubber on the road.
‘Yeeee — haaaa!’ Miles screamed as he threw his coat and tie into the back seat. ‘We’ve had enough work for the week, Selby. Let’s party!’
‘I can’t believe this!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘One minute he’s Mr Dull-and-Boring and next he’s Mr Excitement!’
The apartment at the beach had everything Selby could wish for. It had a long curved balcony that looked out in every direction. And the furniture belonged in a mansion. The sun was just setting as Selby and Miles walked in.
Suddenly the lights in the apartment went on. Around them was a great crowd of people.
‘Accountants rule!’ someone screamed. ‘Time to rage!’
‘Hey, guys,’ Miles said. ‘Great to see you. Meet my dog-friend, Selby.’
‘It’s the weekend!’ someone yelled. ‘Let’s dance!’
Into the night dance music blared and the accountants ate and drank and danced. And when they realised that Selby could move to the sound of music, he was the star of the party.
‘I love accountants!’ he said out loud — but it didn’t matter because no one could hear him over the music. ‘They really know how to have a great time.’
Soon waiters arrived with trays and trays of wonderful food.
‘Try one of these,’ Miles said, feeding Selby a peanut prawn. ‘Hey, look at this, guys! The dog loves peanut prawns. I’m going to send out for a whole platter of them just for Selby!’
On the party went through the night but, finally, Selby couldn’t stay awake anymore. He curled up on a fancy leather lounge and fell asleep.
In the morning the apartment was a mess: there were people still talking and dancing and others sleeping on the floor. Miles woke Selby up and took him for a walk along the beach before making him a huge breakfast of bacon and eggs and sausages.
‘I love this!’ Selby thought. ‘If I didn’t have the Trifles I’d want to be adopted by this guy.’
The next day Miles hired a speedboat and went deep-sea fishing with Selby and a group of his friends. Then they went up in a plane and flew around the city. They even went to the Pencil Exhibition at the Museum of Accountancy. Finally, back at the flat, everyone said goodbye.
‘Thanks for another great weekend, Miles,’ one of them said.
‘I loved it, too,’ Miles said. ‘See you again next weekend.’
When they’d all gone and Miles and Selby were about to drive back to Bogusville, there was a loud knock at the door.
‘Mr Manerd,’ the man said, handing Miles an envelope, ‘I’m Greg from A-1 Rentals. I’m afraid that I have to give you this eviction
notice.’
‘Eviction notice? You’re kicking me out of this beautiful apartment?’ Miles said.
‘You know you’re behind in your rent.’
‘Please don’t make me leave,’ Miles pleaded. ‘I’ve got a job and I’m about to get paid.’
‘Well, I hope they’re going to pay you lots of money because you’re five months behind with your rent.’
‘I’ll pay you in a couple of days — honest.’
‘I hope so,’ the man said. ‘Okay, I’ll give you two days to come up with the money.’
Miles closed the door and opened a tall cupboard and threw in the envelope. But the cupboard was so full that piles and piles of envelopes and folders spilled out onto the floor. Some of the envelopes had things like FINAL NOTICE! and DEMAND PAYMENT and CAR PAYMENT DUE NOW! stamped on the front.
‘Wow!’ Selby thought. ‘This guy’s in worse trouble with his accounts than Mrs Trifle was.
He’s an accountant but he can’t look after his own money.’
‘Oh, Selby,’ Miles said, scooping up the papers and envelopes and piling them back into the cupboard, ‘what am I going to do?’
The next morning, back in Bogusville, Miles washed the Trifles’ breakfast dishes.
‘I haven’t quite finished my work on the council’s accounts,’ he said to Mrs Trifle. ‘But I should have them done in an hour or so. I think you’ll be surprised when you see how much money is in the council’s bank account.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed.
‘And here is the bill for my services.’
Mrs Trifle looked at it.
‘That’s very reasonable,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry about writing a cheque. I’ll just transfer the money directly from the council’s bank account to mine and then I’ll be off.’
‘It’s been a pleasure having you here,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘The house has never been this clean before.’
‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ Mrs Trifle said, giving him a huge hug. ‘And I know that Selby has enjoyed your company.’
No sooner were the Trifles out the door than Miles turned on the computer.
‘Now to transfer the money,’ he said. ‘Let’s see, here’s the account number and now to transfer …’
‘Hey, hang on!’ Selby thought as he looked at the computer screen. ‘That’s not the amount that he told Mrs Trifle. That’s much much more.’
Miles got up and started pacing around the room.
‘I can’t do it,’ he said out loud. ‘I just can’t do it. I’d hate myself too much. But I have to do it. Oh, Selby, what should I do?’
‘You could start by not stealing the council’s money,’ Selby thought.
‘If I don’t do it then I’ll lose my apartment, and my car — I’ll lose everything! Oh, me. Oh, poor me!’
‘Don’t do it, Miles,’ Selby pleaded in his brain. ‘You’re a good man, really. You’ve just let your life get out of control.’
‘I’m a good man, really,’ Miles said. ‘But I’m a desperate man. I simply have to do it.’
Miles was about to push the RETURN button on the computer when he started pacing again.
‘This is terrible!’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to do something — fast!’
Selby leapt up on the desk, knocking over a vase of flowers.
‘Selby!’ Miles cried. ‘Now there’s water all over the desk. Oh, well, I’ll just finish this off first.’
Miles was about to hit the RETURN button again when he suddenly stopped.
‘No, no, I can’t do it — at least not with this mess here. I’ll get a sponge.’
Miles went out to the kitchen.
‘That’s a start,’ Selby thought. ‘Now for the serious stuff. I’ve got to keep him from doing the evil deed.’
It was a diabolical dog that raced around the house, tipping over wastepaper baskets, furniture and flower pots and leaving greasy noseprints on the windows. By the time Miles returned with the sponge, there was mess everywhere.
‘Selby! What are you doing?’ cried the accountant, as he ran for a dustpan and brush.
‘Oh, no! Now you’ve stepped in your water bowl and you’re tracking dirt all over the place! What’s got into you?’
It was a stealthy dog that picked up the telephone just when Miles turned on the vacuum cleaner in the other room.
‘Is this Greg from A-1 Rentals?’ Selby said, putting on his best accountant’s voice. ‘This is Miles, Miles Manerd. I think I have the answer to my financial problems. There are just a few things
I’d like you to do. And would you send me back an email about it? Here’s the address …’
It was a relaxed dog that lay innocently on the carpet in the study when the mild-mannered accountant returned.
‘Now for the terrible deed,’ he said, ‘sitting down at the computer. What’s this? An email? For me? Let’s see what it says.’
And this is what it said:
DEAR MILES,
I HAVE DONE AS YOU INSTRUCTED. I THINK IT WAS VERY SENSIBLE FOR YOU TO GIVE UP THAT APARTMENT. I’VE FOUND A SMALLER ONE FOR YOU WHICH YOU CAN MOVE INTO STRAIGHT AWAY. THE CAR RENTAL AGENCY IS HAPPY FOR YOU TO EXCHANGE YOURS FOR AN OLDER ONE. AND THE SALE OF HALF YOUR FURNITURE – IT WOULDN’T HAVE FITTED INTO THE SMALLER FLAT ANYWAY, AS YOU SAID - SHOULD PAY YOUR EXISTING BILLS AND THE RENT YOU OWE ME.
BEST WISHES,
GREG
‘Did as I instructed? I don’t remember asking him to do anything but I must have. And it’s the answer to all my problems!’ Miles cried. ‘Sometimes I amaze myself. Now if I work hard and save and budget everything will be fine. I’ll just pay myself what the council owes me now.’
