Selby Shattered (4 page)

‘If I can only get through that door,’ he muttered,’ they’ll never catch me. Out of my way!’

But it was no use. There was only one of him and now the whole dog-headless Search for Selby Society pounced, knocking him to the floor. Within a second, someone had ripped off his dog-head.

There was a huge gasp.

‘It’s-it’s
him!’
someone stammered, ‘It’s the
Prime Minister!
We had no idea you were in the Search for Selby Society!’

‘Well, now you do,’ he said, dusting himself off. ‘Now will someone give me my head back? My limousine is waiting.’

‘Apparently it was a very exciting meeting,’ Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle after the Search for Selby Society had left town. ‘There’s a rumour that even the Prime Minister is in the group and he was there. I think he may even have been one of the people who came here for afternoon tea.’

‘Goodness me!’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Who would have expected it?’

‘Certainly not me,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And they were a very neat and tidy group. They didn’t
leave any rubbish behind at the Convention Centre. The only thing that was left behind was a dog suit. Someone found it by the back window. I put it in the Lost and Found but nobody’s come to claim it.’

‘And I don’t think that anyone will,’ Selby thought, as he lay on the carpet remembering his narrow escape when he slipped out of the dog suit and jumped out the window of the Convention Centre. ‘But at least I know exactly where the dog suit is for the next time I need it.’

‘How can you possibly help Shawn the shearer?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘You’ve never shorn a sheep in your life.’

It was a beautiful sunny day and the Trifles were driving out to the country. Selby lay on the back seat half asleep.

‘No, I haven’t,’ Dr Trifle admitted. ‘Shawn will do the shearing. But remember, I’m an inventor and I’ve brought along my newly-invented EPFD to help him.’

‘EPFD? What does that stand for? Knowing the way you name your inventions, it’s probably an Ever Popular Fur Demolisher or something like that.’

‘That’s close,’ Dr Trifle admitted. ‘It stands for
Easy Peasy Fleece Decreaser. The idea is to help Shawn set a sheep-shearing record.’

‘A shearing record? But won’t it be cheating to use a machine? Isn’t that like using roller skates to win a running race?’

‘No, no. First of all my EPFD isn’t really a machine. It’s just sort of a
device.
‘

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Here it is,’ Dr Trifle said, taking a tiny black box out of his pocket. ‘This will never even touch the sheep — or the shearer.’

‘Then how does it work?’

Dr Trifle pressed a button on the box and suddenly there was a terrible scraping sound that sounded something like
skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

‘Stop that!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘I can’t stand it!’

Selby suddenly sat up straight.

‘Sheeesh! That was awful!’ he thought. ‘It sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

‘That was terrible!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It sounded like fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

‘You guessed it,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘That’s exactly what it is. This EPFD is just a mini-recorder.

I recorded the sound of my fingernails scratching a blackboard.’

‘Well, it’s a horrible sound!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It made the hairs on my arms stand up. And look at poor Selby,’ she said, looking in the rear-vision mirror. ‘All his fur is standing on end.’

‘That’s the idea,’ Dr Trifle said proudly. ‘When each sheep is about to be shorn, I’ll push the button and the sheep’s fleece will stand up straight. This will make it very easy for Shawn to shear it.’

‘How about poor Shawn? If he has to listen to that all day long, he’ll go bonkers.’

‘I’ve thought of that. I’ve brought along earplugs for everyone — but not for the sheep, of course.’

‘And probably not for me, either,’ Selby thought.

Soon they turned up the long driveway into the Me & Ewes Sheep Station. Selby watched as the sheep dogs herded a flock of sheep towards the shearing shed.

‘Look at all those sheep!’ Selby thought. ‘I wonder if they know they’re all about to have a haircut.’

‘G’day,’ Shawn called out. ‘Great to see you, Doc. Did you bring the thingy?’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Dr Trifle. ‘Show me to the sheep and let’s get shearing.’

Selby followed Shawn and the Trifles into the shed and watched them all put in their earplugs. Dr Trifle then pushed the button on his Easy Peasy Fleece Decreaser.

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

‘Oh, that’s painful!’ Selby thought, covering his ears with his paws.

‘Start the clock!’ Shawn yelled, grabbing his clippers. ‘And bring on the sheep!’

Shawn grabbed the first sheep and flipped it on its back. Dr Trifle pushed the button.

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

The sheep’s wool sprang up straight. Shawn turned on his clippers with a
click
and a
hummmmmmmmm
and ran them quickly back and forth till the fleece fell neatly on the floor.

‘This is great!’ Shawn screamed, pushing the sheep down a chute and grabbing another. ‘If I can keep this up, I reckon I’ll beat the record!’

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

Hummmmmmmmm.

‘I’d love to stay and watch but I can’t stand the noise,’ Selby thought as he trotted outside. ‘I’ll watch the action out here instead.’

And action there was. Selby watched the sheep being herded into the shed and then shooting out again after they had been shorn.

‘Poor little critters,’ he thought. ‘They look all bald and miserable now. I hope they’re not too cold tonight. I’m just glad they don’t shear dogs.’

As the day went on, Selby lay in the dirt watching the dogs work and listening to the screech of the EPFD.

‘How am I doing?’ Shawn yelled.

‘Thirty-three seconds for that one!’ Dr Trifle yelled back. ‘Keep this up and you’ll break the record of nine hundred and ninety-nine sheep in eight hours!’

‘Wow!’ Shawn screamed. ‘And it’s all thanks to you, Dr T! Shove another sheep over here!’

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

Hummmmmmmmm.

And so it continued through the afternoon.

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

Hummmmmmmmm.

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

Hummmmmmmmm.

Skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!

Hummmmmmmmm.

Selby covered his ears with his paws and peeked into the shed.

‘Watch him go!’ Selby thought. ‘I can barely see him because of the wool in the air. It’s like a blizzard in there!’

‘Ten more minutes!’ Dr Trifle yelled. ‘Shear sixteen more and you’ll break the world record! You’re going to do it!’

‘Hey, only sixteen more,’ Selby thought. ‘Oops, we have a problem. There’s only ten left. He’s going to run out of sheep! This is a tragedy! It’s a catastrophe!’

Selby looked all around the paddock. Suddenly he noticed something moving up on the hillside.

‘There are more sheep up there,’ he thought. ‘The dogs don’t see them.’

‘Come on, guys!’ he called out to the dogs. ‘Forget about these ones! Look! Up there! Go get ‘em! This is hopeless. They’re not even listening to me. Oh well. Here goes nothing …’

With this, Selby tore across the paddock and up the hill to where the sheep stood in the shade of the bushes.

‘Okay, you lot,’ he said. ‘Time to get moving!’

Selby barked a couple of barks but the sheep just looked at him.

‘Come on. I’m doing you a favour. You’ll feel much better with those winter coats off.
Woof! Woof! Woof!’

The sheep looked startled but kept staring at him.

‘No more Mister Nice Dog. Get moving or get nipped!’

Selby snapped at the back of the sheep’s legs and started chasing them down the hill.

‘That’s more like it. Now head for the shed.’

Selby and his sheep were partway down the hillside when the other dogs joined in.

‘Hey, this is fun,’ Selby thought, as the other dogs and he ran back and forth, driving the sheep across the paddock and up to the shed door. ‘I feel like I’m part of a team. I’m a real working dog!’

The last few sheep squeezed through the small door as Selby and the other dogs circled back and forth.

‘Nine hundred and ninety-seven!’ Mrs Trifle screamed. ‘Two minutes to go! You’re going to hit one thousand! You’ll break the world record!’

‘Come on, Shawn!'Dr Trifle yelled. ‘Go go go!’

‘Uh-oh and double uh-oh,’ Selby thought. ‘There are only two sheep left. We’re a sheep short!’

As the last sheep disappeared into the shed, the dogs closed in on Selby, pushing him towards the door.

‘Hey, stop it, guys! It’s me! I’m not a sheep! I’m one of you! Stop nipping my legs! Get off me!’

Meanwhile, inside the shed, Shawn’s clippers tore along the last sheep’s stomach and sides.

‘You’re almost there,’ Mrs Trifle yelled. ‘Just one more sheep!’

Blinded by sweat and flying wool, Shawn the shearer grabbed what he thought was an odd-looking sheep and ran his clippers along it so fast that it couldn’t think to blink. Dr and Mrs Trifle were coughing and spluttering now and squinting through a snowstorm of wool.

‘Stop!’ Selby yelled. ‘I’m not a sheep! I’m Selby, the only talking dog in Australia and, perhaps, the world! Don’t do this to me!’

But the sounds of Selby’s cries were muffled by earplugs and lost in the
skuuuurrrrreeeexxx!
of Dr Trifle’s invention and the
hummmmmmmmm
of Shawn’s shears.

‘Did you say something?’ asked Mrs Trifle, as Shawn the shearer sent the shorn Selby sliding down the chute. ‘Hey, that was a weird one.’

‘It didn’t look like a sheep at all,’ Dr Trifle agreed. ‘It looked more like a … a goat or something.’

‘One thousand sheep in eight hours! I’m the champion!’ Shawn screamed with joy. ‘Thanks to you, Dr Trifle.’

And so it was that Selby found himself herded up a ramp by the sheep dogs and squeezed into the middle of a huge threedecker sheep truck. A very tired Shawn climbed into the cab.

‘Where are you taking them?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘A few kilometres from here,’ Shawn the shearer said. ‘Better grass over there.’

‘Bring them to our place,’ Dr Trifle said with a laugh. ‘It’ll save me cutting the lawn.’

As the truck pulled away, Selby heard the Trifles calling for him.

‘Come on, Selby,’ Mrs Trifle sang out. ‘Time to go home now.’

‘Where do you think he’s got to?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘It’s not like him to wander off.’

‘I’m here!’ Selby yelled above the baa-ing. ‘Let me out!’

Dr and Mrs Trifle stopped and looked around.

‘Did you hear something?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘I can’t hear you,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Wait till this noisy truck has gone.’

‘Look! There’s that strange sheep in the truck. It looks like it’s waving to us,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Selby, where are you? Come on, boy.’

‘My owners didn’t even recognise me,’ Selby sniffed, as the truck drove away. ‘This is awful. What am I going to do? I’m not a sheep. If I have to eat grass, I’ll die. Oh woe woe woe …’

That would have been the end of the story and maybe even the end of Selby — but it wasn’t. No, if it had been the end of Selby then he couldn’t have rung me up and told me all about it. What happened next was stranger than what had happened before.

No sooner had Shawn the shearer stopped the truck than the day’s work caught up with him.

‘I can hardly keep my eyes open,’ he mumbled. ‘One thousand sheep. (Yawn.) Eight hours. (Yawn.) I’ll just lie down on the seat and
have a mini-sleep before I (yawn) put the sheep out —

It was a bald-looking dog that made his way into the cab of the truck and quietly turned the key in the ignition.

Back in Bogusville, Dr and Mrs Trifle were sleeping badly, worrying about Selby.

‘We’ll go back to Shawn’s and look for him after breakfast,’ Dr Trifle said the next morning. ‘I hope he didn’t try to find his own way home because he could be lost forever. That’s strange. Do you hear something?’

Dr and Mrs Trifle opened the curtains to see Shawn’s truck parked in the street and the house surrounded by sheep.

‘We’ve been invaded by sheep!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘I think I know,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I think Shawn took me seriously when I said the grass needed cutting. This must be his way of thanking me for my help yesterday.’

‘Yes, that’s probably it,’ Mrs Trifle agreed. ‘And will you have a look at what’s sleeping on Selby’s mat. It’s that strange-looking sheep …’

‘Selby? Is that you?’