by Duncan Ball
Aunt Jetty’s front lawn was packed with tables and boxes full of things for sale. People were crowding around, looking and buying. As Selby walked past, he spotted something in a box. He moved closer and peered inside.
‘A letter-opener,’ he said to himself. ‘It’s all carved out of wood with a swan on it. And it’s beautiful! I wish I could buy something like this for the Trifles. And it’s only a dollar. Oh, I wish I had a dollar.’
Selby looked around to make sure no one was watching, then snatched it in his teeth and ran.
‘Okay, so I nicked it,’ he thought. ‘But she nicked my whole Christmas cake. So we’re even. Besides, she doesn’t want it or she wouldn’t be selling it.’
When Selby got home, he quickly wrapped the letter-opener and slipped it into the branches of the Christmas tree.
Now you must know that this isn’t the end of the story because in the beginning there were two presents under the tree. So keep on reading.
The next day, Aunt Jetty came to the Trifles’ house again. She didn’t say anything about eating the Christmas cake.
Mrs Trifle was putting Christmas candles in some holders. ‘I wish I had some lovely tall candlesticks like the ones you were given last year. They’d look beautiful on this table.’
‘Oh, those,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘I chucked them out.’
‘You what? They were a present from Melanie Mildew. How could you do that?’
‘Who cares who gave them to me? I didn’t like them.’
‘But what if she found out?’
‘Too bad. Anyway, they were rubbish, so I got rid of them. What’s wrong with that? Do we have to keep things just because people give them to us?’
‘Well, I guess not,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘But you should at least keep them for … for six months.’
‘What’s the point of that? If I don’t like something, out it goes.’
‘But how would the person who gave it to you feel if they knew?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘I mean, I’d feel terrible if I thought you’d got rid of the quilt with scenes of Bogusville on it we gave you for your birthday. You didn’t throw that away, did you?’
‘Nope,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘I sold it on the internet.’
‘She what?!’ Selby thought. ‘Mrs Trifle spent all winter cutting out bits of cloth and sewing them together!’
‘You what?’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘I spent ages making it. I thought it was a work of art.’
‘So did the guy who bought it. He paid me five hundred dollars. I made five hundred bucks on the deal. Pretty good, hey?’
‘Do you throw away or sell all the presents you don’t like?’
‘No, I trade some. Remember the blender you gave me two years ago?’
‘That was a very expensive blender. You didn’t trade that, did you?’
‘Actually, I didn’t. I took it to the shop and got my money back.’
‘Your money back?! It wasn’t your money. It was my money!’
‘Hey, it was mine. You gave it to me. What does it matter as long as everyone’s happy?’
‘That woman is awful!’ Selby thought. ‘She’s got the feelings of a flea.’
‘Okay, how about that letter-opener we gave you last month?’ Mrs Trifle asked. ‘The one with a swan on it and your initials carved on the back.’
Selby’s ears went up.
‘The letter-opener!’ he thought. ‘That was a present from the Trifles! And it’s got Jetty’s initials on it! I didn’t even notice!’
‘Oh, that,’ Aunt Jetty said. ‘I got rid of it yesterday at my yard sale.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did. I don’t like swans, okay?’
‘Well, I think you’re awful!’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘My own sister and you’re so thoughtless! If someone gives you a present, it’s because they want you to have it. It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. You should keep it!’
That night, Selby took his only present for the Trifles and hid it under the house.
‘I’m back to where I started,’ he sniffed. ‘No gifts. I guess I won’t be able to give the Trifles presents this Christmas, after all.’
And that might have been that if Selby hadn’t tripped over the wastepaper basket in the loungeroom. As he was picking up Mrs Trifle’s junk mail, he saw an envelope that said:
FREE GIFTS INSIDE!
Selby worked the envelope open with one claw. The letter inside said:
SPECIAL CHRISTMAS OFFER
You now have fifty-three thousand points from using your credit card. This entitles you to any two free gifts from our brochure. Hurry and order now. Offer expires December 20th.
‘Hey, hold the show, Joe,’ Selby thought. ‘This is real! This isn’t junk mail; it’s unjunk mail and Mrs Trifle threw it away!’
Selby looked through the brochure until he found the perfect gifts.
‘Fifty-three thousand points is just enough to buy a blowtorch for Dr Trifle and a hair dryer for Mrs Trifle,’ he thought. ‘The perfect prezzies!’
Selby was on the phone in a flash, putting on his best Dr Trifle voice and ordering the presents.
‘And make it snappy, please,’ he said. ‘I need them for Christmas.’
Sure enough, the day before Christmas, Selby watched as Postie Paterson left two packages on the doorstep. As soon as the postman was out of sight, Selby grabbed them and hid them. And so it was that on Christmas Eve, when the Trifles were sound asleep, Selby wrapped the presents and quietly put them under the tree.
‘Finally,’ he thought,‘I can rest easy.’
All of which brings us back to where we were at the beginning of the story, with Selby waiting for the Trifles to get up on Christmas morning. But the story isn’t over yet.
Selby watched with excitement as the Trifles opened their presents. Finally, after Mr Trifle had unwrapped a new book by Lionel O’Neill from Mrs Trifle, they came to Selby’s presents for them.
‘Who could these be from?’ Mrs Trifle asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Mine says, To the dearest, most wonderful man in the world. And it’s signed, from Santa.’
‘That’s funny,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘That’s exactly what mine says, too. Only it says I’m a wonderful woman, of course. The handwriting is very messy. I know! It must be from Jetty. She sometimes gets Willy and Billy to write the tags.’
‘Great,’ Selby thought. ‘Now Aunt Jetty’s going to get the credit for my presents. Oh well, what does it matter?’
‘This is very odd,’ Mrs Trifle said, unwrapping her present. ‘She’s given me a blowtorch.’
‘Not as odd as mine,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘She’s given me a hair dryer.’
‘Oh no! I mixed up the cards!’ Selby said to himself.
‘What’ll we do?’ Dr Trifle asked. ‘Can we swap? I don’t have enough hair to dry, so you should take the hair dryer and I’ll take the blowtorch. I could use that in my workroom.’
‘We can’t,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Not after the talking-to I gave Jetty. We’ll just have to pretend that they’re the perfect presents and we love them. Come on now, there are only a few more presents to open. Here’s one for you.’
Mrs Trifle handed Dr Trifle his present. It was a book called Do-It-Yourself Furniture Making.
And Dr Trifle gave Mrs Trifle a book called Perfect Desserts.
‘Thank you, dear. This is lovely,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Now I can make the desserts I’ve been wanting to make.’
‘And I can make a proper footstool,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Hey, look what it says in the beginning. It says that every woodworker needs a hair dryer to help dry the glues. So Aunt Jetty’s hair dryer is the perfect gift, after all.’
‘And mine says that every kitchen needs a blowtorch to melt sugar,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I take back everything I thought about Jetty. I wonder how she knew what books we were giving each other.’
‘Well, this is all very interesting,’ Selby thought. ‘Not only did they get the wrong prese
nts, but then Aunt Jetty gets the credit and now it turns out that they’re the perfect presents, after all! I don’t know what to think!’
‘There’s just one last present,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘And it’s for Selby. I’ll open it for him.’
‘Oh, boy, oh boy,’ Selby thought. ‘My prezzie! I can’t wait to see what they’ve given me!’
‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’ Mrs Trifle said, holding up a little red Santa outfit. ‘Selby, you’re going to love wearing this. And here’s your little Santa cap, too,’ she added, putting the elastic strap under his chin. ‘See, it’s just like the one you were admiring last week.’
‘Oh well,’ Selby thought. ‘So it’s stupid and it’s ugly and it’s embarrassing but the Trifles really did get me something that they thought I wanted. They are the dearest, most wonderful people in the whole wide world.’
And that really is the end of the story. Well, almost. There was one last present for Selby that no one noticed at first. To find out about this, you’ll have to read the next story.
Paw note: You can read about it in the next story.
S
Paw note: See how Aunt Jetty ate all of Mrs Trifle’s biscuits in the story ‘Dr Trifle’s Travelling TOOT’ in the book Selby Snaps.
S
SANTA’S SECRET
‘Santa is real and I’m going to prove it,’ Selby thought. ‘I’m going to stay awake till he gets here and take a picture of him.’
It was Christmas Eve and the Trifles were tucked up all snug in their bed. Selby lay on the loungeroom floor with the Trifles’ camera in his paws. ‘I’ll wait up for him on the roof and take the photo when he’s about to climb down the chimney. That way I can get him and the sleigh and the reindeer and everything. Hey, hang on, we don’t have a chimney. I could wait out front in the bushes but then he might land in the backyard instead. No, I’ll just lie here and wait till he puts the prezzies under the Christmas tree.’
Selby held the camera in his paws, waiting. Seconds ticked by and then minutes. Minutes stretched into hours and Selby struggled to keep his eyes open.
‘Maybe he’s not coming here because there aren’t any kids,’ Selby thought. ‘I mean, I’m sort of a kid but not really. I guess I can only wait and see.’
Selby’s eyes closed and his head drooped. Every now and then he woke up and looked at the tree again. Then, just when he was about to drift into a deep sleep, he heard a tiny sound. He woke up with a jerk, his ears shot up and his eyes popped wide open.
‘I can’t believe it!’ he gasped. ‘This is wonderful! This is fabulous! This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen! It’s him! There is a Santa Claus, after all!’
None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for those awful brats, Willy and Billy. A few days before, they were running around the Trifles’ loungeroom. Selby was hiding in the workroom but he could hear everything they were saying.
‘There isn’t any Santa Claus!’Willy screamed. ‘You’re a liar!’
‘No, I’m not, you stupid-head!’ Billy screamed back. ‘I saw him when he flew over! He dropped lollies!’
‘He wasn’t real! He was a faker!’
‘No, he was real!’
‘Was not!’
‘Was so! And he had real snow-deer and they pulled him through the sky!’
‘They’re not snow-deer, they’re rain-deer, dummy.’
‘Oh yeah? Then how come it snows all the time at the North Pole. They’re snow-deer and he’s got little oafs that make all the prezzies and then he gives them to kids everywhere.’
‘That’s a lie ‘cause how can he fit them all in his wagon?’
‘He doesn’t fit them all, silly! He goes back and gets more.’
‘He does not!’
‘Does so!’
‘Does not!’
By now, Willy and Billy were on the floor and Selby was listening to the wonderful sounds of them punching each other. Mrs Trifle soon pulled the boys apart.
‘Stop that!’ she yelled. ‘Someone could get hurt!’
‘But he’s lying about Santa,’ Billy shouted.
‘No I’m not. He’s a fake, isn’t he, Auntie?’
‘No, Santa is real,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I thought so when I was your age and I still think so.’
‘Oh yeah? Then how does he give prezzies to all the kids in the whole world? How? How? How?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘I guess it’s all part of the magic of Christmas. Now, how would you like some lunch?’
When Willy and Billy had finally gone home, Selby came out of hiding.
‘I hate it when kids don’t believe in Santa Claus,’ he thought. ‘Someone should prove it to them, once and for all. I wonder why no one’s ever taken a photo of him?’
Selby thought about this for a minute as he looked at all the presents under the Trifles’ Christmas tree.
‘Of course, he knows what people are thinking, so if someone’s waiting up with a camera, he just doesn’t go there. Or he waits till they’re asleep because he knows when they’re sleeping and when they’re awake. It’s a tricky one.’
Suddenly Selby had an idea.
‘Hey, hold the show!’ he thought. ‘I’m not a person! He knows what people are thinking but maybe he doesn’t know what dogs are thinking! I’ll bet no dog has ever tried to take a photo of him before. I’m going to do it!’
The slight sound that Selby had heard was the sound of the reindeers’ hooves on the roof. Then, suddenly there he was in the Trifles’ loungeroom.
‘It’s him!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘It’s the real Santa! He must have come right through the roof — or the wall! He didn’t even open the door!’
Santa put down his bag and searched inside.
‘Where is it?’ Santa mumbled.
Santa was still searching when he saw the bright flash of the Trifles’ camera. He turned and looked at Selby.
‘You took my picture,’ he said.
‘I-I just wanted to prove that you’re real,’ Selby stammered.
‘Oh, I’m real all right,’ Santa said,‘and I guess you must be too, unless you’re one of those clever talking toys.’
‘No, I’m not a toy.’
‘Well, fancy that,’ Santa said with a chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. What a wonderful pet you must be. Your owners can even talk to you.’
‘Well, actually,’ Selby said, ‘they don’t know I can talk.’
‘Really? Why not?’
‘I’m keeping it a secret. I don’t want the Trifles to put me to work.’
‘Work?’ Santa said. ‘What’s wrong with a little work? Work’s good for you.’
‘Yeah, that’s okay for you to say because you only work one night a year. You’ve got those little guys doing most of the work.’
‘I’ve never thought about it like that,’ Santa admitted. ‘You’ve got a point.’
‘With me, it’s not just the work,’ Selby said. ‘If people find out that I can talk, they’ll drive me nuts. They’ll be coming around here taking photos of me and wanting to talk to me. And, besides, they might send me off to a laboratory to be asked silly questions by scientists all day. And someone might dog-nap me and hold me for ransom.’
‘It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.’
‘Ever since I learned to talk.’
‘As for me,’ Santa said,‘I like to keep everyone guessing. Wouldn’t it be boring if everyone knew I was real? May I see the camera?’
Selby handed him the camera.
‘Good photo,’ Santa said. ‘It looks just like me. I think this is the camera I gave to Mrs Trifle last year.’
He handed the camera back to Selby.
‘I thought you were going to delete it,’ Selby said.
‘Heavens no. It’s your photo and you can keep it,’ Santa said, looking through his bag again. ‘I can’t seem to find your present.’
‘A present for me? You’ve actually
got one?’
‘Well, I thought I did, but it looks like I’ve got the wrong bag. These aren’t Bogusville presents at all. I’ll have to go back and get the right one. This is happening more and more these days. Something is seriously wrong.’
‘You mean you’ve got to go all the way back to the North Pole just to get another bag?’
‘That’s right. Do you want to come?’
‘Me? Really? Can I?’
As soon as Santa and Selby got into the sleigh, the reindeer took off, pulling them so fast that the world was a blur. In less than a second, they landed at the North Pole.
‘So that’s how he does it!’ Selby thought. ‘His reindeer go faster than lightning! It takes no time at all to go back and forth.’
Santa led Selby down a snow tunnel and into his huge workshop.
‘The elves!’ Selby said. ‘Look at them all!’
The workshop was full of elves and machinery and noise. Steam was rising and computers hummed.
‘Yes, and they’re good little workers,’ Santa said, patting a couple of them on the back.
The elves didn’t look up. They were all working as fast as they could.
‘They don’t look happy,’ Selby said.
‘Really? No, I’m sure they’re happy. They just love the thought of making little kids happy. That makes them happy, too.’
Some of the elves nearby looked up for a moment before going back to work. They didn’t look happy at all.
‘You gave me the wrong bag,’ Santa said to one of his helpers. ‘I went to Bogusville in Australia and you gave me the bag for Bogenfeld in Austria.’
The elf checked the label on the bag and then, without a word, whipped it away, changing it for another bag.
‘Thanks,’ Santa said. ‘Okay, everybody listen to me! Remember that this is the most important night of the year, so could you please speed it up a bit? Okay, Selby, back we go.’
Just as Selby and Santa turned to go, one of the elves yelled out, ‘That’s it! I quit!’ and switched off his machine.