by Duncan Ball
Look around you. There are stories lurking everywhere, just waiting to be discovered. Look at your pants. Now use your imagination. What if they were on fire? How did the fire start? What’s going to happen? There is the start of a story. Or look out the window. It’s summer and it’s hot. Now use your imagination. What if it suddenly turned cold and started snowing. There’s a story in that, too. Or look at your husband or wife. What if they weren’t who you thought they were? What if their body had been taken over by an alien. There’s the start of another story.
‘This is just what Mrs Trifle needs to get her started,’ Selby thought. ‘I’ll just leave the book lying open on the floor.’
It wasn’t long before Mrs Trifle noticed the book and picked it up.
‘My old book. I forgot that I even had it. It must have fallen off the shelf,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And what a coincidence. It’s opened to a page on story writing. Hmmm. Look at your pants.” Mrs Trifle looked down at her pants.’ What if they were on fire? Well, they’re not. Pants on fire. That’s just silly. How would you make a story out of that?’
‘There are lots of ways,’ Selby thought. ‘What if someone told a lie and the old liar, liar pants on fire rhyme came true?’
‘Look out the window,’ Mrs Trifle went on. ‘It’s summer and it’s hot. No, it’s not. It’s winter. What if it suddenly turned cold and started snowing? Well, it wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘It would me,’ Selby sighed silently in his brain. ‘Because it’s never snowed in Bogusville before. But who cares? Just make something up! Think! What if a volcano came right up under Bogusville?’
‘Look at your husband or wife,’ Mrs Trifle read on. ‘Well I don’t have a wife and I can’t look at my husband because he isn’t here. All I can write about is what I do. And being the mayor of Bogusville isn’t interesting enough for a story.’
‘If only she could let her imagination run wild,’ Selby thought. ‘Why doesn’t she imagine that she’s not just the mayor of Bogusville but the mayor of … of the universe? Hey, I like it. Maybe I’ll write it myself.’
That night, when the Trifles were sound asleep, Selby went to the computer and answered some emails from kids.
‘Now for my story,’ he thought. ‘What will I call it? How about Mrs Trifle, Mayor of the Universe. Okay, there’s this evil dude from a different dimension who’s trying get her sacked …’
Selby’s mind was racing ahead when he heard the sound of the toilet flushing.
‘Uh-oh!’ he thought. ‘Someone’s out of bed! They’ll catch me using the computer! My secret will be out!’
Selby quickly turned off the computer and dived for the light switch. By the time Mrs Trifle looked into the study, Selby was lying innocently on the floor, pretending to sleep.
‘Something very odd happened last night,’ Mrs Trifle said at breakfast the next morning.
‘Oh, yes? What was it?’ Dr Trifle asked without looking up from his newspaper.
‘Selby was in the study using the computer.’
‘Gulp,’ Selby gulped. ‘I’ve finally been sprung!’
Dr Trifle put his newspaper down.
‘Selby was using the computer?’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you kidding?!’
Mrs Trifle laughed.
‘That got your attention,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course I’m kidding. I got up in the night and I thought I saw the light in the study go off. When I looked in, Selby was asleep on the floor.’
‘You probably weren’t completely awake,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You imagined it.’
‘I agree but it was great because it started me thinking about a story I want to write. I thought, what if Selby actually could understand what we say? What if he could read, write, speak and even use a computer?’
‘Willy and Billy think that he can talk,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘I know, but you can’t believe a word they say. Anyway, I’m going to write a story for Story Week about a dog that can talk.’
‘I’m not sure I like this,’ Selby thought. ‘It’s a little too close to the story of you-know-who.’
‘Will this dog of yours talk to his owners?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘No, it’ll be a better story if he’s trying to keep it a secret.’
‘Why on earth would he want to do that? Will you make his owners nice people?’
‘Of course. They’ll be … sort of like us. I’ve thought about this. I think the dog is keeping his talking a secret from his owners because he doesn’t want to have to help out around the house,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking over at Selby.
‘She’s making me feel guilty,’ Selby thought.
‘This sounds like those books about that talking dog,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘What’s his name? Selby , that’s it.’
‘I keep forgetting about those books,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘And remember the Search for Selby Society and how they were trying to find him?’
‘How could I ever forget that,’ Selby thought.
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Well, I’m not going to call the dog in my story Selby.
I’ll name him after our own dear Selby instead.’
‘This is getting worse by the minute!’ Selby thought.
‘That’s funny,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘While you were talking, Selby’s ears were up as if he was listening to us. Look, now they’re not.’
‘Can’t a dog do anything around here any more?’ Selby thought.
‘There have been times when I’ve wondered about Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Me too,’ said Dr Trifle. ‘Think of all the times we’ve come home and found the TV on and Selby lying there sleeping.’
‘Or maybe just pretending to sleep,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘How could you tell if he’s pretending?’
‘I could never be sure but when he’s really sleeping he often has nightmares. And, when he does, his legs twitch and he makes those little yip and yelp sounds.’
‘Okay, so now I guess I’m going to have to yip and yelp and twitch when I’m pretending to sleep,’ Selby thought.
Mrs Trifle went on. ‘Remember that time when we came home and he had his paws up against the fridge?’
‘Yes, I do. We decided that he was probably just stretching but it really looked like he’d just closed the fridge door.’
‘And he had cake crumbs on his chin,’ Mrs Trifle added. ‘Of course, he probably licked them up off the floor but, come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen him lick anything off the floor.’
‘Oh boy,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I’m going to have to start licking the floor. Yuck! How would they like to lick the floor?’
‘He doesn’t lick himself, either,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I thought all dogs cleaned their fur by licking themselves.’
‘Oh, gross,’ Selby thought.
‘And yet he’s always quite clean,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Remember the time there was water on the floor of the bathroom and you said, “I think Selby just had a shower?"’
‘Yes,’ Dr Trifle laughed. ‘That was funny.’
‘You know, I’ve never seen Selby lick his nose when it’s runny the way other dogs do,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Now that …’ Selby thought, ‘that is where I draw the line. There’s no way I’m going to lick my nose. I don’t think my tongue is long enough, anyway.’
‘And I’ve never ever seen him drink out of a toilet the way Aunt Jetty’s dog, Crusher, used to.’
‘Hold the show!’ Selby thought. ‘Forget about that other line! This is where I really draw the line! There’s no way I’d ever drink out of a toilet! I’d rather die of thirst.’
For the next few days, Mrs Trifle watched Selby’s every move and made notes for her story.
‘This is awful!’ Selby thought. ‘I have to be soooo careful! I’m missing all my fave TV shows, I’m only eating Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits, I have to yip and yelp and twitch when I’m pretending to sleep, and I’ve licked so much floor that my tongue is ready t
o fall off. Why did I ever try to help Mrs Trifle with her story writing?’
The days went on with Selby more and more exhausted from having to be completely doglike. He even brought a stick to Mrs Trifle and stood in front of her, jumping back and forth till she threw it.
‘I hate chasing sticks,’ he thought. ‘My life is a catastrophe! How long do I have to keep this dog-stuff up? I have to be soooo careful. I just wish she’d finish her story and I could go back to normal.’
Gradually, Mrs Trifle began to lose interest.
‘My story is getting to be just like the stories about Selby,’ she told Dr Trifle. ‘The more I write, the more Selby seems like Selby in the books. I don’t want my story to be too much like them. It’ll seem like I’m copying.’
And, just when she was about to give up and let Selby get back to his normal life, it happened. Selby was lying next to the TV licking his paw for the twentieth time and daydreaming when Dr Trifle accidentally stepped on his tail.
‘Ouch!’ Selby cried.
‘Ouch?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Did he just say ouch?’
‘Yelp! Yelp! Yelp!’ Selby cried. ‘Yp! Yip! Yip!’
‘It sounded like ouch to me, too,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but maybe not. You know, I’ve been thinking. What if he actually is the dog in the books?’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘What if Selby can talk and read and write and all those things and he’s the one who rings up Duncan Ball and tells him his stories and Duncan just writes them down?’
‘You mean that dog might actually be a real dog?’
‘Yes, our dog, our own dear Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘The signs have been there all the time, just like the Search for Selby Society people said.’
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Absolutely. Let’s just say that Selby had opened the fridge that time. And let’s just say that he did turn the lights on when we were out and that he even watches TV. Let’s just say that he does use the computer when we’re asleep. We keep making excuses for him.’
‘I see what you mean,’ Dr Trifle said slowly.
They both turned and looked Selby in the eye.
‘Okay, Selby, time’s up,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Talk to us.’
‘Yes, Selby,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘enough is enough. Let’s put a stop to this nonsense right now.’
Selby looked back and forth from one to the other.
‘I’m going to have to do it,’ he thought. ‘I’ve got to finally put their minds at ease. This is it.’
Selby got to his feet. He cleared his throat and licked his lips. Dr and Mrs Trifle stared in disbelief.
‘What do you think he’s about to do?’ asked Mrs Trifle.
‘He’s … he’s going to the loo,’ Dr Trifle said as he watched Selby trot down the hallway.’ Our loo.’
Selby put his head down into the toilet bowl. Tears flooded his eyes.
‘I’m going to have to step over that line,’ he thought, ‘and drink out of the toilet. I’ve got to do it to convince the Trifles that I’m just an ordinary toilet-drinking dog. Oh woe woe woe! Look at that awful, smelly, disgusting mess. The loo looks like it hasn’t been cleaned for weeks. I’ll probably die of some terrible toilet disease! I can’t do it! But I have to do it! Here goes …’
Dr and Mrs Trifle could hear the sound of little splashes from where they sat in the loungeroom.
‘Good grief!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘Selby is actually drinking out of the toilet!’
‘I do believe you’re right,’ Dr Trifle agreed. ‘Do you think the real Selby, the dog in the books, would drink out of a toilet?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He’s too … too human. That would be like one of us drinking out of the loo.’
‘So that settles it,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Selby can’t be the dog in the books, after all.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Mrs Trifle agreed. ‘And I’d better stop him from drinking out of the toilet right now before he catches some terrible toilet disease.’
Mrs Trifle got to the bathroom just in time not to see Selby as he slipped the toilet brush back into its holder, and just in time to see him about to take his first slurp.
‘Selby! Stop that!’ Mrs Trifle cried, picking him up in her arms. ‘Oh, you poor poor dear. Come away from there and let me fill your drinking bowl with clean, fresh water.’
‘Phew! That was a close one,’ Selby thought. ‘Saved by the brush.’
This isn’t the end. Mrs Trifle did finally write her story but it wasn’t about Selby. It was about something she knew quite a bit about — being a mayor.
When Dr Trifle asked her where the idea came from she said: ‘I can’t remember. I was looking at my notes on the computer and there was this title there — ‘Mrs Trifle, Mayor of the Universe'. I forgot I’d even written it down. But it got me thinking.’
So that was the story Mrs Trifle finally wrote and it even won the competition. Everyone loved it, especially Selby.
Paw note: Yes, he did say ‘Selby', but remember that my real name isn’t Selby.
Paw note: See the story ‘The Search for Selby’ in this book.
S
Paw note: This time she used my real name but of course I can’t tell you what it is. (Sorry.)
S
Selby Shattered
Selby struggled around the room, getting slower and slower. He could barely lift his paws or move his legs.
‘I’ve got to keep moving!’ he screamed in his brain. ‘If I stop, I’ll never be able to move again!’
The Trifles watched in horror as Selby stood up on his hind legs, stretched his front paws upwards, and then came to a stop.
‘Selby, what’s wrong?’ Mrs Trifle cried, clutching him in her arms. ‘You’re as hard as a rock!’
‘I’m frozen!’ Selby screamed. ‘And it’s all Dr Trifle’s fault! He poisoned me!’
Or at least that’s what he tried to scream but by then it was too late. He couldn’t move his lips or his tongue or even his vocal cords. The only sound that came out of him was a tiny rush of air.
And then his lungs stopped working.
And his heart stopped.
‘This is awful!’ Mrs Trifle cried, as the tears poured down her face. ‘This is terrible! It’s a tragedy! How could this have happened to him?’
It all started earlier that day. Mrs Trifle had just come home from work as Dr Trifle came out of his workroom.
‘Boy, is it hot today!’ Mrs Trifle said, getting a jug of cold water from the fridge. ‘I just wish summer would finally end.’
‘She can say that again,’ Selby thought as he slurped some cool water from his bowl. ‘And I’m twice as hot because I’m covered in fur.’
‘Stop!’ Dr Trifle called out. ‘You’d better not drink that.’
Mrs Trifle looked at the scribbled label on the pitcher.
‘Do not drink!’ she read out loud. ‘Why? What’s wrong with it? It’s just cold water, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is cold water but it’s not normal cold water,’ Dr Trifle replied. ‘It’s a new kind of water that I invented.’
‘You invented a new kind of water?’
‘I did. Pour some into your glass. I’ll show you something.’
Mrs Trifle poured some of the water into a glass.
‘Now, just leave it for a moment to let it warm up.’
After a couple of minutes, Dr Trifle said, ‘Now turn the glass upside-down.’
‘But it’ll go all over the floor,’ Mrs Trifle protested.
‘No it won’t.’
Mrs Trifle slowly turned the glass upside-down but the water stayed in the bottom.
‘It’s gone all hard — like ice,’ she said.
‘It’s Nice,’ Dr Trifle said proudly.
‘Well, yes, it’s very nice but — ‘
‘No, no,’ Dr Trifle interrupted. ‘It’s Nice with a capital N. It’s short for not ice. Nice. Get it? That’s my name for it.
It freezes when it warms up instead of freezing when it gets cold. What you have in that glass is a Nice block.’
‘A Nice block? How did you discover this Nice?’
‘Sort of by accident. I was heating some water to make a cup of tea. Then I changed my mind. It was too hot to drink tea. I thought, why not make some iced tea? That started me thinking about what would happen if you heated and cooled water at the same time.’
‘It did?’
‘Yes. So I put the water-heater thingy in the freezer and, well, somehow it changed normal water into Nice water. When I poured it into my tea cup, it warmed up and froze solid.’
‘I never did understand about water freezing,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘At school they told us that water was made of little bits like soldiers running around everywhere. When you made it really cold, the soldiers lined up in rows and then they all held hands like one solid block.’
‘Soldiers? Holding hands?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’ll have to think about that.’
Suddenly the Nice fell from Mrs Trifle’s upside-down glass and smashed on the floor.
‘Oops!’ Mrs Trifle said.
Dr Trifle put the jug of Nice water back in the fridge.
‘Hmm, that’s strange,’ he said. ‘I could have sworn there was more than this. I wonder what happened to the rest of it.’
‘Oh no!’ Selby thought as his tongue suddenly struck something hard in his bowl. ‘I’ve just been drinking it! I filled my bowl from that jug in the fridge!’
Selby struggled around the room, getting slower and slower. He could barely lift his paws or move his legs.
‘I’ve got to keep moving!’ he screamed in his brain.
(All of which brings us back to where we were at the beginning.)
‘I think he must have drunk some of the Nice water,’ Dr Trifle said, touching the hard water in Selby’s bowl.
‘Did you give it to him?’
‘No. At least, I don’t think I did.’
‘But you must have. He couldn’t have got the jug out of the fridge all by himself, poured some in his bowl and then put it back. Call the vet! Quick!’
Minutes later, the vet arrived.
‘What’s that?’ he exclaimed, pointing to Selby.
