by Duncan Ball
Finally, just as the Peach Piffle dessert arrived, Gary Gaggs stood up.
“Thank you very much for inviting me here tonight,” he started. “It’s too bad I’m on a diet. By the way, did you hear about the cannibal who went on a diet? He only ate pygmies. Woo woo woo!”
“Oh, wow! That’s a good one,” Selby thought as he fought back a smile and the guests roared with laughter. “He only ate pygmies!”
“But seriously, folks. This food reminds me of my mother-in-law’s cooking. My mother-in-law is a beautiful lady. She’s sixty years old and still has skin like a peach. But did you ever see the skin of a sixty-year-old peach?! Woo woo woo!”
“A sixty-year-old peach!” Selby squealed as he gasped for breath. “I love his mother-in-law jokes!”
“But seriously, she’s a lovely lady. I call her my fare lady. She used to be a bus conductor. Woo woo woo!”
“Oh, I get it!” Selby thought putting a paw over his mouth. “My fare lady! That’s great!”
“She’s lovely,” Gary went on. “She only has one false tooth. You’d never know it was false if it didn’t come out in conversation. Woo woo woo!”
Selby put his head under the tablecloth and let out a giggle while everyone howled with laughter.
“But seriously now, folks,” Gary continued. “My mother-in-law used to run a pet shop. One day I went there to buy a pet. She said, ‘I’ve got a cockatoo that lays square eggs and talks.’ I said, ‘A cockatoo that lays square eggs and talks? What does it say?’ And she said, ‘Ouch!’ Woo woo woo!”
Selby squealed with laughter.
“I can’t stand it,” he thought. “I’ve got to get out of here before anyone realises I’m laughing.”
“So I said to her, I said,” Gary went on, “'I don’t want a bird, I want a dog.’ And she put a dog up on the counter. Now wait a minute. Where’s that dog? Get up here, Selby.”
“Gulp,” Selby thought. “What does he want me for?”
Selby spied an open door and was about to run for it when Gary grabbed him and put him on the table.
“She said, ‘This dog is pure Irish Setter.’ I said, ‘Oh really?’ and she said, ‘No, O’Reilly.’ Woo woo woo!”
“O’Reilly! That’s great!” Selby thought, feeling everyone’s eyes looking at him. “But if I can’t keep a straight face I’m a done dog. If only his jokes weren’t so funny.”
“So I said to my mother-in-law, I said, ‘This dog has no nose. How does he smell?’ And she said, ‘Terrible!’ Woo woo woo!”
Selby put a paw over his mouth to hide a creeping smile as Gary gripped his collar with one hand and patted him with the other.
“But seriously folks,” Gary continued. “She told me that the dog was a real watchdog. And she was right. I took him home to guard my house and he sat down and watched TV. Woo woo woo!”
“I can’t stand it any longer,” Selby said, choking and sputtering and burying his face in a serviette to keep from laughing — all of which only made the people laugh more.
“But he was a watchdog,” Gary continued. “That night when I was out the house was robbed. The dog watched the whole thing! Woo woo woo! But seriously, the dog is a police dog and he’s going to investigate the crime. He isn’t sure who did it but he has … Come on, folks, he has … what? I’m tired of doing all the talking. You tell me.”
“I know, I know!” Selby thought as sweat streamed down his face. “I know the punchline and if anyone tells it, I’m a goner. There’s no way I can keep from laughing. Save me!”
With this, Selby started running but, with Gary still holding his collar, what happened was that the tablecloth and sixty-two bowls of Peach Piffle came tearing towards him, hitting Gary Gaggs who let go of Selby and fell to the floor covered in dessert. There was silence for a moment and then everyone, including Gary, roared with laughter as Selby ran the length of the bare table, past the howling guests, and out the door. He didn’t stop running till he collapsed in a fit of laughter in the middle of Bogusville Reserve.
“The dog isn’t sure who did it,” Selby screeched as he rolled on the ground and licked off a chunk of Peach Piffle, “but he has a good lead! Woo woo woo! That man is the funniest comedian in the whole world!”
Something Fishy at Bunya-Bunya Crescent
Dr and Mrs Trifles’ old friend Dr Septimus C. Squirt was due at the Trifles’ house at any minute from the Great Barrier Reef to talk to the Bogusville branch of The Friends of Furry Animals, recently renamed The Friends of Furry and Fishy Animals, about his study of dolphin language.
“Dolphin language,” Selby thought as he went into the kitchen and looked at the polished pewter trophy cup with a ribbon around it that was to be Dr Squirt’s gift for giving the lecture. “He’s been listening to the squeaks and bleeps of dolphins and the songs of humpback whales for ten years and I’ll bet he still doesn’t have a clue what they’re talking about.”
Then, as Selby turned to go back to the lounge room where the guests were waiting, he knocked the polished pewter trophy cup on the floor with his tail, breaking it neatly in two.
“Crumbs!” he said, dashing for a tube of Cosmic-Clutch Multi-Use Glue. “I’ve got to glue it back together quickly! I wonder if this is any good for mending broken polished pewter trophy cups,” he thought as he read the label. “Hmmmmm. Let’s see now. It says, Especially good for mending broken polished pewter trophy cups,” he said forgetting to read the bit that said:
WARNING!
AVOID GETTING THIS GLUE ON YOU IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU! IGNORE THIS WARNING AND YOU’LL BE SORRY.
“I only hope it hardens quickly,” Selby said, as he smeared the Cosmic-Clutch Multi-Use Glue on the broken edges of the cup with his paws and then tied it together with the ribbon.
Just then Dr Squirt arrived at the front door holding a life-sized plastic replica of a dolphin.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Blinky,” he said, using Dr Trifle’s old nickname. “Boy, am I thirsty! It’s been a long hot drive. I’ll get a drink of water from the kitchen if you don’t mind.”
“By all means,” Dr Trifle said as his old friend put the dolphin on the floor and dashed for the kitchen. “It’s right through those —” he started, but by then Dr Squirt was through them.
“Now, where’s a glass?” Dr Squirt asked, glancing idly at Selby and not knowing that he was glancing idly at the only dog in Australia who could have answered his question. “Ahah!” Dr Squirt said, spying the polished pewter trophy cup and filling it with water. “This will have to do.”
Dr Squirt then put the cup down beside the sink and dashed back to the lounge room, not knowing that he’d drunk out of his gift.
“Thank goodness it didn’t fall apart,” Selby thought as he followed Dr Squirt and lay down on the floor next to the life-sized plastic replica of a dolphin, grabbing it in his front paws as he waited for Dr Squirt’s talk to begin.
Dr Squirt looked around at The Friends of Furry and Fishy Animals and tried to speak but found to his horror that he couldn’t get his mouth open.
“Mmmmmmmm,” he said, waving his arms at his audience and trying to tell them that his teeth and lips were stuck together (but not knowing that a bit of Cosmic-Clutch Multi-Use Glue from the drinking water had got into his mouth). “Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!”
A murmur went around the room and then silence fell as Dr Squirt made a series of non-human sounds like, “gleep gleep squeak bleek” and just plain, “bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!” as he pulled at his lips with his hands.
“I do believe that Septimus has finally cracked the code,” Dr Trifle said at last. “He’s speaking to us in perfect dolphin!”
“Brilliant!” someone screamed and deafening applause broke out with shouts of “Bravo!", “Magnifico!” and “Good on ya!”
“Good grief! He’s got glue in his gob!” Selby thought as he watched Dr Squirt screech again and again with his mouth closed. “If s
omeone doesn’t do something fast his gob-opening days will be over!”
Dr Squirt fell squirming to the floor still squeaking and bleeping.
“Now he’s imitating the way a dolphin swims!” Mrs Trifle said. “It must all be part of the way they communicate. I think he wants us to figure out what he’s saying!”
“This is awful!” Selby thought. “He’s glued for good! And it’s all my fault for breaking the polished pewter trophy cup! How embarrassing!”
With this Selby jumped to his feet to go and be embarrassed somewhere else when he noticed that the life-sized plastic dolphin replica jumped up with him.
“Crikey!” he thought, suddenly realising that his paws were stuck to the dolphin’s tail. “It’s got me! If I don’t pull it loose quickly, I’ll have to follow it around for the rest of my life!”
Selby pushed it away with his paws frantically and then pounded it against the floor, but it was still no looser than when he started. In a panic he started spinning around and around in the middle of the room like an Olympic discus thrower about to throw a discus — or a dolphin.
“What’s happening to Selby?” Mrs Trifle screamed, and everyone except the squeaking and bleeping Dr Squirt gathered around as Selby spun faster and faster, making a whooshing noise like a huge fan.
Then, with a great pop like the one you can make by putting your finger in your mouth — only louder — the dolphin broke loose and shot through the air hitting Dr Squirt in the mouth, making another loud pop.
The Friends of Furry and Fishy Animals watched as Dr Squirt flexed his jaw back and forth and stuck his tongue out a few times, just to make sure it was still there.
“That was the oddest thing,” Dr Squirt said. “My mouth was stuck shut and I couldn’t for the life of me get it open. But thanks to your dog and my dolphin, I think I’ll be okay now.”
“It seems like the dolphin taught you to talk this time,” Dr Trifle said with a laugh. “But I still don’t know what happened. Why was Selby spinning around like that? He hates any kind of exercise.”
“If only he could talk,” Mrs Trifle said with a sigh, “I’m sure he could tell us a thing or two.”
“Or maybe even three,” Selby thought as he headed out the door for a walk rather than listen to a boring lecture. “But let’s just say that my lips are sealed — just as Dr Squirt’s were.”
Fool of Fortune
“That lovely gypsy fortune-teller down at the Bogusville Fair, Madame Mascara, read my palm today. She said that I’d have a long and happy life and that we needn’t worry about getting old because our children will look after us,” Mrs Trifle told Dr Trifle as she quickly made three peanut butter and banana sandwiches.
“It sounds like the kind of thing fortunetellers tell everyone,” Dr Trifle said politely. “I wouldn’t take it seriously, especially as we don’t have any children.”
“Maybe she means Selby. He’s like a child to us,” Mrs Trifle said, handing Dr Trifle a sandwich. “Here’s your bananabutter sandwich.”
“Thank you,” Dr Trifle said, taking the sandwich and looking at Selby who lay at his feet pretending not to listen. Dr Trifle wondered how Selby could possibly look after them when they were old. “By the way, who’s the extra bananabutter sandwich for?”
“It’s for Madame Mascara,” Mrs Trifle said. “She said she’d never heard of a bananabutter sandwich so I promised to bring her one. She said she’d tell Selby’s fortune for free if I did. Wasn’t that kind of her?”
“Fortune, schmortune,” Selby thought as he opened his eyes a crack and peeked at the Trifles. “It’s all superstition. I don’t believe a word of it. Nobody can see into the future.”
“What if …?” Dr Trifle began, pausing for a minute to scrape some peanut butter off the roof of his mouth only to get it stuck on his finger. “What if Madame Thing-am-e sees something terrible in Selby’s future? You know, something really awful.”
“You mean like he’s going to snuff it tomorrow?” Mrs Trifle asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Dr Trifle said, licking the glob of peanut butter off his finger only to get it stuck on the roof of his mouth again.
“You know, peg it. Turn up his toes. In a word: die,” Mrs Trifle explained.
“You certainly do have a way with words,” Dr Trifle said. “But yes, that’s what I meant.”
“When fortune-tellers see something dreadful in someone’s future, they never tell it. They keep it to themselves,” Mrs Trifle said. “They don’t want their customers wandering around all worried just because they only have one more day to live. That wouldn’t be very much fun, would it?”
“No, I suppose not,” Dr Trifle said, scraping the peanut butter onto his finger again.
“Ooops!” Mrs Trifle said suddenly. “I’d better get Selby down to the fairgrounds before Madame Mascara packs her tent and goes away.”
“Me — Selby — snuff it tomorrow? Such rubbish! If it was going to happen,” Selby thought as Mrs Trifle led him towards the gypsy’s tent, “I’m sure Madame Mascara would be the last to know. I laugh at fortune-tellers. Ha ha and double ho ho! It’s all bunk.”
“Oh, how exciting!” Madame Mascara said, reaching out a ring-covered hand and grabbing the peanut butter and banana sandwich and biting a chunk out of it. “A bananabutter sandwich. It must be very healthy.”
“I’m sure it is,” Mrs Trifle said, lifting Selby onto the chair next to the fortune-teller.
“Now, let’s see what the future holds for your little dog. Hmmmmmmmm,” Madame Mascara said, puzzling over the cracks and lines on Selby’s paw. “Dog feet aren’t quite like people feet, are they? I’d better gaze into my crystal ball instead.”
Selby watched as Madame Mascara waved her hand back and forth in front of the crystal ball like a window-washer in a hurry. Inside the glass he saw her reflection: an upside down Madame Mascara waving back.
Suddenly a strange look came over the fortune-teller’s face. “Oh, no!” she screamed and accidentally knocked the crystal ball off the table and onto Selby’s foot. There was a gurgle gurgle sound from her throat and then a burble burble and she fell to the ground in a faint.
“Madame Mascara! Madame Mascara!” Mrs Trifle yelled as she fanned the woman’s face with a pack of fortune-telling cards. “Are you all right?”
Selby watched as the fortune-teller’s eyes flickered open and she raised her head.
“I’m okay, Mrs Trifle,” she said finally. “It’s just that I saw something dreadful in the crystal ball. I’m afraid I can’t say anything. It wouldn’t be polite.”
Selby stood stock-still for a second, sweating like a sprinter.
“Oh, no! It can’t be!” he thought suddenly as he tore from the tent. “She’s seen something terrible about me and she won’t say anything. The jig is up! It’s curtains! I’ve had it! I’m history! I’m going to snuff it tomorrow and she’s worried about being polite! Oh, woe woe woe.”
Selby ran across the fields picking four-leaf clovers and touching wood as he went and keeping an eye out for black cats that might cross his path and ladders that he might accidentally go under and mirrors that might break.
“Why am I worrying about broken mirrors? They give you seven years’ bad luck. I’d give anything right now for seven years’ bad luck!” Selby said as he climbed under the fence at The Friendly Duffer Riding Stables and searched the rubbish barrels for worn-out horseshoes that might give him good luck. “I was a happy dog till I met that ring-covered crystal-gazing soothsayer.”
When Selby finally came home that evening, dragging a bag full of good luck charms which he hid in the garage, he slipped into the lounge room where Dr Trifle was reading a book called The Beginner’s Book of Future Predicting.
“I might as well talk to the Trifles,” he thought. “It’s going to be all over for me (sniff) tomorrow. I might as well tell Dr Trifle that I can speak. I so want to thank him and Mrs Trifle for being so good to me (sniff) all these years.”
&n
bsp; Selby put his paws up on the doctor’s knee and cleared his throat, ready to speak. Dr Trifle lowered his book and looked at Selby.
“Had a hard day have you, old pooch?” Dr Trifle said, suddenly finding a bit of peanut butter still stuck to the roof of his mouth and trying to get it loose with his tongue. “Hish snot eashy been a yog, ish it? I mean,” he said, and then he gave up with his tongue and scraped the peanut butter off on his finger, “it’s not easy being a dog, is it?”
“Not when you’re about to snuff it tomorrow,” Selby thought.
Just then Mrs Trifle burst into the room.
“Oh, there’s Selby! Thank goodness he’s okay,” she said, stroking Selby’s ears. “He got a terrible fright at the fair. Madame Mascara fainted and knocked her crystal ball on his foot, poor baby. It must have hurt him terribly. He went running off and I never thought I’d see him again.”
“What happened to her?” Dr Trifle asked.
“She was too polite to say anything at first and pretended she’d been upset by something she saw in the crystal ball, but it seems she’s allergic to peanut butter. She didn’t know that bananabutter sandwiches have peanut butter in them. One chomp and she dropped like a rock. We can thank our lucky stars that she was okay again in a minute.”
“And what did she say about Selby’s future?” Dr Trifle asked.
“She says he’ll live a long and happy life and that his children will look after him when he’s old,” Mrs Trifle said.
“But he doesn’t have any children,” Dr Trifle said, licking the peanut butter glob from his finger and swallowing it.
“She probably means us, dear. I’ve always thought he looked on us as his human children. Oh, if only Selby could talk I’m sure he’d have some tales to tell,” Mrs Trifle said and she saw a faint doggy smile spread across Selby’s lips.
Selby Cracks a Case
