Selby Sorcerer Read online

  ‘Yes, I thought it did, too,’ Mrs Trifle agreed.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to throw it out,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.’

  The professor wheeled over to Selby and gave him a pat.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ the professor said. ‘It’s always interesting to see new inventions — especially ones that are as different as your PPR. It was lovely to meet you — and you, too, Selby,’ he said, giving Selby a secret wink.

  Selby looked back and it was all he could do to keep from saying, ‘Thank goodness, I’m home again.’

  This really is

  The End

  SELBY’S SIGHT

  ‘Fetch, Selby, fetch!’ Dr Trifle said, throwing a stick as far as he could. ‘Get it, boy!’

  ‘Not on your life,’ Selby thought as he stared at the stick on the other side of the lawn. ‘What do you take me for, a stick-chasing machine?’

  Dr Trifle threw another stick.

  ‘Why do people do this?’ Selby wondered. ‘I reckon if they want the sticks they shouldn’t throw them away in the first place.’

  ‘Go get it, Selby,’ Dr Trifle said, pointing to the stick. ‘Okay, I’ll throw you another one but I won’t throw it so far this time.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll ever teach him to chase sticks,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Selby just isn’t into stick-chasing.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of why he doesn’t like to chase sticks?’

  ‘Maybe he just doesn’t want to.’

  ‘Or maybe he can’t see them properly,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘You think I’m just playing a silly game. But I’m actually testing his eyes.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Think of all the people who need to wear glasses — like me,’ Dr Trifle said, taking his off for a moment. ‘When I take them off, everything’s blurry. You may not need to wear glasses but I certainly do.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So animals have eyes too. And I’ll bet that lots of them can’t see properly without glasses.’

  ‘You might be right,’ Mrs Trifle said, ‘but how can you test an animal’s eyes? When they test people’s eyes they ask questions like, “Is this clearer?” and things like that. You can ask Selby questions all day long but he’s not going to answer you.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Selby thought.

  ‘I found a way around the asking questions thing,’ Dr Trifle said, tipping a box full of glasses out on the lawn.

  ‘Where did you get these from?’ Mrs Trifle said, picking up a pair and putting them on.

  ‘They’re some of my old ones and the rest I picked up at the used clothing shop.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Mrs Trifle said, taking off the glasses and rubbing her eyes. ‘Now I can’t see! The whole world has turned fuzzy!’

  ‘It’s just a touch of TOG fog.’

  ‘Tog fog? I’ve never heard of tog fog.’

  ‘T-O-G fog. Trying On Glasses fog. It’s that blurriness you get from trying on the wrong glasses — or trying them on when you don’t need them. It’ll go away in a minute or two.’

  ‘So how will these glasses tell you about Selby’s eyes?’

  ‘Easy. I try out different pairs on him and throw sticks. When he finally chases after one I’ll know I’ve got the right ones. Watch.’

  Dr Trifle picked up a pair of glasses and put them on Selby.

  ‘Oh, great,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Okay, boy,’ Dr Trifle said, throwing another stick. ‘Fetch!’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Selby thought. ‘And if I do I’ll have to wear these silly things for the rest of my life.’

  Half an hour and a dozen pairs of glasses later, Dr Trifle finally stopped.

  ‘I give up,’ he sighed. ‘No more glasses-trying-on. I’ve had it. Finished. Never again. It’s a pity because you probably need glasses, Selby. If you didn’t, you’d chase sticks like normal dogs. But I don’t think I’ll ever find the right ones for you.’

  ‘I wish you could find something for the headache all those glasses gave me,’ Selby thought as he stumbled into the house. ‘I can hardly see because of the TOG fog.’

  Selby lay on the carpet rubbing his eyes as Dr Trifle put away the box of glasses.

  That evening Selby was alone. He was just waiting for Roxanna the Sorcerer to come on TV when he looked up at the box of glasses on a shelf above him.

  ‘There is something nice about glasses,’ he thought. ‘They make people look interesting — and smart.’

  Selby climbed up on the back of the lounge. He stretched slowly upwards towards the box. On his tiptoes he could barely touch it with his paw.

  ‘I’ll just flick it and then catch it when it falls,’ he thought.

  Selby flicked the box off the shelf but didn’t manage to catch it. In a split second, Selby was lying on his back on the lounge with the glasses scattered all around.

  ‘Ouch!’ he cried, moving his limbs slowly to make sure everything was okay. ‘I’m lucky I hit the lounge and not the floor.’

  Selby grabbed a pair of glasses and put them on. From the lounge, he could see himself in a nearby mirror.

  ‘Not bad,’ he thought as he squinted through the blur. ‘Now there’s an interesting dog. Probably very intelligent. I think I’d like to know that dog. But these frames have got to go.’

  Selby tried on another pair and then another. He even tried on a bright orange pair that had butterflies in the corners.

  ‘Wow!’ he giggled. ‘Now that’s what I call spectacles. Well, they certainly are a spectacle anyway.’

  Selby rubbed his eyes to get rid of the TOG fog and then put on another pair. He stood there for a while trying to imagine what someone would think if they saw him walking down the street wearing these glasses.

  ‘"Now there’s an interesting dog,” they would say. “Very sophisticated. Intelligent. Sort of a dog-about-town. Why, I think I could even carry on a conversation with him in plain English."’

  Selby had a bit of a chuckle and was about to take the glasses off and put them away when he looked around at the room.

  ‘Hey, these ones actually work,’ he said. ‘They make everything clearer than ever. But wait a minute. Gulp. This means I need to wear glasses — these glasses.’

  Selby paced around the room, glancing at himself in the mirror.

  ‘What am I going to do? How am I going to let Dr Trifle know that I need glasses after all? Why didn’t he try these ones on me when he was doing his glasses-trying-on thing? I think they’re the only pair he didn’t try. I could have chased a stick and he’d have known they were the right ones. How am I going to get him to do it again?’

  Selby had begun to put the scattered glasses back in the box when he realised that Roxanna had already started. He lay on the lounge watching the show. It had just finished when he heard the sound of the front door opening.

  ‘They’re back!’ he thought, as he hit the remote control to OFF. Then he quickly lay down and closed his eyes.

  ‘What’s this?!’ Mrs Trifle cried. ‘Look at Selby! He’s wearing glasses!’

  ‘So he is,’ Dr Trifle said, coming closer.

  ‘But he’s a dog!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘A dog wearing glasses. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?’

  ‘Yes, I think you are because I’m seeing it too.’

  ‘But if he’s wearing glasses …’ Mrs Trifle started. ‘If he’s wearing glasses …’ she started again. ‘What does that say about Selby?’

  ‘My question exactly,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘Oh, woe,’ Selby thought. ‘I guess I’m going to have to tell them what happened. I’ll have to tell them everything about myself. It will change my life forever but at least I’ll get to wear these glasses from now on.’

  Selby opened his eyes and sat up. He was about to speak when suddenly Dr Trifle burst into laughter.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, ‘because I know everything.’

 
‘You what?’ Selby thought (he didn’t say it, he only thought it).

  ‘You what?’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘Yes, don’t you see what happened? The box of glasses must have fallen off that shelf. Look, they’re all over the place. And a pair must have landed squarely on Selby! What a riot!’

  Mrs Trifle took the glasses off Selby and looked at them.

  ‘Hey, I remember these,’ she said, putting them on. ‘They were the ones I wore when I played the librarian in that play Murder Overdue with the Bogusville Stage Stompers last year, remember? They’re not real glasses at all — they have clear glass in them. They don’t do anything.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Now I remember them.’

  Selby blinked and looked around him. It’s true, the room was just as clear as it had been when he had the glasses on.

  ‘It must have been the TOG fog that confused me,’ he thought.

  ‘It’s a pity,’ Mrs Trifle said, giving Selby a pat, ‘because there was something different about

  Selby when he had the glasses on. I know it sounds silly but somehow he looked sophisticated — and intelligent. But I think I like him better just the way he is — just normal old Selby.’

  ‘And I think I like me best this way too,’ Selby thought.

  THE POEM THAT

  STOPPED BOGUSVILLE

  ‘Did you hear that someone has invented an extra-long aeroplane?’ asked Gary Gaggs, the Trifles’ old friend and famous comedian.

  ‘An extra-long aeroplane?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Did they really?’

  ‘Yes. It’s so long that while the back part is still taking off from Sydney the front part has already landed in Melbourne.’

  ‘Oh, Gary,’ Mrs Trifle laughed. ‘That’s terrible — and silly.’

  ‘But it made you laugh, so I’ll use it in my show. How about this one? A kid gets to school at eleven o’clock and his teacher says, “You should have been here at nine” And the kid says, “Why? What happened?"’

  ‘That one’s even worse,’ Mrs Trifle said, laughing out loud.

  She was sitting at the dining room table opening envelopes while Selby lay on the carpet biting his tongue to keep from laughing at Gary’s jokes.

  ‘If Gary gets any funnier I’ll have to go outside,’ he thought.

  ‘What’s your new comedy show going to be called?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘I’ve called it But Seriously, Folks’ Gary said. ‘And guess what? It’s already sold out. Everyone in Bogusville is coming to see it. What are those?’

  ‘Poems,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘They’re for Rhyme Time — the annual poetry reading.’

  Gary picked one up and read it out loud.

  MY SHED

  I love my wife

  And my ute’s just beaut

  But I’d be dead

  Without my shed.

  ‘I don’t know if that’s supposed to be funny but it is,’ Gary laughed. ‘I could almost use it in my act.’

  ‘Now, now, Gary, it may not be great poetry but I’m sure it came from the heart. That’s what really matters,’ Mrs Trifle said, picking up another envelope. ‘Goodness, this one was lucky to get here. It doesn’t even have a stamp on it. It’s called It Happened at Bogusville Creek’

  ‘Can I read it?’ Gary asked.

  ‘Hey, that’s my poem!’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t make fun of it.’

  Gary started reading it to himself.

  ‘This one’s a bit different,’ Gary said. ‘Let me read it to you.’

  IT HAPPENED AT BOGUSVILLE CREEK

  The clouds were dripping tears the day

  When Baby Roo was swept away

  His mum stood on the riverbank

  At first she thought her baby sank

  But no! instead this baby joey

  (a cuddly little baby bo-ey)

  Was swept up in an awful tide

  And landed on the other side.

  Now Mum and son were in different places

  (Tears were streaming down their faces)

  The narrow distance seemed so long

  Because of currents swift and strong

  They could but stand and stare and shiver

  Across this deadly flooded river

  And all the while my soul was aching

  To see those gentle hearts a-breaking

  ‘It’s very touching,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It really shows the power of poetry.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ Gary agreed. ‘And it says that it’s based on a true story. It doesn’t say who wrote it though. It just says, “Anonymous".’

  ‘A very shy person, no doubt,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘People who write poetry are often shy, sensitive and even secretive — the three Ss.’

  ‘Yes, well I am kind of shy,’ Selby thought. ‘And sensitive. And I certainly am secretive.’

  ‘Some of them are a bit silly too,’ Gary said. ‘So what happens to these poems?’

  ‘Some get read out on the radio. Then on Saturday night we have our big Rhyme Time reading when they all get read.’

  ‘But that’s the night of my comedy show,’ Gary said. ‘Couldn’t you have it on some other night?’

  ‘No, it’s always on the first Saturday in May. But don’t worry, we’re lucky if a dozen people show up.’

  ‘They liked my poem!’ Selby thought, a little later when he was alone. ‘And it was the easiest one I ever wrote. Oh, I can’t wait to hear it on the radio.’

  The next morning when Mrs Trifle was out at work and Dr Trifle was in the workroom, Selby secretly turned on the radio just in time to hear It Happened at Bogusville Creek read out.

  ‘That was sooooo great hearing someone else read it!’ he thought. ‘And I think he was touched by it. He got all sniffly.’

  The first thing Mrs Trifle did when she got home from work that day was to turn on the radio.

  ‘Quick! Listen to this!’ she said. ‘They’re about to read It Happened at Bogusville Creek again.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘The poem I told you about.’

  ‘Yes, by the way, more poems arrived in the mail today.’

  ‘People have been ringing the station all day asking to hear it again,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Shoosh.’

  Selby and the Trifles listened as Selby’s poem was read again.

  ‘Gosh,’ Dr Trifle said, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘That’s a very touching poem.’

  ‘We understand it’s based on a true story,’ the reader said. ‘We don’t know who wrote it but if you’re listening, Mr or Ms Anonymous, please ring us and tell us what finally happened to poor little (sniff) Baby Roo and his mother. Those gentle hearts a-breaking. Wonderful.’

  ‘I love it!’ Selby thought. ‘I must be a great poem writer. Hmmm. I wonder if I should ring the station when the Trifles are at the movies tonight?’

  But the Trifles didn’t go out. Instead they went to bed early. And Selby crept into the study and turned on the computer.

  ‘Instead of ringing, I’ll just finish off the poem and send it to them,’ he thought. ‘Let’s see now …’

  IT HAPPENED AT BOGUSVILLE CREEK PART TWO

  by Anonymous (again)

  The mother roo took one great leap

  Across the creek (that wasn’t that deep)

  Then she and Baby hopped away

  And everything was A-okay.

  Selby read and re-read his poem.

  ‘That’s what really happened — but it’s boring,’ he thought, as he hit the DELETE button. ‘I’ve got to make it more exciting. I said it was based on a true story. It doesn’t have to be completely true.’

  Selby worked and worked into the night, his claws clicking furiously on the keyboard. Finally he finished the poem.

  ‘Now to slip it in with today’s poems,’ he thought.

  The next morning Mrs Trifle dashed off to the radio station and delivered the new poems on her way to work. And once again Selby found himself l
istening as they were read out.

  ‘And wasn’t that wonderful?’ the reader sighed after reading It Happened at Bogusville Creek Part Two. ‘From the moment the handsome stranger plunged into the raging creek to swim across and rescue Baby Roo it really got to me. My producer tells me that listeners are phoning in asking for us to read both parts of the poem together. We’ll do that in about an hour.’

  Once again that night Selby worked into the wee hours. The words to the third part of his now famous poem poured from his brain, down through his paws and onto the keyboard.

  ‘This is sooooo much fun,’ he thought. ‘I just love being a poet.’

  When he finished he slipped the poem in with that day’s poems.

  The next evening, after Selby had heard his poem read out four times, Mrs Trifle came home in a terrible state.

  ‘Half of the council workers didn’t come to work today,’ she said. ‘Apparently they were at home listening to this Bogusville Creek poem on the radio — over and over again.’

  ‘Were they really?’ Dr Trifle, who’d only heard it twice, asked.

  ‘Yes, and all around Bogusville things have gone crazy. Farmers are stopping their tractors and builders are walking off their jobs. And I heard that Lili, the hairdresser, walked out right in the middle of a haircut and went home. The Poshfield bus had its radio on and the driver was so touched by the poem that he had to stop the bus. Everyone had to get out and walk.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of anything like this,’ Dr Trifle said.

  ‘Neither have I,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It’s like a song that suddenly shoots to number one and has everyone humming it.’

  ‘I’ve got the whole town eating out of the palm of my paw!’ Selby thought. ‘I’d better write another bit.’

  Later that night Selby and the Trifles watched a panel of poetry lovers discussing Selby’s poem on TV.

  ‘As I understand this poem,’ said Phil Philpott, the owner of The Spicy Onion Restaurant, and part-time poet, ‘the stranger survives the swim across the swollen creek and grabs Baby Roo. But then he plunges into the creek again to get the joey back to his mother. Was that wise?’