by Duncan Ball
The lights came back on just as Selby crashed to the floor, hitting his head.
“It’s gone!” Dame Lily sang in full soprano. “The diamond is gone!”
“The dog took it!” one of the suspicious men — who were really the guards and who had snuck out to see the latest episode of Inspector Quigley’s Casebook but who couldn’t find a TV — said as he pounced on Selby and pulled his mouth open. “He’s swallowed it, just like in The Doggie Done It Diamond Caper. If we don’t get it back we’ll be out of a job!”
“You’ll be out of two jobs!” Dame Lily, who was good at maths, screeched.
“We’ll just have to wait till the diamond comes out naturally,” the first guard said, looking at Selby who was still dazed by the bump on the head.
“We can’t wait!” the other one said, reaching for a cake knife and raising it in the air over Selby’s stomach. “We have to find out right now if the diamond’s in him.”
“They can’t (gulp) do this to me!” thought Selby, suddenly realising the terrible mistake he’d made as the dagger descended. “Or can they …? But wait! My only chance is to scream out in plain English. But if I do that, my secret will be out! Oh, no!”
Selby was about to speak when Mrs Trifle suddenly stepped forward.
“Unhand that dog!” she said, pulling the guard away from Selby and giving him a good shake. “He is innocent of any wrongdoing. It’s all been a terrible mistake! The diamond is probably on the floor somewhere, mixed up with all this ice!”
The guests searched frantically for the diamond, checking the ice-cubes that lay all around and throwing them over their shoulders when they’d finished checking them — all of which made things more confusing than ever and looked like a hailstorm had hit the hall.
“Stop!” Dame Lily yelled after the ice had melted from all the handling and there was still no diamond. “I have a feeling! The Star is trying to tell me where it is! I think it’s up there,” she said, pointing to the chandelier.
The guards jumped up on the table and started pulling glass bits off the chandelier and throwing them every which way until there was only one left, hanging from a thin gold chain.
“My diamond!” Dame Lily said, snatching the gem and putting it around her neck. “The Star must have sensed danger and shot up to the chandelier where it knew it would be safe. You see, it does have a mind of its own.”
“I’m getting out of here,” Selby thought as he dashed out of the hall towards home to see the last part of Inspector Quigley’s Casebook, his face still red from embarrassment, “before there are any more shooting stars!”
Trying to Diet but Dying to Try It
Selby was starving.
“He hasn’t eaten anything for two days,” Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle as she topped up Selby’s bowl with Chunk-O-Gravy Hunks and added a couple of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. “I’m worried about him.”
“I wish she wouldn’t worry about me,” Selby thought as he watched Dr Trifle who was painting a watercolour portrait of Mrs Trifle for the council chambers.
“Don’t worry about Selby,” Dr Trifle said as he dabbed at the eyes in his painting with a long paintbrush. “He’s just not hungry. It doesn’t mean anything. It would be good if he lost some weight, anyway.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs Trifle said. “He’s stopped eating before. In fact he did it on my last birthday and on the birthday before, too.”
“Come to think of it, it’s very odd. Every time you have a birthday we get takeaway food from The Spicy Onion Restaurant, just as we’re going to do tonight,” Dr Trifle said mentioning their favourite fancy food restaurant. “And whenever we get takeaway food from The Spicy Onion, we get an order of prawns cooked in peanut sauce just for Selby. And Selby loves peanut prawns. He’ll eat them. You just wait and see.”
“Hmmmmmmmm,” Mrs Trifle said as she looked over Dr Trifle’s shoulder at her portrait. “It’s almost as though he knew he was going to get peanut prawns and he stopped eating so that he’d enjoy them more.”
“Too right,” Selby thought as he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the Chunk-O-Gravy Hunks and Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits in his bowl. “It’s the only decent food I get all year. I just can’t wait till dinnertime.”
“My goodness! I’m cross-eyed,” Mrs Trifle said suddenly.
“There, there,” Dr Trifle said not listening to Mrs Trifle. “I love you just the same and that’s all that matters.”
“I don’t mean my real eyes, silly.”
“You don’t?”
“Of course not,” Mrs Trifle said. “My eyes in the painting are crossed.”
“My word. So they are,” Dr Trifle said, quickly painting them out and repainting them so that now they looked off in different directions.
“I don’t think they’re quite right, dear.”
“Maybe I could paint you with sunglasses on,” Dr Trifle said thoughtfully as he changed the eyes again and made them cross-eyed once more. “But it might look a bit odd, I mean all those portraits of mayors of Bogusville hung side by side in the council chambers and you the only one wearing sunglasses.”
“Isn’t it time for you to pick up the order from The Spicy Onion, dear?” Mrs Trifle said. “You can work on the painting tomorrow.”
An hour later, the Trifles were about to eat. Before them on the table were some of their favourite fancy foods: barbecued oysters in mango sauce, pickled baby bamboo shoots with bacon rinds and, of course, prawns in peanut sauce for Selby. Just then there was a knock at the door.
“Thornie!” Dr Trifle said, welcoming his cousin Thornton. “What brings you to Bogusville?”
“I’ve just been to the launching of my new healthy eating book, Eat For Goodness Sake, at the third annual Healthy Eating Book Convention and I thought I’d drop in on my way back to the city and bring you some healthy foods,” Thornton said, dashing in and putting a bag of food on the dining table.
“Won’t you join us?” Mrs Trifle said, raising a forkful of barbecued oysters in mango sauce to her lips.
“What a wonderful idea,” said Thornton who had thought of it two hours before. “But wait a minute? What’s that muck you’re about to eat?”
“That’s — that’s —” Mrs Trifle began.
Thornton grabbed Mrs Trifle’s plate and began poking at it with a finger.
“It looks like barbecued oysters in mango sauce!” he screeched.
“It is,” Mrs Trifle said. “Would you like some?”
“I’ve never seen such an unhealthy combination!” Thornton said, dumping it in the garbage. “And what’s that?” he said, grabbing Dr Trifle’s plate just as Dr Trifle was trying to rescue it.
“It’s — it’s —” Dr Trifle started.
“It looks to me like pickled baby bamboo shoots with bacon rinds,” Thornton said, throwing the contents of the plate out the window and into the flowerbed. “That’s not food, it’s fertiliser! It’s worse than what your wife was about to eat.”
“But — but — but —” Dr Trifle stammered as Thornton filled his plate with wheat germ and buttermilk.
“Now that’s good for you. Eat up,” Thornton said, filling Mrs Trifle’s plate with yoghurt and sultanas. “Remember that Bogusville has an unhealthy climate and you have to eat properly if you want to stay healthy and happy.”
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, not feeling very happy at the moment.
“I can see that I’ve arrived just in the nick of time,” Thornton said. “You’re both so weak that you’re losing the ability to talk. My goodness! What are you feeding your dog?”
Selby was in the kitchen, wondering why the Trifles had so many crazy relatives and about to take his first mouthful of peanut prawns, when Thornton burst in and tipped Selby’s bowl into the garbage.
“Your dog is too fat,” Thornton announced to the Trifles. “What he needs to do is to go completely without food for a few days. Now eat up, you two, and then we’ll go for a jog.”
>
That night after Thornton and the Trifles were sound asleep Selby still lay clutching his rumbling stomach.
“Oh, the pain, the pain,” he thought as he imagined bowls of peanut prawns and even Chunk-O-Gravy Hunks and Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits. “I can’t go without food any longer. If that twit doesn’t leave soon I’ll die of starvation!” Suddenly a little light went on in Selby’s head. “I wonder,” he thought. “What if Thornton got sick? I reckon the first thing he’d do is hop in his car and tear back to the healthy climate he came from. But he’s not about to get sick, is he?” Selby asked himself. “With all that wheat germ and yoghurt he’ll probably live to be a hundred and fifty. Hmmmmmmm. He’s not going to get really sick but what if he thinks he’s sick?”
Selby grabbed a copy of Thornton’s book, Eat For Goodness Sake, and turned to the section on food and health. There he found a chapter called “Splotches, Blotches and Blots".
“Let’s see now,” Selby said. “It says here that spots on the side of the nose are a symptom of … hmmmmmm.”
Selby grabbed Mr Trifle’s watercolour set and tore to Thornton’s bedroom. He got out the brush and painted three big blue spots on either side of the sleeping man’s nose.
The next morning, Thornton woke the Trifles at six o’clock.
“I’m going,” he said. “I’ve got to start work on my new book. Thanks for everything and stay healthy.”
“But — but — but —” Mrs Trifle said, handing Thornton a mirror so he could see the spots on his nose.
Thornton grabbed the mirror. “Oh, no! I’m sick!” he screamed. “This is the first stage of bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis!”
“Is there a cure for bilateral-trispecular-proboscal-everything-itis?” Dr Trifle asked.
“Raw vegetables, and rest,” Thornton said, throwing a bunch of carrots in the blender. “I’ll have to stay here for a few weeks till I’m better. I might get worse if I left now.”
“I’ve gone and done it this time,” Selby thought and his stomach rumbled like an earthquake. “He was all set to leave and now, because of the spots I painted on him, he’s going to stay! If I don’t get him out of here soon, I’ll die!”
Suddenly another light went on in Selby’s head and a smile flickered across his lips.
“That’s it!” he thought. “I’ll pretend I’m starving! Then they’ll have to feed me!”
Selby staggered around in circles with his tongue out and then fell down in a faint.
“Heavens!” yelled Mrs Trifle. “Selby’s collapsed! He needs food!”
“Nonsense,” Thornton said, adding milk to the blender and turning it on. “He’s just having a sudden snooze. Snoozes are the first steps to good health. Leave him alone and he’ll come round in a while.”
Selby lay on the floor for minutes, as visions of rare steaks and sausages danced in his mind. He remembered the lovely dinner the Trifles made for him last Christmas. But most of all he remembered the peanut prawns that had been thrown away.
He opened one eye and noticed that he was alone in the kitchen with Thornton. Suddenly something in Selby, snapped.
“I can’t stand it a second longer!” he thought. “If that looney thinks he can do this to me, I’ll lunch on his leg!”
Selby jumped to his feet and bared his teeth, lunging towards Thornton’s hairy legs so quickly that the startled man slopped carrot milkshake all over his face.
“Help!” Thornton screamed. “Selby’s gone mad! He’s trying to bite me!”
In a flash, Dr and Mrs Trifle dashed into the kitchen only to find Selby lying on the floor, looking around with big, innocent eyes.
“He did! He tried to bite me!” Thornton screamed.
“Rubbish,” Mrs Trifle said, looking at where the carrot juice had washed the blue spots off Thornton’s nose. “Selby’s never bitten anyone in his life. It’s completely un-Selbylike. But look!” she said, handing Thornton the mirror. “Your spots are gone.”
That evening, after the confused Thornton had roared off back to the city, the Trifles sat down once again to their favourite fancy food from The Spicy Onion.
“I’m sure Thornton’s right about eating healthy foods,” Mrs Trifle said as she looked down at a plate full of barbecued oysters in mango sauce. “But there are times when it’s fun to eat things just because they taste good. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I do,” said Dr Trifle as he plunged his fork into a pickled baby bamboo shoot, making sure there was a bit of bacon rind on top.
“And so do I!” thought Selby who felt like screaming it out loud.
Fortunately he couldn’t talk because his mouth was stuffed with peanut prawns.
Up the Creek Without a Dog Paddle
It was the day of the annual Flat-Out Four-Footed Dog Race across Kookaburra Flats and all the dogs in town, including Selby, had been taken to Mount Gumboot for the start of the race.
“Race, schmace,” Selby thought as he looked around him at the other dogs. “Not the sort of thing a thinking, feeling dog like myself would ever really want to do. I mean, all that sweat and tired muscles — and for what? Last year Constable Long’s dog, Streak, won a year’s supply of Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits and the poor beggar hasn’t finished them yet. Even if I could win the race, I wouldn’t want to. Just the thought of another one of those wretched biscuits is enough to make me gag. Of course, as the mayor’s dog,” he added thoughtfully, “I have a certain social responsibility. I know she’d be hurt if I didn’t go in the race, but at least she won’t mind if I come last.”
“On your marks,” Mrs Trifle said, raising the starting pistol and giving Selby a pat on the head with the other hand. “Get set!”
“Last year,” Selby thought, “I think I may have embarrassed her just a little by starting off at a stroll when all the other dogs got away like greyhounds. This year I’ll run flat-out with the rest of them till we round that rock and then I’ll break into a leisurely walk as soon as I’m out of sight and all the owners are driving back to the finish line in Bogusville.”
Selby looked around and saw Streak on one side and Hamish the sheepdog on the other, both straining at their owner’s leads.
“Go!” Mrs Trifle yelled, firing the pistol. And Selby and the rest of the dogs tore away in a cloud of dust.
Selby was only slightly behind the pack when they rounded the rock and he ducked back into its shadow for a rest.
“So long, mates,” Selby said, leaning back on one elbow and watching as Hamish suddenly left the pack and came running back.
“What’s this?” Selby thought. “The dog’s lost his sense of direction.”
Hamish barked excitedly at Selby and then began snapping at his heels.
“Hey!” Selby yelled, knowing that Hamish couldn’t understand but not caring. “Stop that! What do you think I am, a stray sheep?”
Hamish gave him one good bite on the leg and then another.
“The dog’s gone mad,” Selby thought as he got up and started running after the other dogs. “He thinks I’m a blinkin’ sheep! Ouch!” he screamed. “You’re crazy! You’ve chased too many sheep, Hamish! It’s gone to your head! Stop it! If you don’t stop, someone’s going to get — yooooooowwwwwwww! Get away from me you four-legged torture chamber!”
Just then Selby noticed a wombat hole just big enough to squeeze into, and too big for Hamish. He tore into the hole and waited for a few minutes till Hamish had given up hope of herding Selby back to Bogusville. Finally he heard Hamish’s footsteps as he ran after the other dogs.
“Now’s the time,” Selby said, strolling along and sniffing the odd flower, “for that pleasant walk I’ve been looking forward to.”
And as he walked — possibly inspired by the wandering poet Whittlebone Jones — a few raindrops fell and he wrote a poem in his head:
“Oh little drops
And big ones, too,
How you like me
And I like you.”
But it began to pou
r and when Selby reached Bogusville Creek it was a roaring river instead of the usual trickle. On the other side, most of the dogs from the race had stopped and were barking.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Selby thought. “Nobody’s going to talk me into trying to cross that mess. I’m going to turn around and head straight back to Mount Gumboot and see if I can get a lift into town.”
Just as he was about to go, Selby heard a bark from the middle of the river. There, clinging to a branch, was Hamish, and the water was rising dangerously around him.
“I can’t just leave him there,” Selby thought, wondering if he could, and then thinking that it wouldn’t be the proper thing for the mayor’s dog to do. “If I can get up this rivergum and climb out on that branch … well, it’s worth a try.”
Selby took a running jump onto the low branch and made his way over the raging river to where Hamish clung just below him. He leaned down off the branch, holding on with his paws and dangling his tail towards the stranded sheepdog.
“Stay calm,” Selby said, feeling anything but calm himself. “Just grab my tail and I’ll pull you to safety.”
With this, Hamish let out a howl and then sank his teeth into Selby’s tail with all his might and didn’t let go.
“Yiiiiiiiiiiii!” Selby screamed, and he dropped from the branch into the river and was carried off with Hamish still clinging to his tail. “Let go, you maniac! Let go! Help!”
Selby and Hamish tumbled over and over in the muddy water as they tore along with the current. Selby grabbed at logs and branches, but every time he caught anything, Hamish’s weight pulled him away and they tumbled back into the water and further downstream.
Finally, just when Selby thought they would surely drown, he caught a long branch and dragged himself from the water with Hamish still holding on with his teeth.
