Selby Supersnoop (4 page)

‘Good idea!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed, mixing up some kitten-coloured paint. ‘I’ll paint him right on the limb of that tree.’

Mrs Trifle dashed off and Selby watched as Dr Trifle quickly painted the kitten into his picture. When he’d finished, the doctor stood back and looked at his work.

‘The rest of the painting’s okay,’ Selby thought, ‘but there seems to be something wrong with the kitten part.’

‘The kitten’s okay,’ Dr Trifle said out loud, ‘but there seems to be something wrong with the rest of the painting. It still doesn’t give me a warm feeling. Maybe I’ll mow the lawn and see what I think of it later.’

‘You are a little cutie, my furry little purrer,’ Selby said, rubbing his nose against the kitten’s warm fur when the doctor had left the house. ‘Maybe Postie will let you stay here with us.’

Suddenly Selby was aware of two little eyes staring back at him.

‘You want to play, don’t you?’ Selby said and then, ‘Yowch!’ In a flash, the kitten leapt up and dug its tiny claws into Selby’s nose, raking them along until they stuck fast.

‘Stop it!’ Selby squealed, pulling the kitten’s claws out of his nose.

Before Selby knew what was happening, the kitten ran up the side of the lounge, did a flip in the air and sank his tiny teeth into Selby’s leg.

‘Stop that, you tiny little terror!’ Selby cried. ‘It hurts!’

The kitten scampered round and round in circles in front of Selby, scratching at Selby’s legs, head and tail as he went.

‘I’m not playing with you — you’re too
rough!’ Selby said. ‘Your teeth and claws are like razors!’

The kitten looked at Selby for a minute, yawned and then curled up and went to sleep again.

‘That’s more like it. You’re cute when you’re asleep,’ Selby thought, looking back to Dr Trifle’s painting again and suddenly realising what was wrong with it. ‘I know. Dr Trifle forgot to paint your whiskers! A kitten isn’t a kitten without whiskers. I’ll paint them in for him. A few little white lines and the painting will be perfect. Dr Trifle is so absent-minded that he’ll think that he painted them.’

Selby squeezed some white paint onto a tiny brush and began delicately painting the whiskers on the kitten’s face.

‘That’s great!’ he said. ‘I’m already getting that warm feeling that Dr Trifle was talking about.’

Selby was just painting in the last whisker when suddenly a small blob of fur flew through the air and landed smack on his painting paw.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Selby yelled, shaking the kitten off and looking at the wide white stripe that ran down the middle of the
painting. ‘You’ve ruined it! Uh-oh, the mower’s stopped. Dr Trifle will be in here in a second! Oh, no! Here he comes. And Mrs Trifle too!’

Selby put down the paintbrush and curled up on the carpet as Dr Trifle and Mrs Trifle came in and studied the painting.

‘That’s much better,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now I think it has that warmth you wanted.’

‘So it does,’ Dr Trifle agreed. ‘Your idea about putting in the kitten was a good one.’

‘I don’t think so. I think it’s that big white ray of sunlight that made the difference.’

‘The ray, yes, that ray gives it warmth,’ Dr Trifle said, trying to remember when he’d painted it. ‘Come to think of it, Ray would be a good name for the kitten.’

‘Why yes!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It reminds me of Sunny because of a ray of sunlight. It’s a warm and friendly name. It really suits the little dear. Postie will love it!’

‘That kitten’s about as warm and friendly as a chainsaw,’ Selby thought as he licked his sore paw and glanced down at the kitten. ‘What Ray reminds me of is those raz or-sharp teeth and claws!’

It was an innocent mistake.

Mrs Trifle’s dreadful sister, Aunt Jetty, was staying at the Trifles’ house — fortunately without her even more dreadful sons, Willy and Billy. Yes, it was true that Selby didn’t like her. You could even say that he hated her. But he never—not in a million years — intended to bite her. Even if he had wanted to bite her, he certainly wouldn’t have bitten her on that part of her body!

It all happened one day when Selby was secretly re-reading a part of The Art of the Private Investigator about how to use dogs to catch burglars. The book lay open on the floor of the study and Selby was curled up in the chair
above it, pretending to sleep — but secretly reading through squinting eyes.

It was such an interesting chapter that Selby didn’t see Aunt Jetty come into the room. Then, Aunt Jetty — not looking carefully and thinking that Selby was just a big fluffy pillow in the chair she was about to sit in — started to sit down.

In that last fraction of a second before the quivering bulk of Aunt Jetty’s bottom came down on top of him, Selby suddenly realised that something was wrong and looked up. Selby’s jaw dropped open and he froze in terror, but there was no time to move.

‘Ooooooooooowwwwwwwwww!’ Aunt Jetty screamed, leaping to her feet again and rubbing her bottom. ‘Come quickly! That savage dog has just bitten me on the posterior!’

‘On the what?’ asked Mrs Trifle, coming into the study.

‘He chomped me,’ Aunt Jetty exclaimed, ‘on my hindmost part!’

‘He did what to your what?’

‘Don’t you understand? He bit me on the old sit-down. On me bot-bot. On the back bumper bar, the dum-de-dum.’

‘I still don’t follow you.’

‘Well that’s exactly it — the part that follows me! Heavens, woman, he’s just nipped me on the part of me that’s facing south when I’m travelling north.’

‘Oh, you mean he bit you on the bum.’

‘You don’t have to be crude about it.’

‘But he’s never bitten anyone in his life — not on the posterior or the bot-bot or on anything,’ Mrs Trifle said, patting Selby’s head. ‘I wonder what’s got into him.’

‘All I know is that my bottom is riddled with teeth marks and it hurts like blue blazes!’

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘And now I want you to ring the police,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘I insist he be put down like any other ill-mannered menace.’

‘Put down!’ Mrs Trifle gasped, covering Selby’s ears when she said it. ‘Don’t you ever use that sort of language in this house! It’s just lucky that he can’t understand you or his feelings would be mightily hurt. No one — nothing — in this house is going to be put down, do you hear?’

Selby was about to say, in plain English, ‘Ahem, excuse me, but I’d like to tell my version of events: I was just lying there innocently reading when this great galumph mistook me for a cushion,’ but he thought better of it.

‘If you won’t ring the police then I think I’ll ring them myself,’ Aunt Jetty said.

‘You’d better think again,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘because if you do, you will have to leave this house and never come back ever again!’

‘Well,’ Aunt Jetty said, thinking again, ‘it’s either that or I insist you take old what’s-his-name to obedience classes to learn some proper doggy manners before he murders some poor helpless innocent person like myself.’

‘I’ll poor innocent her,’ Selby thought as he wobbled his sore jaw back and forth. ‘What a nerve! First she sits on me and then she wants to have me put down. She’s the one who needs obedience classes!’

‘What obedience classes?’ Mrs Trifle asked her sister.

‘This very afternoon, Sergeant Stiffjaw of the Federal Police Dog Squad is at Bogusville Reserve giving free dog obedience lessons. I suggest that you take this savage little beast there and see if it’s possible to civilise him.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Mrs Trifle, who wasn’t about to be pushed around by her sister but who thought that a dog obedience lesson might be interesting to watch.

*  *  *

And so it was that Mrs Trifle took Selby to the park and found twenty other dog owners and their dogs watching as Sergeant Stiffjaw put his police dog, Biff, through his paces.

‘Walk!’ he screamed. ‘Stop! Heel! Fetch! Sit! Shake hands!’ and Biff did just what he said, and stood as stiff as a statue between commands.

‘Biff has to be the dumbest dog I’ve ever seen,’ thought Selby. ‘Why does he take it? Sergeant Stiffjaw has the poor thing acting like a robot. Who would want a robot for a pet?’

‘If you decide to enrol your dog in my classes,’ Sergeant Stiffjaw said, ‘I’ll also give them a special attack dog course as a bonus.’

‘Goodness!’ said Mrs Trifle. ‘Why would anyone want to turn a loving pet into an attack dog?’

‘Very simple,’ said Sergeant Stiffjaw. ‘To keep burglars from burgling. Even peaceful country towns like Bogusville have their burglars.’

‘He’s probably right there,’ Selby thought.

‘Let me give you a demonstration,’ said Sergeant Stiffjaw. ‘Okay, I’m going to be a burglar and you’ll see what Biff does.’

Sergeant Stiffjaw buckled some padding to his arm and put a black ski-mask over his head. Already Biff was beginning to growl and bare his teeth.

‘Okay, Biff,’ he said, his eyes peering out through the mask. ‘Attack!’

Biff barked ferociously and tore at his trainer with muscles rippling and fangs dripping saliva. He jumped into the air and knocked Sergeant Stiffjaw to the ground, growling and tearing at his sleeve. By now all the dogs except Selby were barking with excitement and pulling on their leads. Then the trainer took the hood off and yelled, ‘Stop! Sit!’ and Biff stopped immediately.

‘Gosh! That was scary!’ Selby thought. ‘But there’s no way I’d ever attack a real live burglar! A dog could get hurt!’

Selby’s heart was still beating quickly from the attack demonstration when he noticed something moving next to a house at the side of the park. He could barely make out a dark figure creeping slowly through the bushes.

‘A burglar!’ he thought.

Selby saw Biff stiffen as he, too, noticed the hiding figure.

‘He’s about to break into that house!’ Selby thought. ‘If only I could tell Sergeant Stiffjaw; he’d have Biff attack him! But I can’t tell him or I’ll give away my secret! And I can’t attack the guy myself because I’m just not an attacking sort of dog. Oh, no! What am I going to do? I think this is a case for some dog ventriloquism,’ he added, putting a paw over his mouth.

No one was quite sure what happened next. It started with a mysterious voice yelling, ‘Attack!’. Suddenly Biff was dashing towards the bushes followed by a pack of dogs. And in less than a second, Aunt Jetty — who had sneaked into the bushes to make sure that her sister had taken Selby to the obedience class — was scrambling up a tree with a dozen dogs tearing at her trousers.

‘Jetty!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘What were you doing lurking in the bushes?’

‘Call them off!’ Aunt Jetty screamed as she dangled from a branch. ‘This is all your fault! If that dead-head dog of yours hadn’t savaged me, none of this would have happened! It is all his doing!’

‘Dead-head dog,’ Selby thought as he smirked a secret little smirk and barely kept from giggling. ‘Oh, bite your bum. Hey, what am I saying? That’s how all this started in the first place.’