Selby Scrambled (14 page)

‘Yes, I have,’ Selby said.

‘He’s been working on a way of downloading mind material from one person to another. I’ve made what I call a Brain Box based on his ideas,’ Frank said, going into Dr Trifle’s workroom and then coming out with a box that looked like the one on the cover of this book. ‘I just want to capture some of your brain in here.’

‘Get away from me!’ Selby screamed, racing for the front door. ‘You really are Frankenstein’s
monster!’ Selby yelled. ‘You’re not putting my brain in that box! No way!’

‘It’s only your human qualities that I’m after. You’ll still be a perfectly normal dog when I’m finished.’

Selby grabbed the door knob only to find that the door had been deadlocked.

‘I don’t want to be a normal dog,’ he yelled, running for the back door. ‘I just want to be me!’

‘You’ll still be you,’ Frank said, coming after him. ‘What are you worried about?’

Again the door was locked and suddenly Frank had Selby in a vice-like grip.

‘Frank, you can tell my secret! You can do anything! But please don’t drain my brain! I beg you!’

‘It won’t hurt a bit,’ Frank said, as he strapped Selby into a chair. ‘Trust me.’

Suddenly, Frank clamped a metal cap on Selby’s head and, just as suddenly, he pulled the lever on the Brain Box.

There was a spark and a flash Zzzzzzz
zzzzzzzap!
and Selby felt a wave of energy flow through his head. In a second it was over.

‘There, now,’ Frank said. ‘That didn’t hurt, did it?’

Selby struggled to find words.

‘Woof!’ he barked finally.

‘
Woof?
Did I hear you say
woof?’

‘
Woof woof!

‘Well, fancy that,’ Frank said. ‘It worked. You’re normal again. Now to make me human.’

Selby watched as Frank connected himself to the Brain Box and threw the switch in the other direction.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzap
!

‘Oh, joy! Oh, joy, this is wonderful!’ Frank screeched, as he disconnected himself from the Brain Box. ‘Oh, Selby!’ he said, kissing Selby. ‘You are wonderful! I’ll love you forever!’

For the rest of the day, Selby watched as Frank played music and danced around the house. He turned on the TV and laughed when things were funny and cried when they were sad. And he listened to someone talking on the radio and got very angry.

‘That guy is right!’ he exclaimed. ‘They ought to line them all up and shoot them! What’s wrong with our politicians?! Selby, I can
feel things! I’m a person now. I can’t wait to tell the Trifles. They’re really going to love me.’

‘Love?’ Selby thought. ‘What’s that? Who are the Trifles?’

Selby went outside and lay by the swimming pool, his mind in a fog. Something had happened. What was it? Why did he feel the way he did? There seemed to be a new person in the house, a shiny person. His name was Frank. And those dog biscuits — they tasted okay but there was something about them. Something he couldn’t quite remember.

Soon Frank came closer. He was humming.

‘He’s humming that song. I know that song but I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before. Oh, I’m so confused.’

Suddenly Frank started singing the words:

And as he sang, Selby’s scrambled brain began to clear.

It cleared.

And it cleared.

And it cleared some more.

‘I think … I think … I know what … what’s happening,’ he thought. ‘And I know what I have to do.’

It was a stealthy paw that shot out into the robot’s path. And it was a clumsy robot that fell over it and plunged straight into the swimming pool. Selby peered into the water and watched the flashing lights on Frank’s chest suddenly stop.

Slowly the words formed in Selby’s mouth.

‘He tripped,’ he said. ‘I tripped him!
Yiiippppeeee
!’

An hour later Dr and Mrs Trifle arrived home.

‘Frank?’ Mrs Trifle called. ‘Where’s Frank? Selby’s here but Frank has gone missing.’

‘I think I just found him,’ Dr Trifle said, coming in from the backyard. ‘He’s at the bottom of the pool. He must have fallen in.’

‘Your marvellous invention! Aren’t you going to get him out and fix him up?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’m not sure that we really want him.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He was getting a bit bossy. And I don’t know that I like the things he did with the council. I may not be the best mayor in the world but I like the way I do things.’

‘Yes, from now on, it’ll just be the three of us around here,’ Dr Trifle said, giving Selby a pat. ‘You, me and Selby.’

‘And that’s the way I want it to be,’ Selby thought, ‘forever and ever and ever.’

‘Duncan Ball is coming to Bogusville,’ Camilla Bonzer, the teacher-librarian at Bogusville Primary School said excitedly. ‘It’s Book Week and I’ve asked him to come and read his stories to the kids at my school.’

‘Uh-oh. Here comes trouble,’ thought Selby. ‘I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t come near me. Otherwise he might recognise me.’

‘Who is it that’s coming?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘You know. The author who writes the books about Selby,
the talking dog.’

‘Oh, yes, I know those books … well, a little.’

‘I wonder if you could do me a big favour,’ Camilla asked. ‘Would you mind putting Duncan up in your house? The Bogusville Motel is booked out and I don’t have any room at my place.’

‘No, no, not here!’ Selby thought. ‘Anywhere but here! Please say no!’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘I’d be happy to put him up. Dr Trifle and I will be out a lot of the time so I hope he won’t mind looking after himself.’

‘I’m sure he won’t mind. But he really won’t be alone anyway,’ Camilla said, looking down at Selby. ‘He’ll have Selby to keep him company. In fact, I’ve always thought that Selby was quite a bit like the Selby in the books. Selby might even give him some story ideas.’

‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought. ‘But hang on. What am I worried about? He’s never actually seen me. The only times I’ve been with him I was wearing my dog-suit disguise. I’m just going to have to be extra-especially careful. One little slip-up and my life will be ruined forever. This is going to be a real challenge.’

* * *

Half an hour later, a dented and dusty car drove up and out stepped Duncan.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet a real live author,’ Mrs Trifle said, shaking his hand.

‘And it’s a pleasure to meet a real live
mayor,’
Duncan said with a laugh. ‘And a real live
inventor,
too. Pleased to meet you, Dr Trifle. Thank you so much for agreeing to put me up. And this must be Selby,’ Duncan added. ‘He looks very friendly.’

‘He is,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And we love him to bits.’

Duncan bent down and, brushing some crumbs from Selby’s mouth, gave him a good pat.

‘Do you have a dog?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘No, I’ve only got a cat. I was thinking of getting a dog but I was afraid that it would make Selby jealous.’

‘Do you mean that there’s a real Selby?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘A real talking dog that rings you up and tells you his stories and you just write them down? I thought he was just … made up.’

‘Oh, no,’ Duncan said. ‘I could never make up such unbelievable stories.’

‘So what is Selby like?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘All I know is that he’s not too big and not too small and that he’s a bitser — a bit of this and a bit of that. That’s what he tells me, anyway,’ Duncan said, looking at Selby’s worn collar. ‘What sort of dog is this guy?’

‘We’re not quite sure,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I guess he’s like Selby — a bit of this and a bit of that.’

‘He looks like a cross between a terrier and a pit bull. That would make him a terribull dog,’ Duncan said and laughed. ‘Get it? A terrier and a pit bull:
terribull?’

‘Oh, I get it,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘Or maybe he’s one of those dogs that looks for trousers.’

‘There’s a dog that looks for trousers?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘Yes, a cross between a Newfoundland and a Dachsund, a New Found Dacks Hound. Get it?’

‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought. ‘That’s funny. But I’ve got to keep from laughing.’

‘Hey,’ Duncan said, staring at Selby. ‘Did I just see a tiny smile on this guy’s face?’

‘Did you?’ Mrs Trifle asked, looking at Selby, too.

‘No, just kidding,’ Duncan laughed.

‘Those jokes sound like the dog jokes that our comedian friend, Gary Gaggs,
tells,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Like the one about the Christmas plant dog. It’s a cross between a Pointer and a Setter — a
Pointsetter.
‘

‘It’s interesting that you have a friend who’s a comedian. Selby’s owners, the Trifles,
also have a friend who’s a comedian,’ Duncan said, taking a closer look at Selby. ‘Do you suppose your dog, Selby, might be a talking dog?’

‘A talking dog? I don’t think so.’

‘Of course if he was,’ Duncan said, ‘he’d be a cross between a Bloodhound and a Labrador. A
blab-rador.
Get it? A talking dog.’