Selby Speaks (2 page)

“You’ve bought a goat?” Mrs Trifle said to Dr Trifle as she finished putting the washing in the clothes basket.

“I didn’t buy it, I
made
it,” said Dr Trifle, who spent most of his time inventing things. “And it’s not really a goat. It’s a GOTE.”

“I see,” said Mrs Trifle, who didn’t really.

“I mean GOTE, spelled G-O-T-E,” Dr Trifle said.

Selby watched from deep within the bushes where he lay secretly reading through his collection of
Wonderful Wanda
comic strips as
Dr Trifle carried his latest invention into the backyard and put it down on the lawn.

“GOTE stands for Gyrating Oscillating Transistorised Emulsifier,” Dr Trifle explained.

“And what exactly does a Gyrating Oscillating Transistorised Emulsifier do?” asked Mrs Trifle, who was the mayor of Bogusville and knew a lot of big words but not those particular ones.

“Just what the name says,” Dr Trifle said. “It takes bits of certain herbaceous matter and masticates them into an emulsion.”

“It whats?”

“I suppose you might call it … well, sort of a lawn-mower.”

“A lawn-mower?” Mrs Trifle asked.

“Or should I say, a
lawn-muncher?”
Dr Trifle said. “I’ve named this one Howard. Turn Howard on and he runs around munching away till you turn him off again. Howard is going to revolutionise grass cutting as we know it.”

“What exactly,” Mrs Trifle asked, “is wrong with grass cutting as we know it?”

“Too noisy,” Dr Trifle said. “And too monotonous. I get so bored pushing that silly
lawn-mower around in circles. Howard, here, will roam around, quietly munching and crunching, like those things that run around swimming pools eating up all the muck. Besides, a properly munched lawn looks much better than a cut lawn.”

“It does?” Mrs Trifle asked.

“Well, of course it does,” Dr Trifle, who wasn’t quite sure why it did, explained. “Here. Watch this.”

Dr Trifle poured a few drops of petrol in Howard’s left ear, and turned the GOTE around, pointing it towards a patch of long grass.

“That tiny bit of petrol is enough to keep Howard running for exactly five minutes. Now for the magic words:
munchum crunchum diddlie dunchum,”
Dr Trifle said and Howard’s red eyes lit up as he grabbed a mouthful of grass and started to chew.

“That’s amazing!” Mrs Trifle said, nearly dropping her clean laundry. “How did you do that?”

“Howard is voice-activated,” Dr Trifle explained. “Say the right words and off he goes.”

“But why
munchum crunchum?
“ asked Mrs Trifle. “Why not tell him something simple like
mow the lawn
and you could add
a please
just to be polite?”

“That would be fine if we lived way off by ourselves. But we don’t, you see. We live in Bogusville where there are lots of houses all pushed in together,” said Dr Trifle, who loved to explain things. “Now, let’s pretend that all our neighbours dash out and buy one of my new And let’s pretend that all of them start when someone says,
mow the lawn
— adding a
please
to be polite. What would happen?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” said Mrs Trifle, who had begun hanging out the laundry.

“I’ll tell you what would happen: there would be pandemonium!” Dr Trifle said, waving his arms around.

“Panda what?” Mrs Trifle asked.

“Total confusion,” Dr Trifle said. “Someone would yell
‘Mow the lawn’
out the window — adding a ‘
please’
to be polite — and all the GOTEs in the neighbourhood would start munching their way around the lawns, whether they needed munching or not.”

“So you’re going to give all your GOTEs different code words, so they won’t all start up at once,” said Mrs Trifle, who was every bit as smart as Dr Trifle.

“Precisely! Words we don’t use very often like
munchum crunchum diddlie dunchum
so there won’t be any accidental turnings-on.”

“We certainly don’t say that very often,” Mrs Trifle said.

Suddenly Howard stopped and stared down at a weed.

“Watch this,” Dr Trifle said. “This is something no ordinary lawn-mower can do.”

“Undesirable. Undesirable,” the GOTE said in a raspy robot-like voice as he pulled up a weed with his teeth and then carried it to Dr Trifle’s Automatic Weed Shredder and dropped it in. As soon as the weed fell, the shredder turned on automatically with a whirr and a grind and the weed was shredded into tiny pieces.

“Thank you, Howard,” the Automatic Weed Shredder said to the robot, as Mrs Trifle looked on in amazement.

“Howard is designed to pull up weeds and throw them in the shredder,” Dr Trifle said.

“And the shredder even said, ‘Thank you,'” Mrs Trifle said as Howard started munching grass again. “Your inventions always have such good manners, dear.”

“It doesn’t cost any more to be polite. Anyway, you see how the GOTE and the shredder work together. They’ll need some minor adjustments but new inventions always need a few minor adjustments. Oh, my goodness,” Dr Trifle said suddenly, looking at his watch. “I’d better turn Howard off or we’ll be late for your council dinner. We wouldn’t want the mayor to be late, would we now?”

“Just let me finish hanging out these clothes before we go,” Mrs Trifle added, “so they’ll be dry by tomorrow.”

“Stop chop diddlie bop!
“ Dr Trifle commanded and Howard went suddenly stiff.

With the Trifles safely out of the house, Selby crept out of the bushes and had a better look at the GOTE.

“That Dr Trifle surely is a clever man,” Selby said, peering in Howard’s nose to check his oil level. “Everyone in the world will want to own a lawn-muncher like this. You were doing a
great job, Howard. Go ahead, now, give us a demonstration. What were those words again?
Munchum crunchum diddlie dunchum?”

Howard’s eyes flickered to life and he started munching his way through a clump of grass. But before he’d finished one mouthful he raised his head, looked over at the clothes that were drying on the clothes line and said, “Undesirable. Undesirable,” in a mechanical voice.

“Hey! Stop!” Selby said as he followed the GOTE towards the clothes. “Uh-oh, if I don’t stop him he’ll tear them off the line and throw them in the weed shredder! I’ve got to do something fast!”

“Stop mop diddlie bop!
Or was it,
Stop rop diddlie hop!”
Selby yelled as he grabbed Howard by his short metal tail and was pulled along toward the wet clothes.

“Stop pop diddlie
lop!” he shrieked, as he tried to tip the GOTE over. “I’m ordering you to stop!”

Selby ran ahead grabbing the clothes from the clothes line but soon Howard was there, reaching for a pair of dangling underpants.

“Undesirable. Undesirable,” the GOTE said.

“Get away from those!” Selby screamed, snatching the undies, three shirts, seventeen socks and a towel just as Howard was about to grab them.

“Undesirable,” Howard said again as he snapped at a purple sock just as Selby rescued it.

“I can’t stand it,” Selby said, now weighed down by a huge load of laundry. “I can’t keep ahead of this beast! Oh, no! He’s going for Mrs Trifle’s favourite floral frock!”

Selby turned to snatch the frock and felt something strange clutch his tail.

“Something strange is clutching my tail,” Selby thought. “I wonder what it could be?” he added as he grabbed the last bit of laundry. “It feels kind of like some sort of metal mouth with metal teeth. I wonder …
Yoooooooooowwwwwch!
“ Selby screeched, dropping the clothes as Howard’s mouth clamped shut and the GOTE began dragging Selby across the lawn. “Let go of me, you grass-munching moron!”

“Undesirable," Howard muttered mechanically with a mouth full of dog. “Undesirable.”

“Let go of me! I’m not a weed! I can prove it!” Selby screamed. “Hey! Where are you taking me? Not to the Automatic Weed Shredder? No, please! Howard, be reasonable! Can’t we talk this over?!”

“Undesirable,” Howard said as he lifted the struggling Selby over the shredder.

“I’m gone!” Selby screamed as he fell towards the blades of the machine, expecting them to whirr into action. But instead the shredder shook, lurched — made a noise that
sounded something like a mechanical burp — and then spat him out onto the ground.

“You’re right, Howard,” the shredder said slowly. “Undesirable.”

The bewildered Selby looked up just in time to see Howard slowly come to a stop as he ran out of petrol. Blinking his red eyes, the GOTE said, “Undesirablllllllllll,” and then was silent.

“As for those minor adjustments Dr Trifle was talking about, Howard,” Selby muttered as he dashed around picking up clothes and hanging them back on the clothes line. “If you and that silly shredder can’t tell the difference between an undesirable weed and yours truly, the most desirable dog in the world, then you’re going to need more than just minor adjustments.”

“Help! I’m shrinking!” Selby thought. “I’m getting littler by the minute!”

It had all started the night before when Selby went to the Bogusville Bijou Theatre to see a film called
The Incredible Shrinking Teenager.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” he thought as he snaked past the queue and hid behind a seat till the lights went out, “and I’m going to see a movie as a special birthday treat. I might as well
give myself a present in case Dr and Mrs Trifle forget. Oh, boy!” Selby thought as he munched a mouthful of popcorn he found on the seat beside him. “I can’t wait to see the teenager start shrinking!”

The film was about a boy who ate too much junk food and suddenly began shrinking and shrinking until he was so small that the cat mistook him for a mouse and chased him. All through the film the teenager got smaller until he was so little that he climbed through a keyhole to escape from a hungry spider.

“What a great film!” Selby thought and he felt his heart beating against his tight collar. “I wonder how he’s going to get big again?”

Selby munched three chocolate bars that he’d been saving and then sucked a lolly as he watched the Incredible Shrinking Teenager grow big again by forcing himself to eat fresh vegetables.

When it was over, Selby ran home and curled up on the little round cushion he used for a bed — a cushion so small that one of his legs always dangled on the floor. In his sleep he had a terrible nightmare about being so small
that an ant chased him round and round the kitchen floor mistaking him for a bit of leftover sausage.

“No! No!” Selby screamed in his dream. “Leave me alone, you six-legged savage! I’m not a sausage. I’m only a medium-sized talking dog!”

Selby woke up suddenly and sprang to his feet, looking around in the darkness for the giant ant.

“I must have been dreaming,” he thought as he turned around three times (as he always did before getting settled) and lay down only to notice that his leg didn’t dangle out onto the floor the way it usually did. And, what was worse, his collar, which had always been too tight, was suddenly loose!

Selby trotted to the kitchen as his brain began to wake up. He was just about to get a Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuit from his bowl when he noticed that the bowl had grown big in the night!

“Help!” Selby thought as the inescapable and terrifying thought shot through his brain. “I’m shrinking! I’m getting littler by the minute! I’m
the Incredible Shrinking Dog! It’s just like in the movie! I’m being punished for eating a few chocolate bars and some popcorn. It’s not fair! I don’t deserve to shrink!” he added, staring angrily at an ant that crawled across his bowl.

Selby ran around the kitchen, opening cupboards and searching through the fridge.

“I’ve got to have fresh vegies quick before I shrink any more!” he thought. “But the Trifles haven’t done the weekly shopping! Where am I going to find vegies at this time of night? Except
(gulp
), except … from Dr Trifle’s vegetable garden.”

Selby tore out of the house, yanked up a carrot and gobbled it without even bothering to clean off the dirt. Then he ate two radishes and, before his mouth even had a chance to cool down, he ate three Zucchinis, a small lettuce and a couple of onions.