was evening by the time Selby crept back through the doggy-door and curled up on the carpet. Moments later Dr and Mrs Trifle arrived home.
‘That was the greatest BoPoFest ever,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘especially the Sudden-Death Poetry Read-Off part.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Trifle. ‘And that old man who won it — that Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man — he was wonderful.’
‘And he recited it all from memory,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘The words just flowed out. But I wonder why he didn’t want to keep the jackpot?’
‘He asked us to donate it to the RSPCA,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He must be wealthy because he said he didn’t need money. He said that he had everything he needed.’
‘You know,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘it all goes to show that I was right.’
‘About what?’
‘That poems are never about what you think they’re about,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘The pink dog in the poem must have been a symbol for something else. I mean there aren’t any pink dogs, are there?’
‘No, I guess you’re right,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Hey! Look over there! Selby’s back! He’s not lost after all!’
‘Oh, Selby, where have you been all night? You frightened the wits out of us!’ Dr Trifle said, stroking Selby’s head. ‘Hmmm, this is strange. This hair on top of his head is all white and stiff —’
‘That’s not white hair at all,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking more closely. ‘It’s paint from the doggy-door. He must have come through it just after you painted it with your surface covering thingy.’
‘Well, isn’t that a coincidence,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Just today I invented Dry-In-A-Flash Surface Covering Substance Remover. I’ll get the bottle now and we’ll have him back to normal in a jiffy.’
‘Oh, happy happy day!’ Selby thought. ‘I’m normal again. And from now on I’m just going to be plain old non-pink me and I’ll be happy as Larry. Better still, I’ll be as happy as Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man.
Paw note: I hate Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits!
S
SELBY CONFESSES
‘That little monster, Willy, is coming to stay for a whole week!’ Selby thought. ‘And Mrs Trifle is away. Only Dr Trifle will be here to protect me! Why, oh why, do these things always happen to me?’
Willy was a terrible brat. Worse still, he knew that Selby could talk. Once, when Selby had been really angry he called Willy a brat.And from that day on Willy kept telling everyone that Selby knew how to talk. Fortunately, no one believed him. Unfortunately, every time he saw Selby, Willytried to torture him into confessing his secret to everyone.
‘I’ve got to find some place to hide — quick!’ Selby thought as Aunt Jetty’s car drew up outside the Trifles’ house. In a second Willy had bounded in the front door with eyes darting in every direction.
‘How are you, Willy?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Where’s that poo-poo stink-face dog?’ Willy demanded.
‘His name is Selby. And if I hear anymore of that language you’ll go straight home. Do you understand?’
‘But he talked to me! He did! He knows how to talk! You’ve gotta believe me!’
‘If you say so,’ Dr Trifle said patiently. ‘Now follow me and I’ll show you my new invention.’
‘I don’t wanna see an invention. I wanna see that stinky doggy.’
‘I have no idea where Selby is,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Come and see my Power-Paddled-Pillow-Plumper.’
‘I’m gonna show you he can talk,’ Willy muttered. ‘What’s a plumper?’
In the doctor’s workroom was a long machine with glass all along the side so that youcould see the belts and cogs and wheels and levers inside.
‘It’s a machine that plumps pillows,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘It fluffs them up and makes them nicer to sleep on.’
‘I fluff up my own pillow like this!’ Willy said, grabbing a pillow from a pile of pillows.
Willy hit the pillow with a furious flurry of punches until the air was filled with flying feathers.
‘Yes, yes, all right, Willy,’ Dr Trifle
‘That was the greatest BoPoFest ever,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘especially the Sudden-Death Poetry Read-Off part.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Trifle. ‘And that old man who won it — that Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man — he was wonderful.’
‘And he recited it all from memory,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘The words just flowed out. But I wonder why he didn’t want to keep the jackpot?’
‘He asked us to donate it to the RSPCA,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘He must be wealthy because he said he didn’t need money. He said that he had everything he needed.’
‘You know,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘it all goes to show that I was right.’
‘About what?’
‘That poems are never about what you think they’re about,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘The pink dog in the poem must have been a symbol for something else. I mean there aren’t any pink dogs, are there?’
‘No, I guess you’re right,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Hey! Look over there! Selby’s back! He’s not lost after all!’
‘Oh, Selby, where have you been all night? You frightened the wits out of us!’ Dr Trifle said, stroking Selby’s head. ‘Hmmm, this is strange. This hair on top of his head is all white and stiff —’
‘That’s not white hair at all,’ Mrs Trifle said, looking more closely. ‘It’s paint from the doggy-door. He must have come through it just after you painted it with your surface covering thingy.’
‘Well, isn’t that a coincidence,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Just today I invented Dry-In-A-Flash Surface Covering Substance Remover. I’ll get the bottle now and we’ll have him back to normal in a jiffy.’
‘Oh, happy happy day!’ Selby thought. ‘I’m normal again. And from now on I’m just going to be plain old non-pink me and I’ll be happy as Larry. Better still, I’ll be as happy as Wanderin’ Dan, the Poet Man.
Paw note: I hate Dry-Mouth Dog Biscuits!
S
SELBY CONFESSES
‘That little monster, Willy, is coming to stay for a whole week!’ Selby thought. ‘And Mrs Trifle is away. Only Dr Trifle will be here to protect me! Why, oh why, do these things always happen to me?’
Willy was a terrible brat. Worse still, he knew that Selby could talk. Once, when Selby had been really angry he called Willy a brat.And from that day on Willy kept telling everyone that Selby knew how to talk. Fortunately, no one believed him. Unfortunately, every time he saw Selby, Willytried to torture him into confessing his secret to everyone.
‘I’ve got to find some place to hide — quick!’ Selby thought as Aunt Jetty’s car drew up outside the Trifles’ house. In a second Willy had bounded in the front door with eyes darting in every direction.
‘How are you, Willy?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘Where’s that poo-poo stink-face dog?’ Willy demanded.
‘His name is Selby. And if I hear anymore of that language you’ll go straight home. Do you understand?’
‘But he talked to me! He did! He knows how to talk! You’ve gotta believe me!’
‘If you say so,’ Dr Trifle said patiently. ‘Now follow me and I’ll show you my new invention.’
‘I don’t wanna see an invention. I wanna see that stinky doggy.’
‘I have no idea where Selby is,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Come and see my Power-Paddled-Pillow-Plumper.’
‘I’m gonna show you he can talk,’ Willy muttered. ‘What’s a plumper?’
In the doctor’s workroom was a long machine with glass all along the side so that youcould see the belts and cogs and wheels and levers inside.
‘It’s a machine that plumps pillows,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘It fluffs them up and makes them nicer to sleep on.’
‘I fluff up my own pillow like this!’ Willy said, grabbing a pillow from a pile of pillows.
Willy hit the pillow with a furious flurry of punches until the air was filled with flying feathers.
‘Yes, yes, all right, Willy,’ Dr Trifle
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