The Misadventures of the Magician's Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

only difference is that most people are able to learn to perform math or musicto some degree, while only a few people—a very, very few people—are able to learn to do magic at all.”
    This all sounded rather complicated to Peter. But he understood what The Dog was saying clearly enough that his mood immediately plummeted. “So you’re one of the few who are able to use their brains to do magic?”
    â€œMe? Of course not. I’m a dog, not a human. I can do magic because the magician wished it.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œWhy so glum?” The Dog asked after a moment.
    â€œIf only a very, very few people can learn to do magic, what makes you think I can?”
    The Dog wagged his tail. “Let’s just say I’ve got a feeling about you. And it helps that you’re a kid. All good magicians learn when they’re young. After a certain age, inflexibility starts to settle in.”
    â€œAll right,” said Peter. He still felt dubious—he was a good enough student, but he had never thought of himself as particularly adept at using his brain—but it seemed worth trying. “So what do I do?”
    â€œBend down,” said The Dog.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBend down,” The Dog growled.
    Peter bent down.
    The Dog’s face was suddenly close to Peter’s. His damp nose nuzzled through Peter’s hair, and Peter couldn’t help envisioning himself minus an ear. “Here,” said The Dog, tapping his nose against Peter’s scalp. The spot was about two inches behind Peter’s right temple. “This is the part of your brain you have to use to do magic. Just think about what you want, but think with that part.”
    â€œHow do you think with a particular part of your brain? Don’t people just, well, think?”
    The Dog snorted, his warm, stinky breath ruffling Peter’s hair. “Are we going to do this or not?”
    â€œWe’re going to do this,” said Peter.
    â€œWell, then, I’m telling you—think about what you want, but with that part of your brain!”
    Peter didn’t say anything for a moment.
    â€œWhat are you waiting for now?” asked The Dog.
    â€œIt’s just . . . what do you mean, what I want?”
    The Dog sighed. “If you’re going to do magic, Peter, you have to want something. To be rich. To be invisible. To be able to fly.” He stared at Peter, really stared at him, hard. “You must know what you want, right? That’s why you asked me to teach you.”
    As the breeze whispered through the orange trees surrounding them, Peter thought about The Dog’s question. It wasn’t something anyone normally asked him. But here it was, his birthday, and he was being granted a wish.
Flying
, he thought. Once, when Peter was eight, his father had borrowed a friend’s Cessna and taken Peter for what he’d called a spin. Peter had loved diving through the sky as the clouds parted in wisps before them, his father next to him. Imagine how it would feel without the plane! Now Peter tried to think about flying with that particular spot on his head. He tried and tried. Nothing happened.
    â€œTry again,” ordered The Dog.
    â€œMaybe it would help if you showed me,” said Peter. “I wasn’t really watching when you did it before.”
    Staring downward, The Dog gritted his teeth, andPeter thought he was going to refuse. Instead, one moment there was a twig on the ground, and the next the twig was gone and in its place was a bone. A bone that The Dog immediately began to gnaw.
    â€œWow,” said Peter. “That’s so cool. Does it taste like a real . . . ?”
    The Dog put the bone down on the green. “Your turn. If you think you’ve had enough show-and-tell, I mean.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe you’re too scared to learn it after all.”
    In general, Peter was a pretty easygoing kid.