by Duncan Ball
‘I said, cut the white wire, Dwayne!’ Selby said. ‘I saw the movie, too. It was the white one, not the black one.’
Dwayne’s eyes slowly rolled up into his head and he collapsed in a faint.
‘Oh, great,’ Selby thought as he saw the rain water beginning to pour into the bomb. ‘Now I guess I’ve got to do something.’
Selby put on the headphones and grabbed the wire-cutters.
‘Talk to me, Dwayne,’ the voice said.
‘I’m talking,’ Selby said, doing his best imitation of the soldier’s voice. ‘And I’m about to cut the white wire.’
‘I thought you said it was the black one.’
‘I was wrong, it was the white one,’ Selby said putting the wire-cutters on the white wire. ‘I remember it now.’
Selby snapped the wire in two with the wire-cutters. The ticking suddenly stopped.
‘What’s happening? Talk to me, Dwayne.’
‘Mission accomplished,’ Selby sighed.
Selby had just put the headphones back on the soldier when he heard a loud buzz followed by a whirring noise.
‘Crumbs,’ Selby said. ‘I forgot about the firing pin! I’ve got to put a pencil in there! Hey, where am I going to find a pencil? Oh, no! Dwayne, do you have a pencil? Help! I’m only a dog — I don’t have anything to keep the bomb from exploding!’
It was a nervous bomb squad that crept slowly over the hill and peered down at the unexploded bomb. Next to the bomb lay the soldier, just waking up.
‘You did it!’ the captain said.
‘I did what?’
‘You defused the bomb and saved Bogusville. Great work.’
‘I-I did,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘What do you mean you don’t remember anything? Hey, what’s this? Dwayne.’
‘What’s what?’
‘Where did you get this thing that’s between the firing pin and the trigger? Why it’s — it’s a dog’s collar. That’s a strange thing to carry around with you.’
Dwayne looked around for the dog but there was no dog in sight. In the distance a small blur fled over a distant hill towards town and disappeared. Dwayne rubbed his eyes.
‘It certainly is,’ he said with a smile. ‘Unless you’re a dog, that is.’
THE WHOLE TRUTH
‘So what’s this new invention of yours?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
Mrs Trifle had been reading all morning, sometimes laughing out loud. Meanwhile Dr Trifle worked on his new invention on the loungeroom floor.
‘It’s going to be a Truth-ometer,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Let’s see now, this is the delicate part. I have to get this battery in here the right way around or it won’t work at all.’ ‘A Truth-ometer, very nice,’ Mrs Trifle said. She read for a moment and then laughed again.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘This book. It’s about a talking dog. Camilla Bonzer, the librarian at the primary school, lent me a few of them. She says they’re very popular with the kids.’
Selby suddenly gagged on a Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit.
‘Uh-oh,’ he thought. ‘I should have known this would happen sooner or later.’
‘A talking dog?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘That’s absurd.’
‘I know but it’s just a bit of harmless fun.’
‘Do the other people — I mean, the people in the books — know that he can talk?’
‘No, he’s keeping it a secret. He doesn’t even want his owners to know. He can talk and can read and write, too. The one thing he can’t do is swim.’
‘Does this have anything to do with all those cards the kids swap?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What’s his name?’ Dr Trifle asked looking over at Selby who was suddenly looking very guilty.
‘His name is Selby.’
‘Selby. Hmmm. It’s a pity his name isn’t Selby,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Just like our little guy.’
‘Now you’re being silly. I told you that his name isn’t Selby, it’s Selby. And his owners are Dr and Mrs Trifle’ but they’re nothing like us.’
‘How so?’
‘Well their name is completely different for starters,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And they’re quite silly sometimes — not like us.’
‘Why does he want to keep it a secret that he knows how to talk?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘He’s afraid that suddenly he’d be so famous that he’d never get any peace and quiet. There would be TV camera people everywhere, watching him. Bus loads of tourists would come to his house. And he might be sent off to a lab to be asked silly questions by scientists all day. He might even be dog-napped if he wasn’t careful.’
‘He’s got a point,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But surely he could trust his owners not to tell anyone.’
‘He’s afraid that his owners would put him to work around the house if they knew.’
Dr Trifle looked over at Selby.
‘We wouldn’t do that to Selby, would we?’
‘No, of course not. We’d just treat him like one of the family. He could sit at the table and eat people-food like us — if he liked people-food,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Yes, I do believe we would.’
‘Tell me, isn’t a Truth-ometer just a lie-detector and haven’t they already been invented?’
‘No, no. A Truth-ometer is much better than a lie-detector. Lie-detectors only tell when someone is lying. There’s more to telling the truth than not lying.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. If you say “yes” when the answer is “no” then you’re lying. And when you say “no” when you know that the answer is “yes” then you’re also lying. But what if the answer is yes or no and you just don’t say anything?’
‘Then you’re not lying,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Ahah! But you’re not telling the truth either. That’s the problem with lie-detectors: they want you to lie — out loud. If my Truth-ometer works it will be able to detect a lie when somebody doesn’t say anything.’
‘Now you’ve lost me,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Well the problem is that criminals sometimes don’t lie, they just refuse to talk,’ Dr Trifle said, handing Mrs Trifle two wires. ‘Hold this one in your left hand and the other one in your right hand.’
‘I’m not going to get a shock or anything, am I?’
‘Certainly not. Now let’s pretend that I’m a police detective about to ask a question. And you’re going to refuse to answer but my Truth-ometer will get to the truth.’
‘Okay, ask away.’
‘Do you colour your hair, Mrs Trifle?’
‘That’s none of your business, young man!’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘You weren’t supposed to say anything,’ Dr Trifle objected. ‘If you said that, I’d know straight off that you did put colour in your hair. Now let’s try again. Do you colour your hair, Mrs Trifle?’
Mrs Trifle sat silently, trying not to move her face. Suddenly the needle on one of the dials on the Truth-ometer shot to the top.
‘Ahah!’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You do colour your hair.’
‘But you already knew that. There’s a little bit of grey creeping in and I just made it creep back out again, that’s all.’
‘Well, yes, but look — the Stroppiness Indicator shot right up.’
‘The what?’
‘The dial that shows how you felt when I asked you the question. You got very stroppy, I could tell. It went up to eighty Huffs.’
‘Well why shouldn’t I colour my hair? They don’t put people in jail for that, do they?’
‘Of course not. Now let’s pretend you’re a bank robber and the police come to ask you questions. They’d give you a lie-detector test. “Did you rob that bank?” they’d ask. If you didn’t say anything they wouldn’t know if you did or not. But if they were using my Truth-ometer they’d know immediately.’
‘What other dials are there besides the Stroppy one?’
‘Well there’s the Smarminess Indicator — th
at one’s measured in Smirks. And there’s the Embarrassment Indicator — that one’s in Squirms. And, of course, the Gigglement Indicator, which is in Gigs.’
‘Gigs?’
‘Yes. You know like when you’re trying not to laugh and there are these tiny little bits of giggle trying to get out? Those are Gigs. Gigs aren’t actual giggles but sort of pre-giggles and with this invention I can not only detect them but measure them as well.’
‘I think I like this Truth-ometer,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What a clever little person you are.’
‘Well thank you but it’s not quite right yet. I have to set the zeros on the dials.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I need someone who will have zero feelings — someone who won’t feel anything at all when I ask them questions.’
‘Why not ask Selby your questions?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He won’t feel anything because he won’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Ooops, I don’t like the sound of this,’ Selby thought.
‘What a fantastic idea!’ Dr Trifle said, putting a wire between the toes of each of Selby’s front paws.
‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘Why didn’t I go for a walk when I felt like going for a walk! Now he’s going to find out that I can understand people-talk! I know, I’ll try not to listen. I’ll just empty my mind.’
‘Okay,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘What do I ask him?’
Mrs Trifle looked at the books she’d borrowed.
‘Why not ask him if he knows how to talk,’ she said, ‘like the dog in the books.’
‘Oh, no, not that!’ Selby thought. ‘That’s the last thing I want to be asked! Help! I’ve got to stay perfectly calm.’
‘Okay, Selby,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Do you know how to talk?’
‘I didn’t hear that. I didn’t hear that,’ Selby thought, feeling his cheeks turning pink. ‘I didn’t hear him ask if I can talk. Now I’ve actually said it to myself! How can I keep from feeling anything?! I’ve been keeping it a secret all these years! It’s just bursting to get out!’
Dr Trifle was just about to turn the adjustment screws on the Truth-ometer dials when three of the needles flickered.
‘Did you see that?!’ Dr Trifle said. ‘He understood me!’
‘He can’t have,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Try it again.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle bent down and looked Selby in the eyes.
‘I can’t stand it!’ Selby screamed in his brain. ‘They’re staring at me! It’s bad enough with the Truth-ometer but I can’t lie to them when they’re looking at me like this!’
‘Okay, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Do you know how to talk? Do you?!’
Suddenly the needles on the Truth-ometer dials shot up.
‘I do believe you’re right!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He had feelings when I asked that question! If he had feelings then he must have understood me. Selby can understand English!’
‘They’ve found me out,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I just have to confess.’
Selby was about to say, ‘Okay, I know how to talk but please don’t tell anyone else,’ when suddenly Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle, ‘Let me try this on you again just to be sure.’
Dr Trifle tugged the wires out of Selby’s paws and handed them to Mrs Trifle.
‘Now remember not to say anything,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You look very young, young lady. Are you twenty years old?’
Mrs Trifle tried not to smile.
‘Well, that part works. The Blush Indicator went way up into the red zone so the Truth-ometer knows that you’re a lot older than twenty,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Now for your real age. Of course I know the answer but I’ll pretend that I don’t. Mrs Trifle,’ he said in his best police inspector’s voice, ‘are you forty-four years old?’
Mrs Trifle’s face twitched slightly and then her mouth turned down.
‘Something’s wrong?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘The Stroppiness Indicator is up to a hundred Huffs!’
Mrs Trifle threw down the wires.
‘What’s wrong, dear?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘What do you think is wrong? Why don’t you look at the calendar for once!’ Mrs Trifle said as she stormed off to the bedroom.
Dr Trifle glanced at the calendar.
‘Oh, no!’ Dr Trifle said, hurrying into the bedroom after his wife.
‘What’s going on?’ Selby said, looking at the calendar. There, on that day’s date, someone had drawn a big, pink smiley face.
‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘It’s her birthday! She’s not forty-four — she’s forty-five today and Dr Trifle forgot it again. No wonder the Truth-ometer went crazy! Hmmm, where’s the battery in this thing?’
Selby whipped the battery out and snapped it in the other way round just as Dr and Mrs Trifle returned to the loungeroom.
‘I thought you were going to remember this time,’ Mrs Trifle sniffed. ‘I dropped so many hints about those shoes I wanted.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Let’s go and buy them right now.’
‘All right. I’m sorry I got so upset,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But, hang on. Are you listening to this, Selby? Come on, put the wires back in his paws and let’s find out once and for all if he understands us.’
Dr Trifle placed the wires between Selby’s toes.
‘Right,’ he said, staring at the dials on the Truth-ometer. ‘Do you know how to talk?’
Selby watched as the dials on the machine went in every direction.
‘This doesn’t make sense,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘We’re getting mega Smirks on the Embarrassment Indicator and Shivers by the dozen and Gigs and Squirms and even Huffs. The machine’s gone haywire! He’s lying and telling the truth at the same time. It doesn’t make sense,’ Dr Trifle said, throwing it in the wastepaper basket. ‘Oh well, come along dear. Let’s forget this nonsense and buy those shoes.’
‘What a good idea,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘and I think there may just be a matching handbag too.’
‘Oh me, oh my, oh me,’ Selby thought as the Trifles’ car drove off. ‘That was a close one. I just hope he doesn’t get any ideas again about learning the truth.’
Paw note: Dr Trifle didn’t really say ‘Selby’ he used my real name — which I can’t tell you because it’s a secret.
S
Paw note: Only my real owners’ name isn’t really ‘Trifle’ either. (This is getting very confusing.)
S
MY BRILLIANT THOUGHT
Today I thought a brilliant thought
The sort of thought a genius ought
To think. But it was me instead,
Who’d caught this thought within my head.
Just how it was it came to be
That such a thought had chosen me
I really wouldn’t have a clue
It was a bolt straight from the blue.
I couldn’t wait to blab it out
I’d whisper it, I’d yell, I’d shout.
Of course they’d be surprised to see
A talking thinking dog - like me.
They’d say, ‘Did you hear what he said?’
“Why goodness me!’ and ‘Strike me dead!’ ‘
That thought makes thinking obsolete!’
And then they’d bow and kiss my feet.
They’d quote my brilliant thought a lot
The phones would all be running hot
Teachers would be specially taught
To teach my extra-special thought.
The thought had knocked me upside down
I scratched the words upon the ground.
But then it rained, to my dismay,
And washed my brilliant thought away.
But still I kept it in my head
Hanging from a slender thread.
I knew that any thought you think
Can disappear within a blink.
I shouted it, I spoke, I said,
My thought - to keep it in my head.
I did this on and on and on
Bu
t then I sneezed - and it was gone!
It wafted off into the air
Right now it could be anywhere.
Today I thought a brilliant thought
But now, alas, my thought’s forgot.
SELBY SOLD
Selby was very careful about most things. So making a major slip-up, like talking out loud and in plain English in public, was very unusual. But the shock of looking into a pet shop and seeing himself in a cage had been too much.
‘That’s me!’ he cried. ‘It’s my spitting image! A perfect copy! Oh, no, I’ve been cloned!’ Selby had a closer look at the dog in the cage. ‘Well I guess he doesn’t look exactly like me,’ he said. ‘He has a little white spot on his chest. But he certainly looks similar.’ ‘I beg your pardon?’
Selby wheeled around to see Kitty Littaire, the owner of Mutts & Moggies, standing behind him on the footpath.
‘You just talked,’ she said. ‘I heard you.’
‘Crumbs,’ Selby thought. ‘She heard me! I’d better stay absolutely quiet. If I do it long enough she’ll just think she was hearing things.’
‘Don’t think you can fool me,’ Kitty said. ‘I know that I heard what I heard. And you are coming with me!’
Selby struggled against the woman’s steely grip but it was no use. The hands that had grappled with some of the roughest pets in the world soon had Selby locked in a cage with the dog that looked like him. The dog was so happy that he began licking Selby’s face.
Kitty Littaire quickly locked the pet shop door, turned the sign to ‘Closed’ and drew the curtains.
‘Goodness, you certainly do look like Bubbles here — except for the white spot, that is,’ Kitty — who had a very keen eye for pet differences — said. ‘Now why don’t you and I have a little conversation?’
‘Not on your life,’ Selby thought.
‘I know you!’ Kitty said. ‘You’re the mayor’s dog! You’re Selby, aren’t you?’
‘Maybe I am and maybe I’m not,’ Selby thought.
The pet shop owner paced the floor for a moment.
‘You don’t really understand me, do you Selby?’
‘ ? ‘
‘And right now I know you hate me.’
‘!’
‘Well let me explain about pet shop owners,’ she said. ‘You think that we just sell puppies and kittens and goldfish. Of course we do. And we all love animals. But none of us wants to spend the rest of our lives selling little packs of fish food and birdseed and guinea pig pellets. No, not us. We are all waiting for that very special pet to come along, the one that will make us fabulously rich. It could be a two-headed cobra. Or it may be a rat that can learn to play Jingle Bells on a set of tiny bells. Or, Selby, it could even be a talking dog — the only talking dog in Australia! Maybe even in the whole world.’
