whimpered.
‘I still am!’ Selby thought. ‘Just thaw me out and I’ll be even more lovable.’
And so it was that Selby was stuck frozen to the spot, standing on his hind legs in the loungeroom. The Trifles sat on the couch with tears in their eyes, not knowing what to do with their beloved pet.
‘I can tell you what to do with him,’ Aunt Jetty said when she called around. ‘Put him out with the rubbish before he starts to stink. Come to think of it, he already stinks.’
‘What an awful thing to say!’ Mrs Trifle sobbed. ‘I can’t believe you said that!’
‘I was only trying to help.’
Dr Trifle tried everything he could to melt Selby. He put him in the bathtub and filled it with ice — real ice. Selby thought he’d die of cold. Then, after he’d dried him off again, Dr Trifle put a dozen electric blankets around him and turned them on.
‘He’s going to cook me!’ Selby thought. ‘But maybe this’ll work, after all.’
But it didn’t.
‘I guess the soldiers are still holding hands,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘If only there was something we could do to make them let go.’
But there wasn’t. It seemed that once water turned to Nice there was no going back.
Dr Trifle rang all his science and inventor friends who tried everything they could think of to melt Selby. They zapped him with electricity and they jiggled him and they even tickled him.
‘We’ve never seen anything like it,’ they said. ‘The strange thing is that his brain scan is still showing multi-morphic auto-synchronicity between the frontal and backal lobes. It’s as if his brain’s still working. But of course that’s not possible.’
Crowds of people came from all over Bogusville, Poshfield and then from every corner of Australia and, perhaps, the world to see The Frozen Dog.
Newspaper people wrote stories about him and TV news people stood in front of him, talking about him, while their cameras buzzed and whirred.
‘I hate this!’ Selby thought. ‘For years I kept my secret a secret because I didn’t want to be studied by scientists. And I didn’t want everybody coming around and bugging me. Now it’s all happening and I can’t even run away and hide! Oh, woe woe woe. The only thing that hasn’t happened to me yet is being dognapped!’
(Funny he should say that because that very night Mrs Trifle chased away some robbers who had come to steal him.)
‘We have to do something,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We can’t go on like this. I think we’ll have to send him away. We can’t have him in the house any more. I just can’t stand it.’
‘But where would we send him?’
Dr Trifle’s old friend Professor Krakpott had the answer.
‘Put him on display,’ he said, ‘in the Museum of Old and Crusty Things.’
And so began the second part of Selby’s frozen life. He stood in the middle of the museum surrounded by dinosaur bones and lots of other old museum stuff.
Days went by and then weeks and months. And, just when it seemed like everyone in the world had seen The Amazing Frozen Dog, more people came.
‘I can’t sleep,’ Selby whimpered in his brain. ‘I can’t even close my eyes. This is the worst thing that could ever happen to a dog — or a person.’
But, deep in Selby’s little non-beating heart, he knew that when things were really really bad suddenly everything could change. And he was right — things got worse.
It was on a weekday and lots of school groups had been to the museum to see him. It was when the girls of St Lucre’s School for Polite Young Ladies came through the museum that Selby knew his problems were really starting.
Among the group were Mrs Trifle’s uncle’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s stepson’s daughters, Cindy, Mindy and Lindy. Selby spied them out of the corner of his eye.
‘Oh, no, not them again,’ Selby thought, as the line of little girls in their cleanest, neatest school uniforms filed by.
‘Hey, look. It’s that awful Trifle dog,’ Cindy
‘I still am!’ Selby thought. ‘Just thaw me out and I’ll be even more lovable.’
And so it was that Selby was stuck frozen to the spot, standing on his hind legs in the loungeroom. The Trifles sat on the couch with tears in their eyes, not knowing what to do with their beloved pet.
‘I can tell you what to do with him,’ Aunt Jetty said when she called around. ‘Put him out with the rubbish before he starts to stink. Come to think of it, he already stinks.’
‘What an awful thing to say!’ Mrs Trifle sobbed. ‘I can’t believe you said that!’
‘I was only trying to help.’
Dr Trifle tried everything he could to melt Selby. He put him in the bathtub and filled it with ice — real ice. Selby thought he’d die of cold. Then, after he’d dried him off again, Dr Trifle put a dozen electric blankets around him and turned them on.
‘He’s going to cook me!’ Selby thought. ‘But maybe this’ll work, after all.’
But it didn’t.
‘I guess the soldiers are still holding hands,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘If only there was something we could do to make them let go.’
But there wasn’t. It seemed that once water turned to Nice there was no going back.
Dr Trifle rang all his science and inventor friends who tried everything they could think of to melt Selby. They zapped him with electricity and they jiggled him and they even tickled him.
‘We’ve never seen anything like it,’ they said. ‘The strange thing is that his brain scan is still showing multi-morphic auto-synchronicity between the frontal and backal lobes. It’s as if his brain’s still working. But of course that’s not possible.’
Crowds of people came from all over Bogusville, Poshfield and then from every corner of Australia and, perhaps, the world to see The Frozen Dog.
Newspaper people wrote stories about him and TV news people stood in front of him, talking about him, while their cameras buzzed and whirred.
‘I hate this!’ Selby thought. ‘For years I kept my secret a secret because I didn’t want to be studied by scientists. And I didn’t want everybody coming around and bugging me. Now it’s all happening and I can’t even run away and hide! Oh, woe woe woe. The only thing that hasn’t happened to me yet is being dognapped!’
(Funny he should say that because that very night Mrs Trifle chased away some robbers who had come to steal him.)
‘We have to do something,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘We can’t go on like this. I think we’ll have to send him away. We can’t have him in the house any more. I just can’t stand it.’
‘But where would we send him?’
Dr Trifle’s old friend Professor Krakpott had the answer.
‘Put him on display,’ he said, ‘in the Museum of Old and Crusty Things.’
And so began the second part of Selby’s frozen life. He stood in the middle of the museum surrounded by dinosaur bones and lots of other old museum stuff.
Days went by and then weeks and months. And, just when it seemed like everyone in the world had seen The Amazing Frozen Dog, more people came.
‘I can’t sleep,’ Selby whimpered in his brain. ‘I can’t even close my eyes. This is the worst thing that could ever happen to a dog — or a person.’
But, deep in Selby’s little non-beating heart, he knew that when things were really really bad suddenly everything could change. And he was right — things got worse.
It was on a weekday and lots of school groups had been to the museum to see him. It was when the girls of St Lucre’s School for Polite Young Ladies came through the museum that Selby knew his problems were really starting.
Among the group were Mrs Trifle’s uncle’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s stepson’s daughters, Cindy, Mindy and Lindy. Selby spied them out of the corner of his eye.
‘Oh, no, not them again,’ Selby thought, as the line of little girls in their cleanest, neatest school uniforms filed by.
‘Hey, look. It’s that awful Trifle dog,’ Cindy
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