by Duncan Ball
“Get out there, dog,” Fred said in a loud whisper as he pulled the clinging Selby loose and pushed him towards the wire.
“No way!” Selby thought, grabbing a long balancing pole in his teeth to make it harder for Fred to push him. “I’ll just play dumb till they realise their mistake. There’s no way I’m going out on that wire.”
“They’ve sent us another hopeless dog, Frieda,” Fred Ferguson whispered across to the woman on the platform at the other end of the wire. “What can we do?”
“You could give him a good shove,” Frieda suggested. “But it’s no good if he doesn’t feel up to it. He’ll only fall and make a mess and put everyone off their fairy-floss.”
“Crikey!” Selby thought, swallowing hard and covering his eyes with one paw. “Put them off their fairy-floss! How do I get into these things?”
Just then there was a yell from the audience. “It’s him, uncle!” Barnstorm Billy shouted. “It’s Selby! He reads newspapers and he does circus tricks! Look!”
“Oh, no, they’ve brought the brat to the circus,” Selby said, peering down into the darkness.
And in the silence, Selby heard Dr Trifle say, “You’re right. It is Selby! But it can’t be. Selby’s no acrobat. Besides, he’s too old to walk a highwire.”
“I’m a goner,” Selby thought. “If I don’t walk the wire the Trifles will know it’s me. They’ll believe Barnstorm Billy. They’ll know I was reading the newspaper. My secret will be out and … and … and then what? They’ll be happy at first. I’ll be welcomed into the family fold and I’ll sit at the table at dinnertime. But then what? Then it will be: ‘Selby, dear, do you mind answering the phone while we’re out?’ and ‘Selby, dear, would you mind popping down to the shops?’ and ‘Today we’re going to show you how to use the lawnmower'. Gulp. I don’t want to answer the telephone or do the shopping or mow the blinking lawn! What do they think I am, their slave? I’ll have to go out on that wire. I’ll have to convince them it’s not me up here.”
With this, Selby put one foot out on the wire and the crowd roared.
“Where’s that bloomin’ two-humped camel?” Selby thought, putting another foot onto the wire and then another. “One more foot on the wire and there will be no turning back. I think I can, I think I can …”
Fear gripped Selby’s head like a vice as his fourth foot stepped onto the wire and sweat began to drip from his chin.
“I’ll show them,” he thought as he began his walk across the wire.
Halfway across, Frieda motioned with her hands for him to stand on his hind legs.
“You’ve got to be kidding, lady,” Selby muttered to himself. “I was born with four legs and I’m going to use every one of them.”
Just then Fred Ferguson jumped out on the wire and Selby lost his balance and dropped his balancing pole into the darkness below, narrowly missing a two-humped camel. He teetered back and forth on his hind legs as the audience screamed and Barnstorm Billy cried out, “Goody goody, he’s going to fall!”
Then, with a sudden burst of energy born of terror, Selby dashed along the wire on his hind legs and leaped into Frieda’s waiting arms.
On his way down in the basket the whole audience was on its feet cheering and stamping and Selby’s fear turned to pride. He stood on his hind legs and bowed to the roaring crowd.
When he reached the ground he tore into the crowd to avoid the trainers and made his escape through a hole in the tent. As he passed Barnstorm Billy and the Trifles he heard Mrs Trifle say: “What a dog! What a brilliant and talented dog! He looks like Selby but he can’t be.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Selby said when he was safely at home lying in front of the TV watching The Lucky Millions Quiz Quest. “I may not have paws of steel but I’ve got more talent in my big toe than Billy has in his whole body.”
Too Many Cooks
In general, Selby liked his fellow dogs. But Aunt Jetty’s dog, Crusher, was nasty and pushy and — what was worse — was staying with the Trifles for the day.
“You’re probably not to blame,” Selby said to Crusher, knowing that Crusher didn’t understand any sort of people-talk or even dog-talk for that matter. “Anyone who lives in the same house as Aunt Jetty and her dreadful sons deserves a medal.”
But within fifteen minutes, Crusher had pushed Selby out of the way and gobbled all his food and then chased him around the house nipping at his heels until Selby fell exhausted in a heap on the lounge-room carpet. To make matters worse, Crusher fell on top of him like a sack of potatoes.
“All right, all right,” Selby said. “Get up. You win. You’re the boss. Just go away and leave me in peace.”
Crusher just lay there for a few minutes and when he did get up it was to give Selby another good chomp and then start chasing him around the house again.
“Stop it now, you two,” Dr Trifle said as he stood in the kitchen making Mrs Trifle’s favourite dessert, Marshmallow Cream Cake, as a special birthday surprise. “If you run around like that the cake will fall. You can play some more after I go out.”
“Crumbs,” Selby thought as he curled up at the doctor’s feet. “Please don’t leave me alone with this savage. Stay here and protect me.”
But soon the cake was finished and Dr Trifle put it on the kitchen counter next to an open window to cool. Then he left the house and the chase was on again.
“Heeeeeeeellllp!” Selby screamed as he tore through the dining room for the twenty-seventh time, his hind legs bruised black and blue from Crusher’s nipping. “Somebody help me, please! I can’t keep this up forever!”
“I know what I’ll do,” Selby thought as he tore over the top of the piano and then under the lounge. “One advantage in being a talking, thinking, just-plain-clever dog instead of a brute like Crusher is I can open and close doors. I’ll just slip out the front door and lock Crusher in.”
Selby darted out the door, but before he could close it Crusher burst out, knocking Selby into the dirt. The door flew open, hit the side of the house and then bounced closed with a slam. “Crikey! Now we’re both locked out!” Selby thought as he ran around and around the garden sprinkler and then in and out of the bushes with Crusher nipping his tail all the while. “My only chance is to jump in an open window.”
Selby tore around the house but the only open window was the kitchen window, which was too high.
“I’ve got it! Ouch!” Selby screamed as he saw his escape and Crusher nipped his tail all at the same moment. And with this he suddenly turned and ran straight at Crusher, letting out a bloodcurdling scream that stopped the brute in his tracks. Selby then leaped up on Crusher’s back with one bound and through the kitchen window with another. All of which would have been a perfect escape if he hadn’t landed smack in the middle of the Marshmallow Cream Cake, sending bits of it flying everywhere.
“Oh, no! I’ve crushed the cream cake!” Selby said, licking himself off and then quickly cleaning up the mess. “I’d better make another one fast before the Trifles return.”
Selby raced through the recipe, adding cups of this and teaspoons of that, while Crusher ran around the house barking to be let in.
“It’s all your fault, you oaf!” Selby said, slamming the window just as a gust of wind blew in and turned the page of the recipe book.
“Hmmmmmmmm,” he said, looking back at the book but not knowing he was reading a different recipe. Add one cup of your hottest curry powder and blend well, he read. “That’s strange. Oh, well, it must be right.”
Selby grabbed a one-cup size packet of Fire Eater’s Triple Hot Curry Powder and threw it into the mix. He gave it a quick stir and then poured it into a cake tin and put it in the oven to bake.
Selby took the cake out of the oven. It was perfect. He turned it onto a plate and was just finishing the icing when he heard the Trifles’ car pull into the driveway. Quickly Selby put the cake in front of the window where the other cake had been.
He opened the window and was scraping the
cake tin clean with his paw when the Trifles reached the front door. The key turned in the lock. Selby thrust his crumb-laden paw into his mouth, intending to swallow the evidence.
“I-yi-yi-yi-yi-aoooooooeeeeeeee!” he shrieked as he tore past the Trifles who were just coming in.
He ran to the garden sprinkler and put his mouth over the nozzle, drinking every drop that came out of it.
“That … (gulp) … is … (gulp) … the … (gulp) … hottest … (gulp) … Marshmallow Cream Cake … I’ve ever tasted!” he mumbled. “I’ve got to keep the Trifles from eating it. One big bite could set them on fire.”
All through Mrs Trifle’s birthday dinner, Selby tried to think of ways of getting rid of the Marshmallow Cream Cake as Crusher chased him around the house. But it was no use, the cake stayed on the table in full view.
“I’ve got to warn them,” Selby thought, ignoring a bite on the ear from Crusher. “I think I’ll have to come right out with it in plain English. It will be the end of my secret — and the end of me — but I have to do it. I can’t let them eat the cake.”
Selby turned and faced the Trifles. Looking deep into their eyes he cleared his throat.
“I do believe Selby is trying to tell us something,” Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle. “Do you suppose he wants a piece of Marshmallow Cream Cake?”
“I —” Selby started. “I —” He cleared his throat again and thought how lucky he was to live with such kind and generous people, people who would offer their own Marshmallow Cream Cake to a not-so-dumb animal like himself. A tear came into his eye and he opened his mouth to speak again.
Just then, with the Trifles watching Selby, Crusher saw his chance. He jumped up on the table and gobbled the whole Marshmallow Curry and Cream Cake with one big gobble, not leaving the tiniest crumb on the plate.
“Oooooooo-bow-bow-wow-wow-yiiiiiiii!” Crusher barked as he ran straight through the screen door into the garden, and began drinking the sprinkler dry.
“This is all very odd,” Mrs Trifle said, forgetting about Selby and looking at where the cake had been. “I wonder what got into Crusher?”
“A whole cup of Fire Eater’s Triple Hot Curry Powder,” Selby thought as he lay down on the carpet to get some rest at last. “And he deserved every speck of it.”
The Enchanted Dog
“Oh look,” said Mrs Trifle, who was reading the latest copy of the Sisters of Limelight Every-Two-Weekly Newsletter, “the Bogusville Stagestompers are doing a play called The Enchanted Dog and they need a dog for the title role. I think I’ll take Selby to the audition to see if he can get the part.”
Selby’s ears shot up.
“I’ve always wanted to act,” he thought. “Ever since I did my highwire act at the circus I’ve been addicted to applause. Now I can’t get enough of it.”
That afternoon Mrs Trifle took Selby to the Bogusville Bijou where the author and director of the play, Melanie Mildew, who was also the gardener at the Bogusville Memorial Rose Garden when she wasn’t writing and directing plays, was just starting the first rehearsal.
“Will he sit when you ask him to?” Melanie asked Mrs Trifle.
“Yes, of course,” Mrs Trifle answered.
“And will he come when he’s called?”
“Well yes, I think so.”
“He’ll be perfect,” Melanie said. “Just leave him with us.”
“It doesn’t sound like a very demanding part,” Selby thought. “But it’ll have to do.”
“Attention everyone,” Melanie said, clapping her hands above her head. “We have a dog. We can begin. Now let me tell you about the play. It’s about a bullock driver who comes to a sheep station which is owned by three sisters who are really witches. They need a dog to drive their sheep. So they invite the bullocky in for dinner, feed him some pawpaw that they’ve cast a spell on and then play some music that turns him into a sheepdog.”
“Great stuff'!” thought Selby, who was really getting into the swing of things.
“The big scene is when the bullocky — that’s you,” Melanie said to Postie Paterson, “tries to break the spell by dancing The Dance of Darkness“
“Why does he want to break the spell?”
Selby wondered. “What’s so bad about being a dog?”
“What you do is this,” Melanie said. “You eat the pawpaw and then stagger out of the house into the moonlight and fall behind that rock over there. Selby will be hiding there and all you have to do is push him out into the spotlight while you change into the dog suit. When you’ve got the suit on, you call Selby back behind the rock and then we cut the spotlight and you do The Dance of Darkness. The stage will be very dark and you will look just like a real dog dancing around. Okay? So The Dance of Darkness breaks the spell and the three sisters turn into emus and go running off. End of play. Everybody got it?”
“Let’s see,” Selby thought. “First I sit still behind the rock. Then I stand in the spotlight. Then I go back behind the rock and sit some more. Not a great part but I’ll see what I can do with it.”
“All right, then,” Melanie said. “Places everyone. Let’s give it a run-through.”
On opening night a full house watched in silence as the Stagestompers performed the first act of The Enchanted Dog and Selby waited behind the rock for his big moment. The magic of the play began to bring out the actor in him and he felt his heart throb when Postie Paterson gagged on the enchanted pawpaw and staggered towards him.
Not waiting to be pushed, Selby leaped out from behind the rock as soon as Postie fell behind it. He jumped into the spotlight and stood there on his hind legs, turning from side to side so the audience could get a good look at him.
“This is wonderful!” Selby thought, and the excitement of the moment surged through him sending shivers of delight up his spine.
Then from behind the rock he heard Postie Paterson whisper: “Psssssssssst! Here doggy. That’s enough.”
But instead of just walking back behind the rock as the spotlight went off, Selby leaped high in the air, jumping over the rock and hitting Postie squarely on the back as he bent down to put on the pants part of the dog suit. Postie went down with a crash, hitting his head on the floor.
“Postie!” Selby whispered, risking giving away his secret. “Are you okay?”
But there was no answer and in a moment a murmur rose from the audience as they wondered what would happen next.
“You are caught in our web of darkness,” one of the witches said for the third time. “You will never escape from us now.”
The murmur soon grew to a mass of whispers and then Selby called out in a voice that sounded just like the postman’s: “I will break your spell forever. I will dance The Dance of Darkness and be forever free.”
Selby danced out in the half-light of the stage, whirling and twirling as the audience fell silent again. He leaped about as the music grew louder, feeling its beat flow through him. The audience gasped at the sight of the shadowy dog-figure and from the back of the stalls someone cried out, “Brilliant!” and another, “What acting! What dancing!”
Selby danced faster and faster; first on all fours, then on his hind legs and then leaping from leg to leg at blinding speed. Suddenly — just as the music stopped and the curtain began to fall — Selby saw Postie Paterson begin to come to. He leaped back behind the rock just as the house lights came on. The audience stood up and shouted “Bravo! Bravo!” and Melanie Mildew dashed across the stage and threw her arms around Postie Paterson who had just staggered out from behind the rock.
“You were fabulous!” she cried. “What a dancer! And that dog suit was perfect! You looked more like a dog than Selby!”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Selby thought, feeling more proud of himself by the moment.
“But … but,” sputtered Postie Paterson, holding his aching head with both hands, “I can’t remember a thing. The only part of The Dance of Darkness I remember is the darkness part.”
The Shampooed Pooch
“Cousin Will! What a surprise!” Mrs Trifle said, opening the front door to her posh cousin Wilhemina. “Is it that day again? It seems like it was only last month that you were here. Where’s your dog?”
It was the day of the Bogusville Canine Society’s annual dog show and Cousin Wilhemina — who wouldn’t normally be caught dead in a little bush town like Bogusville — had arrived to win all the top prizes as she always did.
“He’s in the box,” Cousin Wilhemina said, marching into the lounge room with a big wooden box that had the name FREDDINGTON painted on both sides in huge blue-and-gold letters. “No time to spare,” she said, pushing Selby off the carpet with her foot and folding down the sides of the box. “If we’re going to win again this year we’ve got to get to work.”
Inside the box was every sort of brush and clipper and nail file, and bottles and bottles of coloured liquids. Cousin Wilhemina reached into a mass of hair curlers and hair driers and pulled out one small dog.
Selby watched as Cousin Wilhemina shampooed Freddie and then dyed his fur and set it in curlers.
“Excuse me, Cousin Will,” Dr Trifle said, looking up from his newspaper and wondering why anyone in their right mind would want to dye a dog, “but you’ve made Freddington blue.”
“Lavender,” Cousin Wilhemina said, correcting him. “Last year he was deep apricot. This year his show name is Freddington Lavender Lilyblush and he’ll be lavender all over.”
“A lavender poodle,” Dr Trifle said thoughtfully. “What will they think of next?”
“These days you have to think of a gimmick if you want to win Best in Show, dear,” Cousin Wilhemina said, drying Freddie with an electric hair drier and then brushing his long lavender coat till it shone like a neon light. “Gone are the days when you could enter an ordinary dog without a lot of preparation and expect to win anything at all except, of course, Best in Breed. Winning Best in Breed in a town like Bogusville,” she said, making her lip curl slightly as she said it, “should be no problem. Most of the dogs will be at least half mongrel — no offence to your Selby. My beautiful Freddie will probably be the only pure anything in the whole show.”
