by Duncan Ball
For Daniel Barker
the real Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man.
CONTENTS
Take Off
SUNNY DAZE
THE DANGLING DOG
BOOKS, BOMBS AND BOOK WEEK
DAGGERS OF DEATH
BOGUSVILLE BONANZA
TERROR IN THE TOWER
SELBY’S SOLO
SELBY IN CYBERSPACE
SELBY DYES
SELBY CONFESSES
SELBY SUPERPOOCH
BUNGY BUNGLE
SELBY, SPACEDOG
MY SPACEWALK
Acknowledgements
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Copyright
Take Off
SUNNY DAZE
‘These chocolates are yummy,’ Mrs Trifle said as she picked another Forget-Me-Not chocolate out of the heart-shaped box. ‘They’re so good that they make me absolutely forget who I am.’
‘Forget who you are?’ said Dr Trifle, popping a chocolate into his own mouth. ‘Is that possible? Ummm. I see what you mean.’
Selby watched as Dr and Mrs Trifle sat on the lounge eating chocolates and watching the news. There on TV was a very strange sight: a rhinoceros with a boot on its nose.
‘Good heavens!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that Sunny, the rhino at Bogusville Zoo?’
‘I do believe it is,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘How do you suppose he got that boot stuck over his snout?’
The answer came straightaway as a TV reporter interviewed Postie Paterson, Bogusville’s part-time zoo keeper.
‘The rhinoceros pen was beginning to smell,’ Postie explained, ‘so I climbed in to clean it. I do this all the time of course and usually there’s no problem. But this time Sunny went for me. His horn caught in my boot as I was going over the fence.’
‘Why do you think he charged?’ asked the reporter.
‘Because he’s a rhino, I suppose,’ Postie said. ‘Rhinos are like that. Sometimes they just go for you. I’m always ready to run, but this time I was a little slow getting started.’
‘And how will you get the boot off?’
‘I could tranquillise him with a dart,’ Postie said. ‘I’ve done it before when I’ve had to, but I hate to do it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when he comes to, he’s all groggy and he’s sore from falling down. So I’ll look for a gentler way this time.’
‘Good luck,’ the reporter said, suddenly turning to the camera. ‘And that’s all from Bogusville Zoo. It seems that what began as a pong in a pen has ended with a problem that’s a bit on the nose.’
‘What a cruel thing to say,’ Selby thought. ‘How would he like to have a boot stuck over his nose? Poor Sunny. And poor Postie — he’s had so many problems at the zoo recently. This must make him feel terrible.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ Dr Trifle asked Mrs Trifle.
‘Me? Why me?’ said Mrs Trifle.
‘Because you’re the mayor of Bogusville, so you’re Postie’s boss,’ Dr Trifle explained.
‘Mayors aren’t much good at getting boots off rhino’s noses,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but inventors are. Why don’t you figure out how to do it?’
‘Me? I don’t know anything about boots — or rhinoceroses.’
‘But you’re good at solving problems. You have such a nimble mind.’
‘Nimble? Do I?’ Dr Trifle asked, looking very proud of himself.
‘He certainly does,’ Selby thought. ‘He’s a great inventor. I’m sure that his brain is different from ordinary brains like mine. It just leaps from one idea to the next until bingo! Everything falls into place and he’s got the perfect solution.’
‘I’ll see what I can come up with,’ Dr Trifle said, heading for his workroom.
For the next hour Selby watched Dr Trifle pace back and forth, mumbling.
‘Rhinoceros … nose … boot,’ the doctor mumbled. ‘Smell … remove … tranquillise … Let’s see now … sleep … horn … shoe … No, no, no … horn … shoe … Now wait just a minute: horn shoe, horn shoe. I’ve got it: shoehorn! What Sunny needs is a shoehorn. But not the kind for getting shoes on: one for getting boots off — off his nose. And I know just how to make it. It’ll be as easy as ABC. In fact, that’s what I’ll call it: my ABC — my Automatic-Boot-Cruncher.’
Selby watched as Dr Trifle hammered and sawed and bolted his contraption together. When he was finished he picked up the telephone and called Postie Paterson.
‘Hold the show, Postie!’ the doctor cried. ‘I’ve got just the thing to get that boot off Sunny’s snout! Meet me at the zoo first thing in the morning and we’ll give it a go.’
‘I knew Dr Trifle could do it,’ Selby thought as he curled up to go to sleep for the night. ‘I can’t wait to see what happens at the zoo tomorrow.’
In the middle of the night Selby woke up and sneaked into Dr Trifle’s workroom to have another look at the strange device. As he did, he noticed the box of Mrs Trifle’s chocolates on the workbench.
‘He’s soooo clever,’ Selby thought as he popped a chocolate into his mouth and tasted the wonderful sweetness of the chocolate oozing over his tongue. ‘And this chockie is scrummy! Oh, yummy scrummy tum tum. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before! It’s put me in a daze.’
Selby’s mind went wonderfully blank as he felt the chocolate trickle down his throat.
‘Mrs Trifle was right,’ he thought. ‘That chocolate made me forget everything. I even forgot who I was for a second. They should be called Forget-Mes, not Forget-Me-Nots.’
After a second, Selby blinked and his mind cleared again as he looked at Dr Trifle’s invention.
‘Oh, no,’ he thought. ‘I can see everything clearly now. The ABC will never work. Sunny will smash it to smithereens the second he sees it. It’ll be a disaster for the doctor. Hmmm, maybe I can think of something …’
Suddenly Selby’s mind began leaping from thing to thing the way Dr Trifle’s had. He paced back and forth, mumbling. ‘Let’s see now … boot … solution … pong … pen … Postie … nose … cleaning.’
Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, as Selby’s mind jumped in every direction like a frog in a hopping contest. Ideas piled on ideas and thoughts on thoughts.
‘Smell … snout … boot. Oh, bother,’ Selby sighed. ‘I give up. Nothing’s falling into place. I can’t keep track of my thoughts anymore. I can’t even remember the last thought I thunk.’
Selby was about to eat another chocolate when it struck him.
‘That’s it! I’ve got it! I’ve got the answer! Everything just fell into place!’
* * *
The next morning at the zoo Selby watched as Dr Trifle and Postie Paterson lowered the ABC into Sunny’s pen.
‘Sunny will charge it,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘And, when he does, his head will go into the device, the boot will get scrunched together, and then pop! Off it will come.’
Sunny took one look at the invention and charged it, sending bits of wood flying in every direction. When the air cleared there was the rhino with the boot still firmly fixed to his nose.
Dr Trifle cleared his throat as his face turned pink.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘That Sunny certainly is a strong fellow, isn’t he?’
Postie sighed and turned to go.
‘I guess we’d better get the tranquillising gun,’ he said.
When the two men were safely out of sight in a nearby shed, Selby — who had a plan of his own — slipped some chocolates out from under his collar and crept quietly into Sunny’s pen, moving up behind the beast.
‘The thing about rhinos,’ he thought, ‘is that they know that they’re rhinos. They know they’re supposed to charge things be
cause that’s what rhinos do. But if these chocolates work, he’ll forget that he’s Sunny the rhino and he’ll forget he’s meant to charge. That’s when I slip the boot off his snoot.’
Selby nipped around to Sunny’s side and threw a pawful of Forget-Me-Not chocolates into the rhino’s mouth. Sunny turned suddenly and then stopped dead in his tracks. A slight smile spread across his face — or at least as much of a smile as a rhino with a boot over his snout can manage.
‘He’s in a daze,’ Selby thought, ‘now for my invention: the SBE — the Selby-Boot-Extractor!’ Quick as a flash, Selby jumped up, clutched the boot with all paws and pulled. But pull as he did the boot wouldn’t budge. Selby gave an extra large tug and was about to give up when Sunny looked over at the kangaroos in the next pen. He watched for a second and then suddenly leapt high in the air. After a second, he leapt again — this time even higher — and then again and again.
‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘He’s forgotten he’s a rhino, but now he thinks he’s a kangaroo! I’ve got to get down from here before he kills me! But how? If I let go he’ll trample me!’
Round and round the pen Sunny leapt with the terrified Selby still clinging to the boot. Then, he started to make one last great leap and suddenly stopped, sending Selby hurtling high into the air and landing outside the pen. Dr Trifle came running and picked up the trembling dog.
‘Poor Selby!’ the doctor cried. ‘He must have fallen into the pen. Sunny butted him out!’
‘You mean booted him out,’ Postie said, picking up the boot that now lay on the ground. ‘Look at this: the boot came loose! Thank goodness, now we don’t have to use the tranquillising dart.’
‘And speaking of forgetting,’ Selby thought as he jumped down from Dr Trifle’s arms and ran for the car. ‘Those Forget-Me-Not chocolates gave me some excitement that I’ll never forget!’
Paw note: Postie Paterson is also Bogusville’s postman. I thought I’d just tell you that.
S
THE DANGLING DOG
Every bone in Selby’s body ached. The final weekend at the girls’ Bush-Bashers Weekend Camp had been exhausting. He’d run through mud, he’d walked twenty kilometres, and he’d waded through water so cold that his paws went numb. And every time he tried to rest the girls patted and cuddled him to within an inch of his life.
‘I’ve had it!’ Selby thought. ‘I just want to go home and rest.’
It was Mrs Trifle, the organiser of the camp, who’d brought him along, thinking that the exercise would be good for him.
‘And now for the final event,’ Mrs Trifle announced, as she passed out maps and compasses. ‘All you have to do is follow the dotted lines I’ve drawn on your maps to the spot marked X and then race back as fast as you can. The first one back will win the Bush-Bashers Weekend All-Rounder trophy. On your marks, ready, get set, go!’
A cheer went up as the girls thundered off across Kookaburra Flats toward Gumboot Mountain.
‘Oh joy, oh joy. Oh, lucky me,’ Selby thought. ‘They forgot to take me along with them. I can rest at last!’
Selby was just looking around for a comfy lying-down spot when he heard a tiny voice behind him.
‘Ah … er … excuse me,’ the voice said.
Mrs Trifle and Selby turned to see Prunella Weedy standing behind them.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘Why aren’t you off with the other girls?’
‘Pardon me,’ the girl said quietly, ‘but I can’t.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t?’
‘Well, I didn’t get a compass … or a map.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Prune,’ Mrs Trifle said, using the nickname the girls had given Prunella. ‘I didn’t notice you. Here’s a compass and here’s a map.’
‘And would you mind terribly if I took Selby along for company?’ Prunella asked.
‘Not at all,’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘Just hold on to his leash so he doesn’t get lost. Now off you go.’
‘Great woolly wombats,’ Selby thought as he trotted off after Prunella. ‘The girl is hopeless. She’ll never be able to follow the map — and here I am following her! I’m not the one who’ll get lost — she will.’
For the next two hours they bashed their way through dense bushes, getting lost a dozen times. Finally Prunella found the big rock at the spot marked X on the map.
‘We made it,’ she said, putting the map down and tying Selby’s leash to a tree. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, Selby, I have to make a rest stop.’
‘It’ll be just my luck,’ Selby thought as Prunella disappeared into the bushes, ‘if she gets lost while she’s off doing her business. But, what am I saying? I could just untie this silly thing and go back. I’ll bet I could find my way back to camp in half the time she could. Hmmm, let me see now …’
Selby looked at the map that lay open on the ground next to Prunella’s backpack. He then opened the compass and turned the map around till it was facing in the right direction.
‘Oh, no,’ he thought. ‘If we follow this dotted line we have to make a huge loop to get back to camp. We’ll be stumbling around in woods till midnight even if we don’t get lost again. But hey now, hold the show! Forget the dotted line — there’s a perfect shortcut. All we have to do is cut straight across all these squiggly close-together lines, across a thin blue line and we’ll be back at camp in a jiffy!’
Quick as a flash Selby opened the side pocket of Prunella’s backpack and took out a pencil and an eraser. In a second he’d erased the long loop and put in a short dotted line that led straight back to camp. No sooner were the pencil and the eraser safely back in the pack than Prunella returned and picked up the map.
‘That’s strange,’ she said. ‘I thought we had a long way to go but we haven’t. We’re practically back.’
Prunella untied Selby’s leash, tied it to her belt and started off.
‘Now, let’s see,’ she said, holding the map up in front of her face as she walked, ‘there’s a thin blue line we have to cross. I wonder what that is. And before we get there there’s a bit with lots of squiggly close-together lines. Doesn’t that mean it’s a cliff? No, it can’t be. Mrs Trifle wouldn’t make us climb down a cliff.’
Selby was off in a daydream: thinking about resting his weary legs by the fire in the evening while listening to the girls sing campfire songs. Of course Mrs Trifle would feed him Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits but the girls would slip him lots of lovely sausages from their own plates. He wouldn’t even mind being patted and cuddled.
Then, suddenly, something crept into Selby’s brain. It was a word, a simple one-syllable word — ‘cliff’.
‘Cliff? Did she say, cliff?’ Selby thought. ‘Gulp. She’s right! Squiggly close-together lines mean a cliff! And there it is, right in front of us! I’ve got to warn her before she walks off the edge!’
Selby was about to say, ‘Excuse me, Prune, but I’d like you to know that I speak perfect English and that I changed the map and now we’re about to fall off a cliff’, when Prunella suddenly disappeared over the edge. A split second later Selby’s leash pulled tight and he was yanked over the cliff after her.
Selby let out a long scream as they fell through the air towards the river below.
‘Oh, no!’ he thought. ‘If the fall doesn’t kill us, we’ll drown! That little blue line on the map was a river!’
Over and over Selby and Prunella tumbled and as they neared the bottom, Selby spotted a small tree sticking out from a crack in the cliff.
‘If I can sky-dive over to one side,’ he thought, ‘Prune will be on the other and the leash will hook around the tree. It’s our only chance. But when the leash catches — it’ll pull on my collar and break my neck! Oh, well.’
Selby stretched out his legs and glided to one side. Then, just before the leash caught the tree, he grabbed his collar with his front paws, pulling it with all his strength. In a second they’d stopped dead and were hanging from the tiny tree. Selby looked over at Prunell
a, dangling unconscious, just above the water.
‘We made it this far,’ he sighed. ‘But in a minute the branch will break and we’ll be swept away. Even if I could swim — which I can’t — useless old Prune here would pull me under. The water’s moving so fast that it would take an Olympic champion to make it to shore.’
Just then Selby heard a crack and then another crack and he and Prunella splashed into the icy water. As he went under, his whole life passed in front of him. He remembered when he’d been an ordinary little barking dog. And he remembered when he learned to talk while watching TV. And he remembered the day he decided to keep it a secret even if it killed him. Suddenly, just when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, Selby felt himself being pulled through the water like an out-of-control submarine. In a second he was dragged up onto the riverbank.
‘Gosh, that was a very short shortcut,’ Prunella said as she poured the water out of her backpack.’ Come on, Selby, we’re nearly there.’
Five minutes later Selby and Prunella pranced proudly into camp. Mrs Trifle stared at them in disbelief.
‘Prunella, you’re the first one back!’ she cried. ‘You started off last and you finished first! Here you go,’ Mrs Trifle added as she handed the girl the Bush-Bashers Weekend All-Rounder trophy. ‘You win the grand prize. What a great map-reader you must be.’
‘I — I’m really not,’ Prunella said, blushing till her ears turned bright red. ‘But I’m an okay swimmer — and I guess I’m lucky.’
‘Are you kidding? You’re a great swimmer,’ Selby thought. ‘And, luckily for me, your swimming is much better than my map-reading!’
BOOKS, BOMBS AND BOOK WEEK
While Dr and Mrs Trifle were talking to their old friend, Gary Gaggs, the corniest comedian in Australia, Selby was hiding in the study quietly listening to his favourite rock group on the radio.
‘That Gary is sooooooo funny,’ Selby thought, ‘but I have to be sooooooo careful not to laugh when I’m around him. One little snicker and everyone would know that I’m not an ordinary non-talking dog.’
