by Duncan Ball
Madame Mascara put a dab of moisturiser on Mrs Trifle’s hand. ‘There’s lipstick and nail polish in wonderful colours like black, brown and frog’s bottom green. And everything has been tested so no one will be allergic to it. Look, your hand is already beginning to look like it did when you were ten years old.’
‘I hope not,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘When I was ten I chewed my fingernails and my hands looked horrible.’
‘Every day I get letters from people whose lives have been changed by these marvellous products,’ Madame Mascara said. ‘When can you start?’
‘I’m sorry but I really don’t think I have the time.’
‘Then make time. What’s wrong with right now?’
‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. I’ve just worked all day, cleaned the house, made dinner and now I’m off to an urgent council meeting.’
‘Then start tomorrow,’ Madame Mascara said, getting up to go. ‘It’s Saturday. You can spend the weekend selling House of Mascara Cosmetics Kits.’
‘I can’t. I’m too busy, even on the weekends.’
‘Try to be positive,’ Madame Mascara said.
‘No, I really can’t sell your products.’
‘Hasty decisions are always wrong,’ Madame Mascara said. ‘Sleep on it.’
‘I’m telling you that I absolutely can’t —’
‘Shhhh,’ Madame Mascara said, putting a finger on Mrs Trifle’s lips. ‘Never say can’t. Tomorrow.’
Madame Mascara was out the door and into her limousine in a flash.
‘Madame M!’ Mrs Trifle called. ‘Griselda! Your kits! Come back!’
The second the Trifles were out the door, Selby opened one of the House of Mascara Cosmetics Kits.
‘That woman is soooo pushy!’ he thought. ‘And Mrs Trifle is too polite. Hmmm, look at allthese bottles and jars and tubes. They are kinda cute.’
Selby took the top off a perfume bottle and sniffed it.
‘I wonder if anyone makes cosmetics for dogs. I’d love one of these little kits. Let’s see: moisturiser, blusher, lippy, hair remover — I’d need a bigger tube than that. Hmmm, what’s this?’
Selby opened a plastic bag and took out a notepad of rainbow-coloured paper that said House of Mascara Cosmetics at the top. He gave it a sniff.
‘It smells even better than the scent in those little bottles,’ he thought, rubbing his paw on it.
Selby put everything away neatly and lay curled up on the carpet. He had his perfumed paw next to his nose so he could sniff it while watching the latest episode of Roxanna the Sorcerer, his favourite TV sorcery show.
‘I just love that girl,’ he thought. ‘All she has to do is wave that wand and everyone has to do what she says. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be able to do that?’
The Trifles arrived back just as the program was ending. Selby hit the OFF button on the controls just as Dr and Mrs Trifle came through the door.
‘Hi there, Selby-welby,’ Mrs Trifle said, giving him a good pat. ‘What a lucky dog you are. While some of us a-choo!, work hard all a-choo!, day, you just take it easy.’
‘Are you coming down with a cold or something?’ Dr Trifle asked.
‘A-choo!, I don’t know,’ Mrs Trifle said, taking out a handkerchief. ‘A-choo!, I don’t feel sick or anything.’
‘Allergy,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Something in the air.’
‘You’re not a-a-a-choo!, sneezing,’ Mrs Trifle said, blowing her nose. ‘But I guess that doesn’t mean anything. Some people are allergic to some things when other people aren’t.’
The next morning Dr and Mrs Trifle were having breakfast in the kitchen while Selby lay on the lounge room floor.
‘That allergy of yours didn’t last long,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Two sneezes and you were off to sleep.’
‘Yes, I’ll probably never know what I was allergic to. Oh bother, I’d completely forgotten about those silly cosmetic kits. I really don’t want to sell them.’
‘Then don’t,’ Dr Trifle said.
Dr Trifle looked at the cosmetics kits and then leant down to pat Selby.
‘You’ll just have to a-choo! stand up to her,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said you’ll just have to a-choo! stand up to her.’
‘That’s what I thought you said. You seem to be developing an allergy too.’
‘Me? A-choo! I guess you’re right. There’s a-choo! something over a-choo! here that’s making me … it’s making me … a-choo!’
‘ Sneeze,’ Mrs Trifle said, finishing her husband’s sentence. ‘Oh, no, a-choo!, here comes Madame Mascara.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Madame Mascara said as she came through the door. ‘I see that you’ve decided to sell the kits. Good decision.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Mrs Trifle said firmly. ‘Speaking of seeing a-choo! I can barely see at all. A-choo! Could you please a-choo! hand me a tissue?’
‘What’s wrong with you two?’ Madame Mascara said.
‘We seem to be allergic to something,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something in your kits.’
‘Impossible!’ Madame Mascara cried, picking up the kits. ‘All of my products have been tested. There’s nothing in them that would make anyone sneeze or scratch. It’s probably that dog of yours that’s doing it. Lots of people are allergic to dogs.’
‘But we’ve never been allergic to him before now.’
‘That doesn’t mean a thing. People can suddenly get allergies,’ Madame Mascara said. ‘I’d get rid of your dog if I were you. Phew. He is a bit on the nose, if you ask me. Anyway, if you change your mind about selling these lovely cosmetics kits, give me a tinkle. My new phone number’s on this beautiful rainbow-coloured notepad,’ she added, peeling off a sheet and leaving it on the coffee table.
‘Get rid of me?’ Selby thought, after Madame Mascara had left. ‘On the nose? I’m a dog, for heaven’s sake, not a bouquet of flowers.’
‘Get rid of Selby?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Well, no, I don’t think so.’
‘It is true,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘that people can develop allergies to things that had never bothered them before.’
‘You mean, like Selby?’
‘Well, we don’t know, do we?’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Let’s do a scientific test. Come back into the kitchen.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle stood in the kitchen for a few minutes and slowly their sneezing eased and their eyes stopped running.
‘Okay now,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘come here, Selby. Come on, boy.’
‘This is silly,’ Selby thought, ‘but I may as well go along with it.’
Selby got up and walked over to the Trifles. They both bent down and began patting him.
‘You see?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It can’t be him. A-choo!’
‘What did you a-choo! say?’
‘I said that it a-choo! can’t possibly a-choo! be him.’
‘That’s what I thought you said. But it has a-choo!, to be him! What else could it be? We’ve suddenly a-choo!, become allergic to Selby.’
‘Well, we’re not a-choo! getting rid of him,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘Goodness, no,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘But we can’t live with him either. If we try to pat him or cuddle him or even just let him put his head in our laps then we’ll be miserable.’
‘I suppose we could keep him outdoors all the time,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Some people make their dogs stay outside. Oh, Selby, a-choo! you don’t know how sad this makes me feel.’
‘And you don’t know how sad it makes me feel,’ Selby thought. ‘I’m not going to live outdoors. I’d never get to watch TV or answer my emails — or anything! Besides, I want to stay here with the Trifles.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Maybe he could live with Jetty and the boys. Ever since Crusher died that house has needed a dog.’
‘But Willy and Billy haven’t always been good to him.’
‘That’s a point,’ Dr Trifle said, opening the door to the
backyard. ‘Come along now, Selby. You’d better get used to living outdoors.’
Selby walked out the door and listened to it close behind him — maybe for the last time in his life.
‘This is awful,’ Selby thought as he blinked back a tear. ‘I’ve been banished from my own home.’
All evening, Selby stood outside the back door watching the Trifles through the glass. Occasionally they’d come to the door and wave and then go back to what they were doing.
‘I can’t stand this,’ he thought, as the Trifles went off to bed. ‘I’ll have to go away forever. It’s the most merciful thing for everyone.’
Selby started through the hole in the back fence.
‘Goodbye, Dr and Mrs Trifle,’ he said, blowing a kiss in the direction of the house.
Selby stopped and went back into the backyard.
‘I’d better leave them a note or they’ll never know why I left,’ he thought. ‘And I do so very much want to say goodbye.’
Selby quietly opened the back door and went inside. He picked up the piece of note paper and a pen from the coffee table.
‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘How does this sound?’
By the time Selby finished writing the note, there were tears streaming down his face. He left the note just inside the door and went outside again. Once again he was about to go through the fence when he turned for one last look at the house where he’d lived for so many happy years. He saw Dr Trifle come into the lounge room and pick up the note. Mrs Trifle was standing beside him.
‘I can’t go now,’ he thought, ‘I just have to know what they’ll do when they know I can talk.’
Selby crept closer and listened below the window.
‘What is it?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘A note. It’s on some of Madame Mascara’s note paper. I wonder what she wants.’
‘Read it to me.’
Selby could see tears form in Dr Trifle’s eyes as he began reading his note.
‘It says, Dear Dr and Mrs Trifle, You are the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. Isn’t that sweet of her. I hope you’ll forgive me but I will a-choo! leave you in peace from now on. A-choo! I’m sorry about any a-choo! inconvenience I’ve a-choo! a-choo! caused you. There’s that allergy again,’ Dr Trifle said, wiping his eyes. ‘Now my eyes are so blurry I can’t even read.’
‘Oh, no,’ Selby thought, ‘they’re so allergic to me that they can’t even read my note!’
‘Give me that,’ Mrs Trifle said, taking the note. ‘Let’s a-choo! see what it says. Where were a-choo! you up to? Okay, a-choo! In case you a-choo! don’t know a-choo! who is writing this note, it’s me … Pass me a tissue, will you, dear?’ Mrs Trifle said, putting down the note.
‘I think we’re out of tissues,’ Dr Trifle said.
‘I’ll look in the bedroom,’ Mrs Trifle said.
‘No, I think there are some in the workroom,’ Dr Trifle said.
Selby watched as Dr and Mrs Trifle disappeared in different directions.
‘Now hang on!’ Selby thought. ‘What if it’s not me they’re allergic to but the perfume in that stupid note paper?! I rubbed it on my paw,’ he added, sniffing his paw. ‘I can still smell it. That must be it!’ Selby’s mind raced. ‘I think this calls for some action!’
Minutes later Mrs Trifle came into the lounge room again. ‘Selby, you’re in the house.’
‘I’ve found the tissues,’ Dr Trifle said, coming into the room. ‘Goodness, here’s Selby.’
‘I don’t think I need the tissues anymore,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘My allergy seems to have gone away.’
‘Mine, too. I guess we couldn’t have been allergic to Selby after all.’
‘That’s right,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now where’s Madame Mascara’s note?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dr Trifle said, looking around. ‘It seems to have vanished into thin air. Oh, well, I don’t think it was important. She just seemed to want to apologise for being so pushy.’
‘And, no doubt, for being so wrong about poor old Selby,’ Mrs Trifle said, cuddling him. ‘Hmmm, I wonder how his paws got so wet.’
‘That’s strange,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘It hasn’t been raining. Hmmm, it’s almost as if he’s washed them himself. Can you imagine that?’
‘I can imagine that,’ thought Selby. ‘But there are a lot of things about me that you could never imagine!’
SELBY FLIPS
Something very strange and terrible had happened and Selby didn’t know why. All he knew was that his mind was numb and his fur had gone a bit curly at the ends. He couldn’t remember what had happened earlier that day. In fact he couldn’t even remember what had happened only minutes before.
That’s when the telephone rang and Selby, without thinking, picked it up and said, ‘Hello.’
Even before the ‘o’ part of ‘Hello’ was out of his mouth the shock hit him.
‘Oh, no! I’ve given away my secret!’ he thought. ‘Why did I do that? But wait. No one can see me so they don’t know it’s me.’
Selby was about to put the phone down when the voice at the other end said, ‘Is that you, Selby?’
‘Gulp,’ Selby gulped. ‘He knows who I am! He’s watching me!’
Selby looked around.
‘He can’t be watching me,’ Selby thought. ‘There’s no one here but me.’
Selby’s brain started slowly to unnumb. He remembered the TV program he’d been watching only minutes before. There was a dog reading the news. At first Selby thought it had been a new comedy program but there was nothing funny about it. There was a war. There were farmers struggling against a drought, a huge bushfire, and a story about a famous dog in a wheelchair talking about parallel universes.
‘Hey, hold the show,’ Selby had thought. ‘Everyone on the news is … is a dog! There are soldier dogs, farmer dogs, dogs whose houses burnt down, and a dog-genius.’
That was when the phone had rung …
‘Selby? Can you hear me?’ the voice said. ‘Are you there?’
Selby stood there not knowing what to say.
‘Trifle residence, Dr Trifle speaking,’ he said, suddenly sliding into his Dr Trifle voice.
‘This is no time for jokes, Selby,’ the voice answered.
‘There’s only one person who knows the real sound of my voice,’ Selby thought.
‘Duncan?’ he said. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’
‘Duncan?’ the voice asked. ‘Who’s Duncan?’
‘Of course it can’t be Duncan,’ Selby thought. ‘He doesn’t know the Trifles’ telephone number. He doesn’t even know where I live. In fact, this guy just called me Selby — my real name. Duncan doesn’t know my real name. He thinks it’s Selby because that’s what I always tell him.’
‘Who is this speaking?’ Selby asked finally.
‘It’s Hamish.’
‘Hamish?’ Selby thought. ‘The only Hamish I know is that dopey sheepdog in the house behind here. It can’t possibly be him.’
‘Have you forgotten the emergency meeting of the council?’ Hamish asked.
‘Council? Emergency meeting?’ Selby asked.
‘We’re about to vote on that new leash law. You should be here. You are the mayor, after all.’
‘I’m not the mayor. Mrs Trifle is.’
‘Selby, this is serious. We’re waiting. Hop in your car and get yourself down here. We need a decision straight-away.’
Click.
Selby sat there in a daze. What was happening? Who is Hamish? How could anyone ever think that he was the mayor of Bogusville?
‘Me drive a car?’ Selby said aloud. ‘Did he tell me to drive there? Is this a dream?’
Selby found himself opening the front door. Outside Dr and Mrs Trifle were sitting under a tree. When they saw him they jumped to their feet and came running. They jumped back and forth in front of Selby with their tongues hanging out.
‘They’re making fun of me,’ Selby thought. ‘No
, hang on. They’re rehearsing for a play. It’s one of those plays where they have to pretend to be dogs.’
Selby started walking towards the street but Mrs Trifle blocked his path. She dropped to her knees and started licking his face.
‘Stop it!’ Selby said out loud.
‘Oh, no! I talked again!’ Selby thought. ‘I couldn’t help it. And this time they actually saw me talking!’
The Trifles stopped jumping about and looked at him.
‘Okay, it’s true,’ Selby sighed. ‘I never ever in a million years thought it would happen like this. For years I’ve kept it a secret and then you pretend to be dogs and, ooops out it comes.’
Dr and Mrs Trifle frowned and tipped their heads from side to side.
‘As you can hear,’ Selby said, ‘I can talk. Don’t ask me how it happened because I really don’t understand it myself. You’re shocked, aren’t you?’
Dr Trifle looked at Selby.
‘ Woof he said.
‘You can stop rehearsing now,’ Selby said.
‘Woof! Woof! Woof! Mrs Trifle barked, wiggling her bottom back and forth. ‘Woof! Woof!’
‘You’re not kidding,’ Selby said. ‘You really think you’re dogs! Have I gone completely bonkers?’
Somewhere in the back of Selby’s mind and slowly making its way forward was Dr Trifle’s PPR — his Potato Peel Replacer. He remembered the strange invention sitting on the floor of the workroom. And he remembered leaning over to look down into it.
But that’s all he could remember. Suddenly he snapped back to the present.
‘If I’m the mayor of Bogusville,’ he thought, ‘I’d better get down to the Council Chambers. I wonder if I can drive a car.’
Selby opened the car door and Dr and Mrs Trifle jumped in.
‘No, get out,’ Selby said. ‘Come on, out! Okay, suit yourself,’ Selby said, starting the car and backing out of the driveway. ‘Hey! I’m actually driving a car!’
Selby tore along the streets of Bogusville to the Council Chambers. He opened the door to get out but Dr and Mrs Trifle jumped over him and were on the footpath before him.
Inside, seated at a long table, was Hamish the sheepdog along with a number of other dogs that he’d seen around Bogusville. The chairs in the audience were filled with dogs all chattering away in plain English.
