Badger the Mystical Mutt and the Crumpled Capers Read online

  THE LUNICORN PRESS

  THE LUNICORN PRESS

  Glasgow

  Text © Lyn McNicol and Laura Cameron Jackson 2012

  Illustrations © Laura Cameron Jackson 2012

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of Lyn McNicol and Laura Cameron Jackson to be identified as author and illustrator of this work has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of The Lunicorn Press.

  First published 2012 by The Lunicorn Press

  1

  Printed by Martins the Printers, Berwick-upon-Tweed

  Designed and typeset by Heather Macpherson at

  Raspberry Creative Type

  Set in 14.25 pt Gentium Book

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-9569640-2-1

  eISBN: 978-0-9569640-8-3

  www.badgerthemysticalmutt.com

  www.facebook.com/badgermutt

  www.twitter.com/badgermutt

  For the grandmothers: Olive, Hilda, Sally and Kitty

  And for Timmy, the actual cat with the crumpled ear,

  and for Snif, the real street dog who was a

  pussycat at heart.

  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

  A round of “up-paws” for Badger the Mystical Mutt

  “Set to be the Top Dog of children’s books … a magical debut of a book.”

  Social Literary

  “Kids’ book takes world by storm.”

  The Scottish Sun

  “A moving and joyful story which warmed the heart of this cynical old journalist.”

  That’s Books

  “First-time winner.”

  The Evening Times

  “A toast-loving, magical hound, who has been winning fans in book shops, libraries and schools across Scotland.”

  The List

  “A charming and very funny children’s story.”

  Diana Cooper

  “McNicol & Jackson have created a charming new book character; a toast-crunching hound named Badger.”

  Aye Write, Glasgow’s Book Festival

  “A truly magical story which has all the hallmarks of a future children’s classic!”

  Ursula James

  “A magical 21st-century narrative which will delight and inspire folk of all ages.”

  Alex Lewczuk, Southside Broadcasting

  “The toast-crunching, spell-muffing Badger the Mystical Mutt is a delightful, madcap, magical character, who worms his way into your affections.”

  Maggie Woods, MotorBar

  “This book had me laughing out loud many times. The writing of McNicol and Jackson is brilliant, inspirational, charming and just plain fun.”

  BFK Books

  “This story was another hit. My son absolutely adores Badger the main character, but I think it’s the plot which always leaves him wanting more. It is definitely a page-turner for young children.”

  Missing Sleep

  “There are some underlying morality themes that should allow vigorous class discussions.”

  Lomax Allwood, The School Librarian

  “Badger the Mystical Mutt is the coolest doggie around and, in his brilliant stories, he helps young kids understand their world and believe in themselves and their ambitions.”

  Vegetarian Living Magazine

  Also by McNicol and Jackson

  Badger the Mystical Mutt

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the Barking Boogie

  It was almost 300 fathoms of winter, and everything in Badger the Mystical Mutt’s garden was a little bit crumpled.

  The frozen leaves crumpled and scrunched under Badger’s paws. His famous time-travelling contraption — the Wim-Wim for a Wowser to wind up the weather on a wet day — had a crumpled crank shaft. And Badger’s pal, Timmy (the cat with the crumpled ear) was in a spot of bother.

  Timmy was keen to join the local gang of misfit mutts which was now led by Snif, a street dog with a fearsome reputation. But no cat had ever been allowed to join the notorious all-dog gang … and Timmy wasn’t just any cat.

  He was a cat with an unusually crumpled ear. He was also a cat who was famous for all the wrong reasons. For Timmy could clear the lane instantly with his enormous snot-covering sneezes.

  Badger had tried and failed to persuade him that joining Snif’s gang was “Not a Good Idea”, but Timmy would not listen.

  So, Badger had to get his Wim-Wim working again. Then he could take Timmy to the Crystal Cave and find a way to get him into the gang. He looked fondly at the Wim-Wim’s tilting feet and wilting brolly.

  Badger munched on some toast, scratched his head and pulled his red-spotted neckerchief closer around his neck. The freezing temperature was nipping at his nose and, with every munch, he could see his breath in the air. It was so cold that even the duck pond had completely frozen over, and all the ducks had scarpered to somewhere cosier. He peered at the Wim-Wim’s fuel tank, and wondered if its fuel had frozen too.

  He joogled the contraption from side to side and heard a sloshing sound.

  “Hmmm” he thought “At least all of the fuel hasn’t turned to ice, but it still doesn’t sound like there’s much in there.”

  The Wim-Wim ran on Haboba Juice, a very strange brew indeed. Badger reached into the shed and pulled out a can. He looked at the label to check if any of the ingredients were likely to freeze. He read out the list, item by item, and pondered.

  “Chilli peppers? They’re not chilly, they’re hot, so they should be okay.” He took another bite of toast.

  “Carrot mush? Well, that does have some water in it, but still …” He scratched his chin.

  “Syrup of figs? Now that should keep the Wim-Wim running, and is surely far too gooey to freeze?

  “And last but by no means least, the burp of a big-footed Yeti. That’s a tricky one.” Badger swallowed his last morsel of toast and burped. “Oops, pardon me,” he chuckled.

  He filled up the Wim-Wim’s fuel tank, shoogled it a bit more and waited. But nothing happened. It didn’t clatter. It didn’t clang. It didn’t pant or putter. Instead, the rotor blades on top wilted a little bit more.

  Badger frowned

  “Okay, I’m worried now. It isn’t like the Wim-Wim at all. This calls for one of my Badgical-Magical spells.”

  He rubbed his paws together then rummaged in his favourite plant pot for the perfect potion. He pulled out some nuts and bolts, tools and soap, and a pile of pongy old cloths, then set them out alongside the tin can of Haboba Juice and closed his eyes.

  Sparkles of light appeared around him as he uttered the magic words.

  “Monkey wrench and soapy cloths,

  Spanners and sparkles, and juice that froths.

  Make the Wim-Wim stop its tilting,

  and save its rotor blades from wilting.”

  Badger opened his eyes and stood back feeling very pleased with himself.

  The Wim-Wim spluttered and stuttered, and glowed faintly. Badger held his breath and hoped.

  But then, the Wim-Wim faded into
silence again.

  “Once more,” he sighed. “And this time, with Badgical-Magical gusto.”

  “Monkey wrench and soapy cloths,

  Spanners and sparkles, and juice that froths.”

  Badger shook his paws and shimmied his bottom. He scrunched his eyes shut.

  “Make the Wim-Wim stop its tilting …”

  He whispered the last line with a determined spirit.

  “…and save its rotor blades from wilting.”

  Badger opened one eye and saw the Wim-Wim’s weather vane whirr weakly.

  “Come on!” he urged. “Please get better.”

  The bottom of the Wim-Wim chugged and chuttered, and its rotor bearings rattled with the vibration.

  Badger hopped from paw to paw, swishing his tail.

  “I’ve done it, I’ve done it, I’ve done it! My spell worked. Wooftastic! Wait till I tell Timmy.”

  As Badger was busy dancing around his garden in delight, the Wim-Wim dwindled, the whirring weakened, the rotor bearings rattled no more, and the weather vane wobbled to a stop.

  “Oh no, without my trusty Wim-Wim, I can’t help Timmy.”

  Badger put his head in his paws.

  Meanwhile, at the far end of the lane, Timmy, the snotty-nosed cat with the crumpled ear, was facing his own challenge.

  The gang had Timmy pinned up against the fence. Pogo Paws held Timmy’s left paw while Pickle gripped his right. Lennie held Timmy’s legs tight. Snif stood in front of him smugly.

  “So, you think you — a cat — can join our gang of dogs? Why would a sneezy cat with a crumpled ear want to do that?” sneered Snif.

  Timmy puffed out his chest. “Because I’m every bit as good as you, and I don’t see why not.”

  He tried to wriggle free. Pogo Paws and Pickle held on tighter, but Lennie, who was busy daydreaming, lost his grasp.

  “Oh no! I’m in charge of legs. Don’t move!” shouted Lennie nervously.

  “Get a grip, Lennie,” snarled Snif.

  “I don’t know why I’ve been given two legs, when Pogo Paws and Pickle have only got one paw each,” he moaned.

  “Zip it, Lennie!” sighed Snif.

  “So, Timmy,” continued the gang leader, “isn’t there a mob of manky moggies like yourself that you could be hanging around with?”

  “They probably won’t let him in with that crumpled ear,” barked Pogo Paws.

  “He’s not exactly pretty, is he?” scoffed Pickle.

  “I don’t think he looks too bad,” said Lennie.

  “Zip it, Lennie!” shouted the gang altogether.

  Lennie’s shoulders hunched and he held on tightly to Timmy’s legs.

  “Now, if you really want to join, we need to see if you’re up to being a member of our gang, so you need to pass our test,” said Snif.

  “Okay,” said Timmy eagerly. “What do I need to do?”

  “Can I let go yet? My paws are sore,” asked Lennie.

  Snif ignored Lennie and turned away from Timmy and the gang. He thought for a moment, then spun round.

  “Got it! Right, we’d like to do some trampolining. So your mission, should you wish to accept it, is to find us a tyre … a big tyre … a really big tyre … and bring it back to us here, before dark.”

  “How on earth can I carry a great big tyre?” asked Timmy.

  “Find a way!” snarled Snif.

  Timmy struggled to get free from the vice-like grip of Pogo Paws, Pickle and a slightly slumped Lennie. Suddenly, he felt a tickling in his nose.

  “Uh oh,” he winced. “I can feel a sneeze coming. Aaah, aah, aah …”

  Pogo Paws and Pickle looked up in horror. Lennie put his paws over his head.

  “Aaaah, aaah, aaah …”

  Snif ducked.

  “Aaaaah, aaaah, aaaah …”

  The gang waited for the final explosion.

  “Choooooooooooooooooooo ooooooo!”

  “Yuk!” yelled the snot-covered gang, as they ran away in disgust.

  Timmy slid down the fence, shook himself and headed for Badger the Mystical Mutt’s garden.

  “Badger!” shouted Timmy excitedly. “I can do it. I can join the gang.”

  “Wow” said Badger. “How did you manage that? I’ve been worrying about getting the Wim-Wim to work, so that I could take you to the Crystal Cave, and we could work out a plan. And now, it’s all sorted. Toastastic!”

  “Ah!” said Timmy. “There’s just one tiny thing I have to do, and then I can join.”

  “Oh?” said Badger, raising his eyebrow. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

  “It’s easy-peasy lemon squeezy,” said Timmy. “I’ve just got to find a really big tyre, and carry it back to them.”

  “Hmmm,” said Badger frowning. “The last time I checked, tyre-carrying wasn’t in my Book of Normal Cat Activities. How exactly will you transport it with your small paws and sharp claws?”

  “Erm … I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said Timmy, stroking his whiskers.

  “That task is impossible for a cat. Snif’s being cruel. It looks like we definitely need the Wim-Wim,” said Badger. “But I don’t really understand why you want to join a gang like that anyway.”

  “What’s wrong with the Wim-Wim?” asked Timmy, ignoring Badger’s question. “Maybe I can take a look?”

  “Please do,” said Badger hopefully.

  Timmy walked around the Wim-Wim and examined it carefully.

  “I’m just going to tickle its reverse check plunger and see if its orbital gears are greasy enough,” said Timmy seriously.

  “I never knew you were skilled in mechanics, Timmy.”

  “I’m not. But I do have six and a half senses, Badger. I am a cat after all.”

  Timmy tapped his paw and poked his claw into the body of the Wim-Wim. Suddenly, its rotor blades started to whirr and its weather vane whirled.

  Badger smiled expectantly.

  Then everything flopped again.

  “When did the Wim-Wim have its last service, Badger?” asked Timmy.

  “Um … er … never. The Wim-Wim has always worked,” replied Badger.

  “Well then, it’s as I thought,” said Timmy knowingly. “The freezing temperature has affected its orbital gears. The Wim-Wim needs a full service with a proper Wim-Wim mechanic. It’s time for its Magical Orbital Transplant.”

  “It’s MOT? But that’s not due until Jupiter eclipses Pluto.”

  “It’s not that simple,” said Timmy. “It needs to be done now. Really, Badger, if you don’t get it sorted, you may have to scrap the Wim-Wim.”

  Badger gasped. The thought of losing his Wim-Wim filled him with sadness and fear. Without it, he couldn’t visit the Enchanted Forest and the Crystal Cave, and couldn’t be as Badgical Magical as he wanted to be.

  He rubbed his neckerchief in anguish. Suddenly, sparkles of light appeared around him, as his neckerchief unfurled from his neck and pointed upwards in the shape of a giant capital “C”.

  “Captain Bravebark!” shouted Badger in glee. “Of course, I forgot. Thank you, ’Chief.”

  Timmy looked at the neckerchief floating in midair and asked, “Who on earth is Captain Bravebark? How do you know him? How can he help us? And where is he?”

  “Captain Bravebark lives in the Ring of Brodgar. A very Badgical-Magical place, Timmy. He also happens to be one of my relatives and a very clever one too. He’s qualified in MOTs, and has the only other time-travelling machine in the universe which stops off at the Crystal Cave.”

  “Wow!” said Timmy. “I’ve heard about the Crystal Cave.”

  Badger continued: “I haven’t seen him for many a dog year, but he always helps me when I need him and, right now, I need to send him a p-mail about using the Tangerine Piano as soon as possible.”

  “A tangerine what?” asked Timmy, more than a little impressed.

  “Piano,” said Badger casually, “with an ivory staircase.”

  “Blimey!” said Timmy, starti
ng to sniffle and snuffle.

  “Uh oh! I’m off before you start sneezing again,” said Badger, as he disappeared through the crack in the fence, to send the all important p-mail to Captain Bravebark.

  Still sniffing, Timmy followed him into the lane and bumped immediately into the gang. At the same time, he sneezed, showering the gang once again with snot.

  “Yuk! That’s disgusting! We need a snot shield with you around,” snarled Pickle, wiping herself down.

  “Not found your tyre yet?” taunted Snif.

  “Hope it doesn’t tire you out looking for the tyre, Timmy,” jeered Pogo Paws.

  Timmy wiped his nose, shrugged and slunk away. His six and a half senses started to twitch and his whiskers prickled. He trotted up a hill and into a nearby field, where he spotted one of the Big Folk in winter wellies changing a huge tractor tyre.

  “Aha!” thought Timmy. “Now’s my chance.”

  Timmy tiptoed up to the tractor and hid behind the toolbox.

  He peeked over the top of the tools and watched.

  The farmer lifted the old tyre from the wheel and leaned it against the tractor. Timmy stole closer, crept under the engine and waited. When he saw the Big Folk wellies walk away, he leapt inside the discarded tyre.

  But the tyre wobbled and Timmy felt it move. Everything started to look a bit topsy-turvy.

  “Oi!” shouted the Big Folk Farmer, as the wheel rolled down the hill, with Timmy clinging on with all his might.

  “Whoa!” yelled Timmy. “This is making me dizzy.”

  The tyre raced towards the duck pond, clipped a tree trunk, juddered and changed direction, heading for the bins at the top of the lane.

  “Crikey!” he shouted, as the tyre bounced off the bins sending the lids clattering and rolling alongside him.

  The wheel gathered more and more speed as Timmy revolved towards the lane where the gang were having their afternoon nap.

  Pickle was the first to awaken with the rumble. She looked up and saw the tyre hurtling towards them. She pulled Pogo Paws quickly out of the way. Lennie awoke with a start and grabbed onto Pogo Paws’ disappearing tail.