by Duncan Ball
‘I’ll ignore her,’ Selby thought. ‘Sooner or later she’ll have to let me go.’
‘All my life I’ve been looking for something like you and now I’ve got you!’ the woman said. ‘Now I own you and your life has changed forever. So it’s no good playing Mister I-Don’t-Know-What-You’re-Talking-About because you do!’
‘Oh please,’ Selby thought.
‘I’ll bet that the Trifles don’t know you can talk,’ Kitty continued. ‘Only you and I know that you can talk. But you’re never going back to them anyway. You have just officially disappeared. Now are you going to talk? You will when you’re hungry.’
Kitty Littaire got out her mobile phone and dialled.
‘Countess? It’s me, Kitty Littaire. Remember me? I have found the perfect pet for you. How would you like a talking dog to add to your collection … Of course, I’m serious! He speaks perfect English. He would make the perfect companion for you there in your castle. But he’s going to cost you a great deal of money. Okay, I’ll hold him but you’d better get here quickly because I know a lot of other people who’d like him.’
Click.
‘How can she do this to me?!’ Selby thought. ‘She’s going to sell me to a total stranger!’
‘You’ll like living with the Countess,’ Kitty said. ‘She’s a lovely woman. Lives in a mansion all by herself — well if you don’t count the baboons, camels, birds, bats and armadillos. You’ll meet her as soon as her private jet can get her here.’
The pet shop owner wandered into the other room.
‘This woman’s a nut-case!’ Selby thought. ‘I’ve got to get out of here!’
Selby pulled at the bars of the cage.
‘They’re too strong,’ he gasped. ‘Maybe I can pick the lock on that padlock. I’ve seen it done on TV — I need a wire or something.’
Selby stretched a paw into the guinea pig cage nearby but all he came away with was a pawful of guinea pig poo.
‘Oh, yuck! That’s disgusting!’ he thought as he wiped his paw on the newspapers on the bottom of his cage. ‘Maybe there’s something over this way.’
Once again Selby reached out, this time to the parrot cage above. He felt around in the bottom of the cage only to pull it back quickly.
‘It’s all white,’ he thought. ‘What is it? White paint or something? Oh, no, it’s parrot poo! Just my luck! What am I going to do now? There’s no way out of this place.’
Selby cleaned his parrot-pooed paw and then sat there wondering what to do. A tear rolled down his face as he thought of how sad the Trifles would be when he didn’t come home.
More tears came to his eyes when he thought of never seeing them again. Then he looked over at Bubbles, happily wagging his tail.
‘You poor guy,’ Selby said, patting his companion on the head. ‘You’re not a young dog. In fact you’re as old as me. Who’s going to buy you? People want puppies these days, not old dogs like you.’
‘I heard you talking again,’ Kitty Littaire said, coming back. ‘You can stay quiet all you like but I know your secret. And if you refuse to talk to the Countess, I’m going to tell the whole world. Then we’ll see what your life is like.’
Selby lay silently on the floor of the cage with Bubbles huddled up next to him. He drifted into the saddest sleep he’d ever had. Then he woke up to the sound of voices.
‘This is Selby,’ Kitty Littaire said.
Next to her stood a kindly-looking old woman wearing the warmest smile that Selby had ever seen.
‘Sorry, which one? They both look so alike.’
‘Selby has a different collar and he doesn’t have a white spot. The one with the spot is Bubbles — a sweet dog but just an ordinary one, I’m afraid.’
‘A talking dog, my my,’ the old woman said, looking at Selby. ‘Would you like to say a few words to me?’
Selby studied the old woman.
‘She seems very nice,’ he thought, ‘but there’s no way I’m going to talk to her.’
‘Well I can’t blame you one little bit,’ the woman said. ‘You don’t know me at all. You probably think that I’m a horrible awful woman but I’m not. I love animals and my home is their home. No cages, none of that. They’re all just family.’
‘Good,’ Selby thought. ‘If she takes me home and treats me like one of the family I’ll be out of there like a shot.’ Selby looked over at Bubbles. ‘But what about him? He’s the one she should take. He needs a home, not me.’
‘Selby is just being stubborn,’ Kitty said. ‘But he’ll loosen up after a while.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Kitty. But I’m certainly not going to pay you ten million dollars without proof that he can talk. Not that I don’t trust you.’
‘Ten million dollars!’ Selby thought. ‘Wow! Maybe I should sell myself and keep all the money. What am I talking about?! Right now I don’t even own me! I’ve been dog-napped!’
‘The way to get Selby to talk,’ the pet shop owner said, ‘is just don’t feed him till he does.’
‘That seems a little cruel,’ the old woman said, ‘but if it’s the only way …’
‘Not feed me?! But I’m starving already!’ Selby thought. ‘No, no, anything but that!’
Suddenly something in Selby snapped. He thought of all the good and bad things that had happened to him. He thought of how kind the Trifles had been to him, but he also thought of the terrible food they gave him. He thought of how comfortable it was in the Trifles’ house but he also remembered that he couldn’t watch the TV programs he wanted to watch when they were around. And he thought of how he’d learned to talk by watching TV but he never got a chance to say anything. There were good things about living with the Trifles but there were bad things too.
‘Okay, I’ll talk to you,’ Selby said out loud. ‘Hi, how are you? My name’s Selby. Okay?’
‘Goodness!’ the Countess exclaimed. ‘You do talk! Not that I didn’t believe you, Kitty. Well, Selby, how do you feel about coming to live with me?’
‘Do you really live in a big mansion?’ Selby asked.
‘Yes, I do. And you can have everything you want there. Do you like good food, Selby?’
‘Can I have peanut prawns?’ Selby asked.
‘My chef makes the best peanut prawns in the world.’
‘Can I watch TV any time I want to?’
‘Certainly. You’ll be one of the family, remember? We have a giant TV screen and a huge library of films on video. We even have our own movie theatre.’
‘Hey, this is starting to sound okay,’ Selby said. ‘I’ll have a better life than I ever did with the Trifles. But, before I agree to anything, I have a few conditions.’
‘Conditions?!’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘Who are you to set conditions?’
‘I’m the only talking dog in Australia and, perhaps, the world,’ Selby said. ‘That’s who I am.’
‘Okay, what are your conditions?’ the Countess asked.
‘First of all: I don’t want the Trifles to be sad when they find out that I’m gone so I want you to give them Bubbles here.’
‘But won’t they notice that he’s not quite like you?’ Kitty asked.
‘What, that little white spot? They’ll never see it,’ Selby said. ‘Just put my collar on him and his collar on me. Then take him to the Trifles. Tell them that you found him wandering around dazed and confused. In a few days he’ll be used to living with them and everything will be okay.’
‘Okay,’ said Kitty. ‘I can do that.’
‘There’s more,’ said Selby. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Just a sec, I’ll get you some Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits.’
‘I hate them!’ Selby said. ‘I want some proper people-food. Pop across the street to the Spicy Onion Restaurant and get me some peanut prawns.’
‘I’ll be back in a tick,’ Kitty said, racing out the door and leaving Selby with the Countess.
‘I think I’m going to like being with you,’ Selby said.
‘And
I’ll love being with you,’ the old woman said. ‘To think, I’ll have the only talking dog in the world.’
‘But you know I’m not very talkative,’ Selby said. ‘So, don’t feel insulted if I just lie there and listen, okay?’
‘That’s perfectly all right with me.’
‘Crikey!’ Selby suddenly exclaimed. ‘I forgot to tell Kitty to have them put the honey sauce on the prawns! Peanut prawns without honey sauce! I won’t be able to eat them!’
‘Don’t worry, Selby, dear. I’ll make sure there’s honey sauce on them,’ the woman said, dashing out of the pet shop.
And so it was that Kitty Littaire switched Selby’s and Bubbles’ collars and took the dog with the spot on his chest to the Trifles’ house. Meanwhile, the jet took off from Bogusville airport with the Countess and her ten million dollar dog munching a mouthful of peanut prawns in honey sauce.
‘Selby does seem a bit dazed and confused,’ Mrs Trifle said, later that evening. ‘I guess we’d better keep him in the house for a few days till he settles down.’
‘That’s okay with me,’ Selby thought as he secretly wiped the spot of white parrot poo off his chest. ‘I wonder if the Countess will notice that Bubbles’ white spot was covered up with guinea pig poo.’
‘Selby might just be hungry,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘I’ll get him a bowl of those delicious Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits that he loves so much,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Oh, well,’ Selby thought, as he pictured Bubbles eating peanut prawns. ‘At least Bubbles has found a good home with a lovely lady to look after him. And I’m back where I belong. There are good things and bad things about living here but what could be better than being with the people you love most in the world? When you have that, even Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits taste okay.’
CYCLONE SELBY
‘Everyone in Bogusville will be at the picnic by now,’ Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle. ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘Just wait a second till I write down the wind speed and direction in Murray Junction,’ Dr Trifle said, watching the end of the weather forecast on TV.
‘Why are you suddenly so interested in the weather?’
‘Do you remember the famous Bogusville Cyclone?’ Dr Trifle said, drawing an arrow in pencil on a map.
‘Do I remember it?!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I was only little at the time but I remember it! All you have to do is mention the Bogusville Cyclone and everyone is terrified.’
‘It caught everyone by surprise,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘because it was what we call a spontaneous cyclone. It just suddenly started right here. But now I think I’ve found a way to predict another one. If I do that then I can warn everyone.’
‘How can you predict something that just starts without any warning?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘Picture this: you’re sitting in the bathtub —’
‘I am?’
‘You are. And the water is calm. Then you pull the plug to let it out and the water starts swirling down the plughole, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well that’s like a cyclone. The water all around it is moving too but in a big circle and much more slowly than the water going down the plughole. It’s exactly the same thing with air and wind and spontaneous cyclones.’
Mrs Trifle looked at all the arrows on the map.
‘So you get all the weather forecasts from TV and the radio and you make arrows on your map showing the wind direction so that you can see if there’s going to be another cyclone here in Bogusville?’
‘Precisely!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed.
‘Then I predict that there is going to be a cyclone today in Bogusville,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now can we go?’
‘Don’t make jokes like that,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘But your map shows it. Look, all the arrows are going in a big circle and Bogusville is in the middle of the circle. Doesn’t that mean that we’re about to go down the plughole?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You see these are all short arrows which means that the winds are very light. If one of the arrows was a long one and it was going in the same direction then I’d start worrying. Nothing’s going to happen today, believe me.’
‘Why isn’t there an arrow in this area?’ Mrs Trifle said, pointing to a blank part of the map. ‘Why don’t you watch the TV weather forecast from Sandy Creek — over here?’
‘Simple: because Hector Pascal, the weatherman there, is hopeless. He doesn’t know his thermometer from his barometer.’
‘So we’re not about to get blown away by a cyclone?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘Not today,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘I don’t care what Dr Trifle says, I think Hector Pascal is great!’ Selby said, quickly turning on the TV after the Trifles were gone. ‘Who cares if he’s a good weatherman — he’s funny. I just love his jokes and weather poems.’
The news was just finishing and sure enough, there was Hector Pascal wearing his crazy tie with lights on it that looked like jagged lightning flashes.
‘There’s good news for farmers,’ Hector said, pointing to his tie. ‘Because there’s going to be rain to make those crops grow big and green. But the bad news is,’ he added, turning off his flashing tie, ‘the rain will be in Europe, not Sandy Creek. Got you again! Ha ha ha!’
‘He’s so funny the way he makes jokes like that,’ Selby thought. ‘I just love this guy.’
‘Today it will be hot and dry — as it has been for the past one hundred and seventy-three days,’ Hector Pascal said with a yawn. ‘It’s a good day for the beach — if the nearest beach wasn’t five hundred kilometres away! Anyway, we’ll have strong winds from the south. So here’s my advice:
‘If you’re out on your tractor One thing’s a dead cert If you open your mouth It will fill up with dirt.’
‘And that’s all from me, Hector Pascal, your own climate comic and barometric bard. And remember: be good and if you can’t be good — run fast! See me tomorrow.’ ‘See me tomorrow,’ Selby repeated. ‘I like that.’ Selby put an arrow on Dr Trifle’s map at Sandy Creek and wrote the word ‘south’ next to it.
‘Now what?’ he thought. ‘I guess I could go to the picnic. People usually give me good food there.’
Selby turned off the TV and glanced down at the map.
‘Hang on,’ he thought, making the arrow longer. ‘Hector said it would be a strong wind from the south. Oooops! There’s the long arrow that Dr Trifle mentioned. Oh, no! There’s going to be a spontaneous cyclone right here today! I’ve got to warn everyone.’
Selby snapped up the telephone in his paw and rang the police but there was no answer.
‘They’re at the picnic!’ he thought. ‘Everyone’s at the picnic!’
Selby dashed out the door and down the street. Soon he arrived at Bogusville Oval where a sea of people were sitting on blankets and eating. On the grandstand the Bogusville High School Band was playing the town song: O Bogusville Lovely and Nice.
‘What am I going to do?’ Selby thought. ‘They won’t have a chance out here in the open! They’ll be picked up and blown away! The horror, the horror!’
Selby walked back and forth in a panic, wondering what to do, ignoring people who held out spring rolls and chicken legs for him to eat.
‘My secret doesn’t matter now. I’ll just yell out that there’s going to be a cyclone,’ he thought. ‘But, hang on! Nobody’s going to believe a weather forecast from a talking dog.’
Just then the music stopped.
‘I know,’ Selby thought, dashing under the platform.
While the band was leaving, Selby quietly pulled the microphone down through a gap in the boards.
‘May I have your attention, please,’ Selby said. Suddenly the crowd went quiet. ‘This is an emergency weather warning from … from the Emergency Weather Warning Agency. A cyclone is about to hit Bogusville.’
‘Who’s that?’ someone called out. ‘Where’s that voice coming
from?’
‘I repeat,’ Selby continued. ‘A spontaneous cyclone like the one that hit Bogusville years ago is about to happen again.’
‘It’s a prank!’ someone yelled.
‘No, it’s not,’ Selby said. ‘Will you please gather up your things and go home in an orderly manner.’
There was total silence and Selby could see one of the band members following the microphone wire towards where he was hiding.
‘Forget the orderly fashion!’ Selby yelled. ‘Run for it!’
Suddenly there was screaming and yelling and the sound of thongs crushing party pies as the crowd tore away in all directions. And in a second, Selby was among them, running for home. By the time the Trifles got there, Selby was lying innocently on the floor.
Mrs Trifle quickly put the car in the garage as Dr Trifle brought in the table and chairs from the backyard. Everyone in the street was frantically getting ready for the cyclone.
‘I feel awful that I didn’t know there was going to be a cyclone,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘It’s so embarrassing that the warning had to come from the Emergency Weather Warning Agency,’ he added, studying the arrows on the map. ‘Look, it’s right there on the map! Somehow I didn’t notice that big arrow,’ Dr Trifle said, pointing to Selby’s arrow. ‘With a strong wind from the north over there it changes everything. Of course there’s going to be a cyclone. Hmmm, that’s strange,’ Dr Trifle added in a mumble. ‘That’s at Sandy Creek. That’s Hector Pascal country.’
‘Strong wind from the north?’ Selby thought. ‘Hector said it would be a strong wind from the south, not the north. Oh, no! I pointed the arrow in the wrong direction! There isn’t going to be a cyclone! I warned everyone for nothing! I ruined a perfectly good picnic! Why do I do these things? I always manage to get things wrong. Why do I try to do anything? Why do I bother even getting up in the morning?’
