by Duncan Ball
‘Crumbs,’ Selby thought. ‘Now I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day watching Dr Trifle throw sticks. It’s not fair! It seems that every time I win — I lose!’
DR TRIFLE’S WAR OF WORDS
‘Varoooooooom,’ said Dr Trifle.
‘Varoom?’ asked Mrs Trifle as she tried to start the car for the second time.
‘No, varoooooooom!’ Dr Trifle said again. ‘With lots of ooooom in it.’
‘Varoooooooom!’
‘That’s better.’
‘What kind of word is varooooooooom?’ Mrs Trifle asked as she tried to start the car for the third time.
‘It means car,’ Dr Trifle answered.
‘In what language?’
‘In Blabble-dabble.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Blabble–dabble. That’s what I call my new language. I’m going to make up all new words for everything.’
‘Why make up words? There are already too many of them, if you ask me.’
‘I agree,’ Selby thought as he sat on the back seat listening to the Trifles. ‘We should be getting rid of words, not making up new ones.’
‘Most words are silly,’ Dr Trifle said, watching as Mrs Trifle once again tried to start the car. ‘Take the word car, for example.’
‘Car?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘What’s so silly about car?’
‘It’s just a sound,’ Dr Trifle explained. ‘It doesn’t have any real meaning.’
‘It means a great chunk of metal that whizzes around the roads going varooom varooom —’
‘Which is exactly why it should be called a varoooooooom!’ Dr Trifle interrupted. ‘The word car just doesn’t sound right. Just say it a few times.’
‘Car car car car car car,’ Mrs Trifle said very quickly.
‘You see? You sound like a crow. Come to think of it, that’s brilliant! Car will be my new Blabble-dabble name for crow,’ Dr Trifle said getting out a notepad and writing the word car very neatly.
‘I just wish this car would start,’ Selby thought. ‘I was kind of looking forward to a trip to the supermarket. I don’t want to sit here much longer, this Blabble-dabble stuff is straining my brain.’
‘Don’t you see,’ Dr Trifle said, putting on his serious explaining voice, ‘words should make us think of the things they are. That way we wouldn’t need dictionaries.’
‘But I just bought a dictionary,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Throw it away. We won’t need it. In a little while everyone will be speaking Blabble-dabble.’
‘Do you really expect everyone in the whole world to start talking in your made-up language?’
‘Why not?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘It will make everything so easy. Then anyone can go to any country and just say varoooooooom and people will know that they mean car.’
‘And if they say car everyone will know they mean crow,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Precisely. And there won’t be any wars because people will all know exactly what everyone is talking about.’
‘Are you sure that people start wars because they have different words for car?’
‘Wars start when people don’t understand each other,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘If we all used the same words there would be no misunderstandings and no wars. Don’t you see what I’m driving at?’
‘For the moment we’re not driving anywhere. This car — this varooooooooom — doesn’t want to start.’
‘That’s because the sparkjar needs gazapping,‘Dr Trifle explained.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sparkjar is Blabble-dabble for battery. Gazapping means putting more electricity in it: recharging it. It’s as flat as a tack.’
‘I guess we’ll have to walk to the supermarket,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I’d better put on my walking shoes —’
‘You mean your shuffle shunks,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘If you insist,’ Mrs Trifle sighed. ‘You ring the Wingnut Brothers’ Garage — I mean make a rinkle-tinkle to the clatter-shop.‘
‘There, you see?’ Dr Trifle said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘You’re making up Blabble–dabble words already. See how simple it is?’
Selby followed the Trifles into the house. Mrs Trifle went into the bedroom to change her shoes while Dr Trifle picked up the telephone and dialled the garage.
‘This is Dr Trifle,’ he said. ‘Mrs Trifle and I will be away shopping but would you please come to our house and gazap the sparkjar in our varoooooooom? When you’re finished, leave your bill in the letterbox. We’ll pay you later. Thank you.’
‘Did they understand your Blabble-dabble?’ asked Mrs Trifle as she came out of the bedroom.
‘I didn’t talk to them,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I got their blabber-box.’
‘You mean, their answering machine?’ Mrs Trifle guessed.
‘Spot on.’
‘Hadn’t we better leave a note on the car telling them to recharge the battery just in case they don’t understand your message?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘No, no. This is an experiment. If they understand Blabble-dabble then they’ll recharge the battery.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then they won’t recharge the battery. If the car doesn’t start when we get home I’ll give the clatter-shop another rinkle-tinkle and explain. ‘Dr Trifle looked down at Selby. ‘Shall we take the bow-wow with us?’
‘No, poor old thing,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘All that walking will only wear him out.’
‘Crumbs,’ Selby sighed as he watched the Trifles disappear down the street. ‘Here I am stuck at home again. It’s not fair! Oh well, at least I can watch the Wingnut brothers work on the car. That should be fun.’
No sooner was this thought out of his brain than a tow truck pulled up and Neville and Norville Wingnut jumped out. Selby dashed outside.
‘Okay, now it’s something about a sparkjar,’ Norville said to Neville. ‘What’s a sparkjar, Nev?’
‘I don’t know, Norv. I thought you knew.’
‘Well, I don’t, Nev. Let’s see now, it can’t be one of the well-known parts like the air filter or the battery because I know all of them. It must be one of those little parts all the way in the middle of the engine. I always forget their names. I guess we’ll have to take the whole car to bits, Nev.’
‘How will we know when we’ve found the sparkjar, Norv?’
‘It’ll be broken, dummy.’
‘Then what do we do, Norv?’
‘We gazap it, Nev. That’s what Dr Trifle wants.’
‘What’s gazapping, Norv?’
‘I don’t know, Nev, let’s just find the sparkjar first. Then we’ll worry about what to do with it.’
‘But, Norv, what if we don’t find anything that’s broken and needs to be gazapped?’
‘Then we’ll just have to put the car back together again, Nev. That’ll be okay because we’ll charge Dr Trifle oodles and oodles of money for all the time we spent trying to find this sparkjar thingy,’ Norville said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. ‘And it’s his fault anyway, Nev. He should have left us a nice neat note with everything explained in proper words. Come on, Nev, whip a chain around the engine and let’s lift it out of there.’
‘Oh, no!’ Selby thought. ‘They’re going to take the whole car apart just because of Dr Trifle’s silly made-up words!’
For the next two hours Selby watched helplessly as the car became a pile of parts scattered all around the driveway.
‘We didn’t find anything broken yet, Norv,’ Neville said finally. ‘I reckon it’s time to put it all back together again.’
‘No way, Nev. All these parts are made up of parts too.’
‘So you reckon we should take the parts apart. Is that it, Norv?’
‘That’s right, Nev, and it’ll mean lots more money for us.’
‘This is torture!’ Selby thought. ‘It’s going to cost sooooo much! I’ve got to do something quick! I’ve got to tell Neville and Norville that it’s only the battery
that needs recharging. I think I’ll just tell them in plain English. But if I do that they’ll know I can talk! My life will be ruined forever! But I have to do it, I just have to.’
Selby was just about to say, ‘Excuse me, Nev and Norv, but what Dr Trifle really wanted to say was that the battery is flat,’ when suddenly he had a second thought, and then a third thought, and a fourth thought.
‘Hang on! Hold the show!’ he thought. ‘I’ve got a better idea!’
Selby dashed into the house, scribbled a note and then crept back out again and quietly placed his note on the windscreen. A few minutes later Neville and Norville noticed the note.
‘Look at this, Nev,’ Norville said.
‘What do you think it is, Norv?’
‘It’s a note, Nev.’
‘What kind of a note, Norv?’
‘A note note, Nev. It was on the windscreen all the time. Silly us, we didn’t even notice it.’
‘What does it say, Norv?’
‘It says, “Please recharge the battery”, Nev.’
‘Gosh, Dr Trifle did leave a note after all. What are we going to do now, Norv?’
‘There isn’t much we can do, Nev. We’d better put the car back together quick smart and recharge the battery before they come home. Better get a wriggle on, Nev, or the Trifles will come home and see how silly we were. Then we’d better get back to the clatter-shop.’
‘What’s a clatter-shop, Norv?’
‘It’s a word I just made up, Nev. I just thought it would be a good word for a garage. Do you like it?’
‘It’s good, Norv, but I kind of like the old word — garage. It makes me kind of smile when I say it. Garage. I guess I don’t much like new words anyway, Norv.’
‘Especially ones like sparkjar, hey, Nev?’ Norville laughed.
‘That’s right, Norv.’
Selby had never seen the Wingnut brothers move so fast. When the Trifles returned, the car was back together and the Wingnut brothers were gone. And the car started straight away.
‘You see?’ Dr Trifle said to Mrs Trifle. ‘They understood my Blabble-dabble perfectly.’
‘Why you sneak,’ Mrs Trifle said, showing him the note she’d found. ‘You left them a note just to be on the safe side, didn’t you? So much for your experiment.’
‘I didn’t. That’s not my writing. Look how messy it is. It’s even got the “s” in “please” written backwards.’
‘Hmmm,’ Mrs Trifle hmmmed. ‘You’re right. I wonder who did write it. It’s true that the writing is far from perfect.’
‘All right, all right,’ Selby thought. ‘So my writing’s not perfect. If they only had paws to write with their writing would be messy too. At least the Wingnut brothers knew what the note meant — which is more than I can say for Dr Trifle’s Blabble-dabble message. And it saved the Trifles a lot of money. I guess you could say that my writing’s not perfect but at least it’s pawfect.’
THE DAPPER DOG
It was winter in Bogusville and Selby lay shivering on the lounge reading fashion magazines and looking at the pictures of all the latest fashions.
‘These clothes all look so great!’ he thought. ‘Of course anything would look fantastic with a gorgeous tall and skinny model wearing it. I love that look they always have on their faces. It’s sort of like they hate you. Like if you fell down and hurt yourself they’d just step right over you and walk away. It’s sort of a I’m-gorgeous-and-you’re-not look. But I love it.’
Selby turned a few more pages.
‘It’s a pity they don’t make clothes for dogs,’ he thought. ‘I could wear all the latest dog fashions. I’d ponce around town and everybody would stop and stare at me and I’d just give them that look. Only I’m not tall and skinny like a model. I wish I was a greyhound.’
Moments later as the Trifles came through the door Selby quickly stuffed the magazines under the lounge.
‘I forgot to tell you!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed to Dr Trifle. ‘Massimo Panni, the world famous clothing designer, is coming here, to Bogusville, today!’
‘Massimo Panni? Here? Why would a world famous designer want to come to Bogusville?’
‘I don’t know. Probably to get ideas for his fashion designs. I mean we small town people dress so beautifully.’
‘We do?’
‘Well most of us do,’ Mrs Trifle said, putting on a necklace and earrings. ‘And guess what? He’s not only coming to Bogusville but he’s coming right here to this very house.’
‘Our house? But he’d be used to going to the fanciest of fancy hotels. He probably lives in a palace. Why would he want to come to our little home?’
‘Because I’m the mayor, silly. Important people from overseas always want to meet mayors when they visit a town. So could you please change into a better shirt and trousers?’
‘What’s wrong with these?’
‘Nothing except for the holes in the elbows and knees — and the dirt. You really do look a sight.’
‘All right, darling,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But they are my most comfortable clothes.’
‘Never mind about that. Massimo Panni is a fashion designer and we have to look good for him. Fashion has nothing to do with comfort. Beautiful clothes are always uncomfortable. Why do you think women wear high heels when they dress up?’
‘I thought it was to keep their heels dry when they walk through puddles.’
‘Don’t be silly. They wear them because they’re beautiful and because they’re uncomfortable. Now slip into your green suit and put on that lovely pink tie. He’ll be arriving at any minute.’
‘How exciting!’ Selby thought. ‘Massimo Panni is the greatest! I can’t believe this! Oh how I wish I had something beautiful to wear.’
Minutes later four long black cars pulled up in front of the Trifles’ house and out stepped the famous designer and twenty-two of his assistants.
‘Oooooh, Mrs Mayor!’ the designer said, kissing Mrs Trifle’s hand. ‘This is the first time I come to a country village of Austraaahlia! It is waaanderfool!’
‘Thank you, Mr Panni,’ Mrs Trifle blushed. ‘It’s an honour to have you. If there is anything we can do for you, please ask. Would you like a cup of tea? — I mean, twenty-three cups of tea?’
‘No, thank you, no. You are too kind.’
‘And what brings you to our beautiful town?’
‘I come for the inspiration, Mrs Mayor.’
‘He gets inspiration here?’ Selby wondered as he moved closer to get a better look at the great man.
‘Yes, yes. Every year I go somewhere for the inspiration. All the time I am in Milano and Paris is no good for me. There is so much fashion there! Fashion, fashion, fashion. I see so many beautiful clothez I go blind! Here is no fashion — nothing! Look at your husband’s clothez. A green suit! A pink tie! It is terrible! It is wonderful! I love it!’
‘I think it’s nice too,’ Mrs Trifle said, not knowing quite what to think. ‘I gave him the tie for his birthday.’
‘Here my eyes are empty. I see no fashion. Then ideas come to Massimo Panni’s head. I think of many clothez for my new collection,’ Mr Panni said, patting Selby. ‘What is wrong with doggy? He is shaking so much.’
‘That’s because it’s winter,’ Mrs Trifle explained. ‘He’s shivering.’
‘Winter is so sad for the animals. They get so cold because they have no clothez.’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘I have first Massimo Panni brilliant idea of the day! Massimo Panni clothez for the dogs! I make whole collection. I call my collection Poochi Panni. Is nice, no? Wonderful brilliant idea of me! Now I have second brilliant idea: I have my doggie fashion show right here!’
‘Here? In this town?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘Yes, I make Boringsville very very famous.’
‘Excuse me but it’s Bogusville,’ said Mrs Trifle politely correcting the man. ‘It sounds very exciting.’
‘You will be on TV all around the world! I give everyone big shock!’ the designer
said, snapping his fingers again. ‘I start to drawing my creations now. But wait! Who going to model Poochi Panni doggie clothez?’
‘Well I could ring the Bogusville Canine Society and see if anyone can recommend some dog models. I might be able to get some tall thin dogs — some greyhounds, maybe.’
‘No, no, no, Mrs Mayor. Why I don’t use this doggie to be model for doggie clothez?’ the designer said, pointing to Selby. ‘I let him be model for girl-dog fashions and boy-dog fashions, too. Makes no difference.’
‘Well of course,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I’m sure he’d like that.’
‘Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!’ Selby thought. ‘I’ll be like those models in the magazines! Maybe I do have the right looks to be a model, after all. Maybe I am gorgeous and just didn’t know it!’
‘He is perfect!’ the designer said. ‘Is good to have just boring dog-dog — You know what I say? — People look at clothez and not ugly dog.’
‘Hmmm,’ thought Selby. ‘I’m not sure I agree with that.’
And so it was that for the next two weeks, Massimo Panni and his helpers took over Bogusville Hall and, with a truckload of sewing machines and expensive fabrics, created one fantastic design after another for Selby to wear. By the time the collection was complete Selby had been pricked and scratched by so many pins that he felt like a canine pin-cushion.
Soon everything was ready and Mrs Trifle chose Farmers’ Market Day — when everyone from all around would be in town to do their shopping — for the launch of the ‘Poochi Panni Collection’’. Bogusville Hall soon filled up with people carrying armloads of groceries.
Also in the hall were the press from all over the world. Some of them even remembered Selby as the Tasmanian Flea-Breeder who helped to catch some international dog-smugglers and the only dog ever to go to Mars.
‘Oh, I’m so scared,’ Selby thought as two of Massimo’s helpers slipped a yellow chiffon gown covered in tear-drop pearls on him. ‘But I love it! I’ve got to remember to give my best I’m-gorgeous-and-you’re-not look. Okay,’ he thought, taking a deep breath. ‘Here I go out onto the dogwalk.’
