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still struggled with the stuck window in the bedroom.

    ‘He looked like your dog, Mayor Trifle. But he couldn’t have been because he was dark brown! He’s in the bedroom. Have a look for yourself!’
    Selby heard the sound of running feet but before they came into the room, the window finally flew open. He hit the ground running and in a second was over the back fence and heading for home.
    ‘Brown? Why did they think I was dark brown?’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, I get it — it’s the mud! I’m covered in mud! Thank goodness for that!’
    Selby washed himself with the garden hose before sneaking back into the Trifles’ house through the hole in the back of the garage. There, waiting for him, was Willy, wearing green pyjamas and a great wide gleeful grin.
    ‘They caught you, didn’t they, you poop-head? !’Willy squealed.
    ‘Almost, Willy,’ Selby said, dropping the teddy bear at his feet. ‘But not quite. Better luck next time, you little scoundrel.’
    Willy looked down at the teddy bear.
    ‘Look what you did to Teddy!’ he screamed.
    ‘Oh, so his name isn’t Selby, after all.’
    ‘He’s all chewed! You did that on purpose!’
    ‘Oh did I?’ Selby said, clutching the bear in his paws and then ripping its head off with his teeth. ‘I’m sooooo sorry.’
    ‘Why you stupy–stinky–poopy dog!’ Willy bawled, grabbing Selby by the throat and shaking him violently.
    Just then Dr Trifle barged though the door and stood watching in horror.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ Dr Trifle demanded, pulling Willy away from Selby. ‘I warned you not to use that sort of language and not to lay a hand on Selby! Now I’m going to lay a hand on you!’
    ‘He talks!’Willy cried. ‘He knows how to talk. Honest, he does!’
    Selby looked up innocently as Dr Trifle put Willy across his knee.
    It was a calm and collected Selby who slunk silently away to get a good night’s sleep. Soon he could hear the soothing sound of Willy’s screams as Dr Trifle beat time on his bottom.
    ‘There are times when I really do feel sorry for that brat,’ Selby yawned. ‘But I don’t think this is one of them.’

SELBY HOUSE BOUND
    ‘Selby, fetch!’ Dr Trifle called, throwing a stick. ‘Come on, boy, bring it back to me.’
    ‘He’s got to be joking,’ Selby thought. ‘My stick-chasing days are over. It’s
sooooo
dumb. He throws the stick and I bring it back. Then he throws it again and I bring it back again. It’s just not something for a thinking, feeling, reading and writing dog like me to be doing.’
    ‘What’s wrong with Selby?’ Dr Trifle asked, throwing another stick onto a growing pile of sticks. ‘He used to fetch sticks but he doesn’t anymore.’
    ‘I used to do it to make him feel happy,’ Selby thought. ‘But now it bores me out of my brain.’
    ‘Maybe he’s forgotten what to do,’ Mrs Trifle said.
    ‘Is that possible?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Do you suppose he’s just getting old and his memory is going?’
    ‘With Selby, anything is possible. But never mind. We have something else we have to do: we’re going to buy a house.’
    ‘Buy a house? But we already have a house.’
    ‘We have a
little
house. This is a nice
big
house.’
    ‘I never knew that you wanted to live in a bigger house.’
    ‘Yes, one that doesn’t have lots of other houses all around it — where it’ll be peaceful and quiet.’
    ‘And you’ve actually found a house like that?’ Dr Trifle said, throwing another stick onto the pile.
    ‘Yes, it’s right out in the country. It’s where that old mine used to be, in Slaghaven Heights. I rang the real-estate agent and she’ll be meeting us at the house shortly.’
    ‘Well I suppose it can’t do any harm to have a look at it,’ Dr Trifle said.
    ‘What’s wrong with staying here?’ Selby thought. ‘I love this house. I hope Mrs Trifle isn’t serious about moving.’
    Twenty minutes later Elvira Poshbody, the real-estate agent, met the Trifles and Selby