Badger the Mystical Mutt and the Flying Fez

by Lyn McNicol

  For Brian and Janet McNicol & Olive and Gordon Henry

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  ALSO BY MCNICOL & JACKSON

  Badger the Mystical Mutt

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the

  Barking Boogie

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the

  Crumpled Capers

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the

  Daydream Drivers

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the

  Enchanting Exchange

  E-books from The Badger the

  Mystical Mutt series are also available via the usual outlets

  It was Old Year’s Night and just a whisker away from an epic pea-souper.

  Badger the Mystical Mutt was getting ready for the party of all parties, the grooviest of get-togethers and the swankiest of shindigs ever to happen on the lane: a gang reunion. Pickle, the one remaining member of the gang, had seen her best friend, Pogo Paws leave to rejoin his childhood circus, and she was still feeling miffed. To cheer her up, Badger had decided to throw a party in the lane for some of her old friends.

  Badger stretched to hang some more red and white polka-dotted bunting on the washing line of his garden, except that he couldn’t see the rope for the fog.

  This is the foggiest fog I’ve ever seen. I hope everyone will be able to get here without any problems, he thought to himself.

  Just then, he heard a kerfuffle at the bottom of the garden.

  “Oh Badger, can’t you do anything to get rid of this fog?” shouted Pickle, tumbling through the crack in the fence. “Where are you anyway?”

  “Over here!” yelled Badger, as he watched his fed-up friend clamber towards him.

  “It’s terrific that you’re organising this party Badger, but it just won’t be the same without Pogo Paws,” grumbled Pickle.

  “I know, Pickle, but it will still be amazing to see Top Dog, Dodgy Dave, Snif and Lennie again.”

  “I suppose so.” She sighed and looked at the Mystical Mutt with a puzzled expression. “Is that your new look, Badger?”

  “What do you mean, Pickle?”

  “Where’s your neckerchief?” She pointed.

  Badger’s paws sped to his neck in horror. His neck was completely bare. It was true! His beloved ’Chief wasn’t there. His eyes darted around in a panic.

  “I don’t know! I had it on as usual this morning. I never took it off, and I never noticed it unravelling. Maybe it came off when I was collecting the bunting.”

  Badger and Pickle bumbled about in the dense mist searching the garden for the lost neckerchief.

  “Maybe it’s just gone to get spruced up for the party,” said Badger hopefully. “Although ’Chief usually tells me when it disappears for a wash.” He frowned.

  “Uh oh! This is serious, Badger,” grimaced Pickle “How can you do your magic without ’Chief?”

  Badger gulped. “I know, Pickle, this is possibly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We have to find it before the others start to arrive.”

  He fell silent. Pickle shifted uneasily from paw to paw.

  “Right,” said Badger, “I’ll do my Search and Find spell, and hope that works. He took a deep breath and uttered the magic words: Jeepers creepers, finders keepers, let ’Chief appear before my peepers!”

  He stood back and crossed his paws … but nothing happened.

  “We can’t see anything in this fog, Badger, with or without your dodgy spells,” moaned Pickle.

  “Well, do you have a better idea?” fretted Badger.

  “I know you’re upset, but we’ll find it,” said Pickle, “Why don’t you keep checking your garden, and I’ll go and have a sniff up the lane?”

  Badger nodded sadly and waved Pickle away.

  As Pickle crept through the creeping fog in search of ’Chief, Badger fumbled in the gloom, muttering his Finders Keepers spell over and over again, and talking to himself. “This is a nightmare! Without ’Chief, my badgical magicalness will never be as badgical magical. What am I going to do?”

  Just then, a very glum Pickle returned.

  “I tried, Badger. I really tried. I’ve sniffed the length and breadth of the lane, but I can’t find any trace of ’Chief.”

  Badger sighed heavily.

  “That’s me scuppered, Pickle. Now it’s definitely Losers Weepers,” whimpered the Mystical Mutt.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know!” howled Badger.

  “What will help you on your magical missions?”

  “I don’t know!” he bawled.

  “What will help you fly, protect you, and make you look like the dandiest dog on the lane?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” shouted Badger, hanging his head.

  “Right, Badger, pull yourself together! This is just a blip, and not helped by the fact that we can’t see a thing in this fog,” said Pickle, taking charge. “There’s a big party happening tonight, with nearly all of our friends. Surely, there must be someone who can help?”

  “There isn’t!” moaned Badger wearily, sitting down on the damp grass. Suddenly, he sprang upwards and yelled: “Oh — yes — there — is!”

  His eyebrows twitched and his eyes brightened as he remembered his old friend.

  “Otto!” he hollered.

  “Who on earth is Otto?” asked Pickle.

  “Otto is my back-up and my substitute for when ’Chief goes for his yearly wash. He’s a flying fez!”

  “A flying what?” she gasped.

  “A flying fez, with a tickly tassle. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere, if I can just remember the spell. Now let me think …”

  Sparkles of light appeared around Badger as he rummaged gleefully in his plant plot. He patted his head.

  “Bring me sunshine, just like that,

  With a little bit of this, and a little bit of that,

  With a ring-a-ding-ding and a rat-a-tat-tat,

  Now show me Otto: the bright red hat!”

  Badger stood back and waited. His plant pot began to tremble and rumble noisily. Starbursts of light erupted from the pot and sped into the sky, twinkling brightly in the fog.

  All at once, something burst from the depths of the pot and knocked Badger off balance. It swooshed and whizzed around the garden, giggling wildly. Badger and Pickle ducked and dived below the perky U(nidentified) F(lying) O(bject).

  “Is that thing Otto?” shrieked Pickle, as she fell to the ground to avoid the low-flying fez.

  “I sincerely hope so!” shouted Badger, joining her on the grass.

  Badger wondered if he’d got the spell right, or if he’d conjured up a troublesome sprite instead. On top of everything else, that was all he needed!

  “Hah, gotcha!” squealed a voice as something landed on top of Badger’s head. “It’s about time you called upon my services. But you’ll have to catch me first!”

  Otto the Fez swirled around Badger, tickling him with his black feathery tassle, until he fell onto the grass laughing. Pickle looked on, speechless.

  “Who’s your friend then?” asked Otto cheekily.

  “This, my dear Otto, is Pickle. She’s been helping me try to find ‘Chief.”

  “Pickle? Tickle Pickle. Pickly Tickly,” said Otto, zooming towards her.

  “Uh oh!” s
aid Pickle, running into the shed for shelter.

  “Come here at once!” ordered Badger.

  The fez fluttered around the Mystical Mutt’s head and declared: “Make me …”

  “Now, Otto, come on, I really need you to help me. It’s Old Year’s Night; a really special time when we say goodbye to the old and welcome in the new. And my neckerchief is missing. So can you just try to behave, please?”

  “But I hardly ever get out to play nowadays. I haven’t flown for ages. You only ever call on me when you want something,” huffed Otto.

  “Otto,” said Badger calmly, “we’ve talked about this before. You know fine well that you are ’Chief’s stand-in. Of course, I only call you when I want something. That’s the whole point. Now, stop feeling so sorry for yourself. There will be plenty of time for flying later.”

  The fez hovered silently in the mist for a moment, then shot sharply upwards. He swooped down, barrel-rolled between the bunting, looped around the washing line and landed with a cheeky flick of his tassle at Badger’s feet.

  Badger rolled his eyes.

  “Why can’t I fly now?” asked Otto petulantly.

  “It looks like you just have. Surely you can see how low the visibility is. It’s dangerous. This has to be a no-fly zone until the fog clears. I’m only thinking of your safety after all,” said Badger sensibly. “Now, come here and pay attention for once in your life, I need some help while ’Chief is absent.”

  The little fez glided on to Badger’s head reluctantly.

  “’Chief muttered something about going off on a top-secret mission, and that you’d probably need my help,” said Otto. “But nobody said I had to behave.”

  “’Chief told you?” shouted Badger in disbelief.

  “Of course! We magical mascots must stick together, after all,” replied Otto haughtily.

  “Even so, I’m surprised. ’Chief didn’t mention it to me,” said Badger, rubbing his neck.

  “Oh, Badger,” sighed Otto pompously, “there are some secrets that even you, the Mystical Mutt, simply cannot be trusted with.”

  Badger frowned. “Did ’Chief say when he’s coming back?”

  “Might have,” said Otto

  “So, when then?” asked Badger with increasing impatience.

  “Not telling!” Otto giggled, shaking his tassle.

  “Is that your final answer?” said Badger wearily.

  “Absolutely! Yes!”

  “So, I’m stuck with you?”

  “It looks like it,” sniggered Otto, tickling Badger’s ears, “Now, let’s have some fun.”

  “Tame that tickling tassle for tonight, please,” begged Badger, wandering off to the bottom of his garden where he sniffed a freshly delivered p-mail.

  “Excellent!” he said. “It’s a note from my cousin, the Earl of Doodlepoppington. He’s on his way. I hope he brings us a hamper of luxury goodies.”

  There was an almighty crash from the lane. Badger peered through the crack in the fence to see two shapes rumbling around with bin lids.

  “You’ve arrived then?” smiled Badger.

  Hamish and Top Dog stood up and shook themselves.

  “I’m sure my ears are getting longer,” said Hamish. “I couldn’t see where I was going in this fog. Where’s your neckerchief, Badger? Is it being washed?”

  “Hello, my old friend. We’ve brought a feast of Crunchy Munchy Chewy Chops for the party, and most importantly, a higgledypiggledy tower of toast, especially for you. You don’t look quite yourself without that red spotty thing. Where is it?” added Top Dog.

  “I’m afraid ’Chief has disappeared,” said Badger, hugging them both warmly.

  Top Dog and Hamish looked at each other in astonishment. They couldn’t believe that the famous neckerchief was not where it should be; knotted around Badger’s neck. Badger sighed sadly.

  “I don’t really know how I’m going to cope without ’Chief. But we have a party to organise, so I have to rely on Otto for just now.”

  “Who’s Otto?” asked Top Dog.

  Badger grinned nervously and pointed to the top of his head.

  Top Dog and Hamish peered warily at the little red hat.

  “Now,” winked Badger, feeling his tummy rumble, “if you’ll please excuse me for a moment, I have some urgent toast business to attend to.” And he ran off to the shed to stash his toast.

  Inside his shed, Badger spoke to Pickle, who was still in hiding from the pesky fez. “Your old pal Top Dog has arrived with Hamish. You need to go and mingle, and I need to pack away this toast.”

  Pickle joined the others and immediately spotted the Crunchy Munchy Chewy Chops.

  Top Dog gave her a high paw and said, “Hello, Pickle. Are you still causing your usual chaos in the lane?”

  “Well, I do try, since I’m the only true remaining member of the old gang. You know Pogo Paws left to join the circus, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I heard, but now you’ve got Badger as a pal.”

  “Maybe, but it’s not the same,” she sighed, edging closer to the bag of Crunchy Munchy Chewy Chops.

  “Pickle, no! They’re for the party. You have to wait till later,” chided Hamish, pushing her paw away as she tried to snaffle them.

  Just then, all heads pointed up the lane as they heard a distant tap and shuffle, and voices drawing closer. A ‘cha cha cha’ sound swished through the fog, and a spotlight appeared, as a glitter ball hovered in the air.

  Badger emerged from his shed.

  “That can only be Dodgy Dave and Cheryl, home at last, from their sell-out dancing tour of Blackpool,” chuckled Badger.

  Top Dog, Hamish, Pickle and Badger watched as a vision of glamour emerged through the mist. Dodgy Dave and Cheryl danced towards them with disco lights flashing behind them.

  Cheryl swirled and curtsied and Dodgy Dave uttered a gruff “hello”.

  “We have lights, do you have the camera? And is this where the action is?” sparkled Cheryl.

  As they all huddled around hugging and high-pawing, Cheryl piped up: “Shine the spotlight over here, Dodgy Dave. I have to show everyone my boasting book.”

  “Your boasting book?” asked Pickle.

  “Yes, it’s just a small selection of newspaper clippings of us on tour. Obviously they focus mainly on me and my gorgeous ball gowns, but Dodgy Dave does get a mention as well.”

  Pickle groaned, Top Dog grinned and Badger beamed with pride.

  “Awesome!” smiled Hamish.

  Meanwhile, Otto had sneaked off Badger’s head and flown towards the shed.

  “I think this calls for some toast,” said Badger kindly.

  The Mystical Mutt disappeared into his shed, and returned moments later with a tower of higgledy-piggledy toast.

  They chomped away hungrily, and quickly wolfed it down. One by one, noses twitched, whiskers wobbled and eyes watered, as the gang let out almighty sneezes and splutters.

  “Yuk!” they yelled.

  “That tastes awful!” cringed Pickle.

  “It’s certainly not your usual delicious slice,” said Top Dog, scrunching his eyes.

  “Your toast isn’t the same. Your neckerchief isn’t here. What’s been happening whilst we’ve been away, Badger?” frowned Dodgy Dave. Badger shook his head and sneezed again.

  “It’s pepper!” he shouted. “My toast has been tampered with. Who would do such a thing?”

  Badger looked towards the shed, where Otto was sniggering at the window.

  “That wretched fez!” barked Badger. “I told him to behave! It’s one thing to go around tickling, but no one messes with my toast!”

  “I thought that thing was just Badger’s party hat!” grunted Dodgy Dave, “but it looks like the same old waggery is still going on in the lane.

  “But that hat doesn’t even have a tail,” laughed Top Dog.

  “I’d quite like to try a tassle for a tail!” said Hamish.

  Dodgy Dave and Top Dog shook their heads in bewilderment.

>   Whilst Badger went to sort Otto out, Pickle rubbed her eyes, pointed at Top Dog and Dodgy Dave and said: “That’s how we used to be, getting up to high jinks and causing mischief. Look what’s happened to you both: Dodgy Dave, you’re the king of dance, and Top Dog, you’re a pet! Don’t you miss the old days? This is supposed to be a reunion, but it’s not really, is it? You’re different dogs.”

  Top Dog nodded wisely, as Dodgy Dave adjusted his star-spangled collar and shrugged.

  “We are different dogs, Pickle, but for the better,” said Top Dog. “Look at me now. I’ve got a home. I’ve got Big Folk to look after me, and a best pal in Hamish. I’m too tired to chase nonsense these days.”

  “You mean you’re lazy!” scoffed Pickle.

  Top Dog shrugged.

  “Well, you can’t say I’m lazy,” snorted Dodgy Dave. “I work harder now than I ever did when I was on the street: touring every day, and dancing every night.”

  “I just wish the old gang could be truly back together as we were originally … and that includes Pogo Paws,” sighed Pickle.

  As Badger returned with Otto, flashing lights pierced the fog in the lane. Then, they heard lots of huffing and puffing, clanking and clunking, followed immediately by an enormous crash, bang and wallop! They rushed to the end of the garden and looked out.

  There was Badger’s famous travelling machine, the Wim-Wim for a Wowser, wedged firmly between the fences.

  “Oh no!” groaned Badger. “My garden solar lights can’t be seen in this weather. The disco lights in the lane must look like a landing strip.”

  One by one they leapt through the crack in the fence to see the damage that had been done. But as smoke billowed out from below the Wim-Wim and steam hissed out from its sides, Badger knew it didn’t look good. Apart from his poor injured Wim-Wim, if the lane was blocked, the party could not go ahead.

  “Could this day get any worse?” he sighed as the Wim-Wim coughed out a splutter.

  “Dodgy Dave, shine those spotlights over here!” shouted Badger, nodding to where the Wim-Wim was stuck in the lane.