beginning to worry about his bottom going to sleep. Then, suddenly, he felt a slight twinge in his ear.
‘Crumbs,’ he thought. ‘I’ve got a flea in my ear. I just hope he doesn’t bite me.’
‘Dogs,’ Sigfried mumbled. ‘I hate dogs. I could never stand them. They’re so smelly and bitey and everything. Yuck! Disgusting creatures. But the mayor wants a dog so I guess I have to make a dog. I only wish I could think of what makes dogs so… so doglike so that I could put a little bit of art into this sculpture. Hmmm.’
Selby felt the flea crawl out of his ear, move across his forehead and then onto his nose.
‘This flea is making me itch — but I’ve got to keep still,’ he thought. ‘This sculptor guy is very touchy. If I start moving, he might just pack up and leave and then blame it on me.’
Selby felt the flea crawl around his face as he struggled to stay still. By now there was sweat dripping from his nose.
‘It’s beginning to look like a dog,’ the sculptor muttered. ‘But it still isn’t telling me anything.’
‘I wish he’d just hurry up!’ Selby thought. Then suddenly the flea bit him — and then bithim again. ‘I can’t stand it any longer! I’ve got to scratch!’ Selby thought as he started scratching frantically.
‘That’s it!’ the sculptor cried. ‘Dogs are
all about scratching fleas!
When I think of a dog I think of an animal that is always scratching. They are four-legged, foul smelling, scratching machines.’
‘Scratching machines?’ Selby thought, standing still again. ‘What is he talking about? We’re not all the same, for starters. We have as many different personalities as people do. Some of us scratch a lot and others don’t.’
‘I’ll make a sculpture of Bogus scratching!’ the sculptor said. ‘If I’m clever about it I can collect my money and the mayor won’t know what I’ve done until the sculpture comes back from the foundry. By then I’ll be long gone. But I’m sure everyone will love my dog.’
Selby watched in horror as Sigfried Slapdash added lots of ears and mouths on the sculpture until the whole face was a mass of eyes and ears and noses.
‘Crikey!’ Selby thought. ‘It’s like a moving face in a comic book.’
‘A dog scratching a flea! It’s perfect!’ the sculptor cried.
‘It’s perfectly horrible!’ Selby thought. ‘It looks like a mutant dog from outer space!’
‘Now to cover it with the mould stuff before the mayor sees it,’ the sculptor said.
He quickly mixed up a big bowl of white glurp and spread it all over the statue. Just when he’d finished, Mrs Trifle returned.
‘I just popped in to see how you were going,’ she said.
‘I’ve finished.’
‘Already?’
‘They don’t call me Slapdash for nothing,’ the sculptor said. ‘I finished it ages ago. Now all you have to do is wait till this dries and then send the whole thing off to the foundry. They’ll pour in the hot metal and then you’ve got your sculpture.’
‘I wish I could have seen it before you put that stuff on it,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘You’re a very important person and I didn’t want to interrupt your work,’ the sculptor said. ‘Trust me — you’ll love it.’
‘Oh, well come with me and I’ll give you your money.’
‘This is awful!’ Selby thought when Mrs Trifle and the sculptor had left the room. ‘Everyone will hate it! I’ve got to get that sticky stuff off and fix the face so it looks like a real dog’s face.’
Selby dug his claws into the glurp around the sculpture’s face and pulled.
‘It’s already getting hard!’ he thought. ‘It may be too late!’
Selby put his feet up against the sculpture and pulled harder until a big soggy chunk flew off, hitting him smack in the face.
‘Oh, no!’ he thought as he struggled to peel it off his face. ‘It’s got me! I’m going to suffocate! Help!’
Selby staggered around the room, slowly pulling it off his face until it finally popped
‘Crumbs,’ he thought. ‘I’ve got a flea in my ear. I just hope he doesn’t bite me.’
‘Dogs,’ Sigfried mumbled. ‘I hate dogs. I could never stand them. They’re so smelly and bitey and everything. Yuck! Disgusting creatures. But the mayor wants a dog so I guess I have to make a dog. I only wish I could think of what makes dogs so… so doglike so that I could put a little bit of art into this sculpture. Hmmm.’
Selby felt the flea crawl out of his ear, move across his forehead and then onto his nose.
‘This flea is making me itch — but I’ve got to keep still,’ he thought. ‘This sculptor guy is very touchy. If I start moving, he might just pack up and leave and then blame it on me.’
Selby felt the flea crawl around his face as he struggled to stay still. By now there was sweat dripping from his nose.
‘It’s beginning to look like a dog,’ the sculptor muttered. ‘But it still isn’t telling me anything.’
‘I wish he’d just hurry up!’ Selby thought. Then suddenly the flea bit him — and then bithim again. ‘I can’t stand it any longer! I’ve got to scratch!’ Selby thought as he started scratching frantically.
‘That’s it!’ the sculptor cried. ‘Dogs are
all about scratching fleas!
When I think of a dog I think of an animal that is always scratching. They are four-legged, foul smelling, scratching machines.’
‘Scratching machines?’ Selby thought, standing still again. ‘What is he talking about? We’re not all the same, for starters. We have as many different personalities as people do. Some of us scratch a lot and others don’t.’
‘I’ll make a sculpture of Bogus scratching!’ the sculptor said. ‘If I’m clever about it I can collect my money and the mayor won’t know what I’ve done until the sculpture comes back from the foundry. By then I’ll be long gone. But I’m sure everyone will love my dog.’
Selby watched in horror as Sigfried Slapdash added lots of ears and mouths on the sculpture until the whole face was a mass of eyes and ears and noses.
‘Crikey!’ Selby thought. ‘It’s like a moving face in a comic book.’
‘A dog scratching a flea! It’s perfect!’ the sculptor cried.
‘It’s perfectly horrible!’ Selby thought. ‘It looks like a mutant dog from outer space!’
‘Now to cover it with the mould stuff before the mayor sees it,’ the sculptor said.
He quickly mixed up a big bowl of white glurp and spread it all over the statue. Just when he’d finished, Mrs Trifle returned.
‘I just popped in to see how you were going,’ she said.
‘I’ve finished.’
‘Already?’
‘They don’t call me Slapdash for nothing,’ the sculptor said. ‘I finished it ages ago. Now all you have to do is wait till this dries and then send the whole thing off to the foundry. They’ll pour in the hot metal and then you’ve got your sculpture.’
‘I wish I could have seen it before you put that stuff on it,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘You’re a very important person and I didn’t want to interrupt your work,’ the sculptor said. ‘Trust me — you’ll love it.’
‘Oh, well come with me and I’ll give you your money.’
‘This is awful!’ Selby thought when Mrs Trifle and the sculptor had left the room. ‘Everyone will hate it! I’ve got to get that sticky stuff off and fix the face so it looks like a real dog’s face.’
Selby dug his claws into the glurp around the sculpture’s face and pulled.
‘It’s already getting hard!’ he thought. ‘It may be too late!’
Selby put his feet up against the sculpture and pulled harder until a big soggy chunk flew off, hitting him smack in the face.
‘Oh, no!’ he thought as he struggled to peel it off his face. ‘It’s got me! I’m going to suffocate! Help!’
Selby staggered around the room, slowly pulling it off his face until it finally popped
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