Badger the Mystical Mutt Read online

  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

  THE LUNICORN PRESS

  Glasgow

  Text © 2011 Lyn McNicol and Laura Cameron Jackson

  Illustrations © 2011 Laura Cameron Jackson

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of Lyn McNicol and Laura Cameron Jackson to be identified as authors and illustrator of this work has been asserted. 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 2011 by The Lunicorn Press

  Reprinted January 2012 and May 2012

  3

  Printed by Martins the Printers, Berwick-upon-Tweed

  Designed and typeset by Taras Young

  Set in 14.25pt Gentium Book

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

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

  ISBN 978-0-9569640-0-7

  eISBN 978-0-9569640-3-8

  www.badgerthemysticalmutt.com

  www.facebook.com/badgermutt

  www.twitter.com/badgermutt

  For Rosemary Boiteux

  ALSO BY MCNICOL AND JACKSON

  Badger the Mystical Mutt and the Barking Boogie

  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

  It was a quarter past midsummer. In a garden, next to a lane, Badger the Mystical Mutt was feeling rather pleased with himself.

  At last, he had gathered all the ingredients for his fabulous new spell to conjure up his favourite treat — a higgledy-piggledy tower of toast.

  “This is great,” he thought smugly.

  Sparkles of light appeared around his tail. Badger bounced around in a circle and shimmied his bottom.

  “Buttercups and sun scorched grass,

  Do for me this easy task.

  Take this bread and make it roast.

  Turn it into buttered toast,” whispered Badger and closed his eyes.

  He waited. All was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Then, Boom! Crack! Bang!

  “Oops!” said Badger, feeling his eyebrows smoulder. He opened one eye nervously to see a pile of burnt crumbs in front of him.

  “Not quite as I’d planned. I need to practise that one. Time for a lie down.”

  Badger fell quickly into a deep sleep and dreamt of hot toast dripping with butter.

  Suddenly, a breeze lifted a scrunched up ball of paper and dropped it squarely on Badger’s nose. He jumped from his slumber and shook his head. A tattered old newspaper lay on the grass beside him.

  Badger sighed and smoothed out the newspaper with his large paws. The Big Folk would get the news a lot faster if they used pee-mail, he thought. A lift of the leg on a lamppost and the neighbourhood knew everything, smiled Badger to himself.

  He peered at the pages.

  That’s Hamish, he thought, as he spied a large picture of a floppy-eared spaniel with the headline: ‘Local mutt favourite to win Pet Idol contest’. And there’s Top Dog and his gang, he frowned, spotting a large ‘Wanted’ poster on the opposite page.

  Top Dog would not be happy. He and his gang had been fleeing the Dog Catcher for a long time. I smell trouble ahead, thought Badger.

  Meanwhile, in the lane at the bottom of the garden, all was not well. Hamish was running for his life. Hot on his heels was Top Dog, leader of the lane and all-round bruiser. Hurtling along behind him was his ferocious gang of five: Pogo Paws, Pickle, Dodgy Dave, Snif and Lennie.

  Hamish raced like he never had before. He passed ladders and old paint tins, dodged bicycle bits, brushes and shovels and ploughed through messy piles of freshly mown grass.

  He could hear the gang getting closer and closer. His heart pounded and his chest heaved. He had to do something to slow them down.

  Up ahead, he spotted a crate of rotting fruit. That might stop them in their tracks, he thought.

  He sprinted faster towards the crate and threw his whole weight against it. It tilted and toppled behind him. Squidgy oranges, apples and bananas littered the lane. Hamish drew breath. The gang fell flat on their backs and thrashed angrily on the ground.

  “Pooperscoopersmellysnooper,” yelled Top Dog pointing at the Wanted poster on the lamp post. “Thanks to you and your Pet Idol rubbish, the Dog Catcher is on the prowl. The competition is coming to town, so he wants to round up all the strays.”

  “We’ll make sure you never win Pet Idol,” snarled Snif.

  “Fancy Pants thinks he’s a Smarty Pants now,” growled Dodgy Dave.

  “Get him!” they screamed, scrambling to their paws.

  Uh oh, thought Hamish. Here we go again.

  He took off at speed, heading this time for a pile of silver bins at the far end of the lane.

  There’s nothing else for it, he winced, but a full-on collision.

  Hamish dived at the bins, sending them flying. As they clattered and clanged, bumped and banged, the gang scattered.

  All was quiet.

  Hamish found himself flat on the floor under a big, black lid.

  I feel like a turtle, he thought to himself.

  Hamish picked himself up and crawled tentatively onwards with his bin-lid shell.

  This is an amazing disguise, he thought, but it’s a bit dark. He tripped and came face to face with a big wooden fence.

  Top Dog and his gang were nowhere to be seen.

  “Phew!” Hamish breathed a sigh of relief as, looking round, he spotted a gaping crack in the fence. He shook off the bin lid and put it down carefully.

  Now that, thought Hamish, feeling pleased with himself, could be a useful hiding place for any more scuffles with Top Dog and his gang.

  He peered through the crack and spied a big black lump of snoring fur.

  Is that Badger the Mystical Mutt? wondered Hamish.

  He narrowed his eyes and caught sight of Badger’s famous red-spotted neckerchief.

  It was him! Some said you could see sparkles of light around him and that he was quite, quite magical. And others said he saw things differently.

  Badger scratched his head with his paw, his nose twitched and he sniffed the
air around him. Then he trotted to the garden fence, jumped on to his hind legs and peered into next door’s garden, staring hard at whatever was on the other side of the fence.

  His ears pointed forward and sparkles of light appeared around his big rubbery nose. Just then a freshly baked smell wafted towards Hamish and he saw a pile of toast float over the fence.

  “I’m still working on that landing,” said Badger to the toast, as it nose-dived sharply to the ground.

  “Fetch!” said Badger to no one in particular.

  Suddenly, Badger’s neckerchief unravelled and shot across the garden, scooped up the toast and dropped it into Badger’s bowl.

  “Nice one, ’Chief,” said Badger.

  The neckerchief swirled around, opened out, covered the top of Badger’s head in a pretty headscarf and tied itself in a knot under his chin.

  “Not quite as I’d planned,” said Badger, “but thanks for the toast.”

  “Supersnackaroony!” shouted an excited Hamish, giggling. “Now I know why the others call you magical.”

  Badger looked around sharply, startled by the voice behind the crack in the fence, and more than a little embarrassed.

  Just then, Hamish heard the sound of heavy paws beating their way towards him. Top Dog and his gang were back on his tail.

  Hamish stumbled quickly through the fence, tripped and landed at Badger’s feet with a thump.

  Badger lifted his head and sighed.

  Hamish shifted from paw to paw.

  “What’s the matter, Hamish?” asked Badger, noticing that Hamish’s long floppy ears were tied together in a knot on top of his head. “What happened to your ears?”

  Hamish looked up, trying to see his rearranged ears.

  “Oh, that? It’s nothing really. I just have to walk past them and they …”

  Badger interrupted. “Let me guess! Top Dog and his gang?”

  Hamish nodded woefully.

  “I don’t know what I’ve done. I just mind my own business and they still pick on me. They keep calling me Fancy Pants and shouted something about Pet Idol.”

  “Ah yes,” said Badger. “I picked up the pee-mail about that and saw it in the Big Folk’s newspaper. You’re favourite to win, Hamish.”

  “But I don’t know anything about it,” said Hamish wearily.

  “The Dog Catcher has put an advertisement in the paper and posters on the lamp posts about Top Dog and his gang,” sighed Badger.

  “What’s that got to do with Pet Idol?”

  “Because you’ve been nominated in the contest, the lane is in the spotlight.”

  “But why is that my fault?” asked Hamish, a bit baffled.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t I show you some tricks to make you smile so you can forget about Pet Idol for a while?” said Badger. “Watch this.”

  “Okay,” sighed Hamish. “Is this why they call you Badger the Mystical Mutt?”

  “Well Hamish, Badger the Mystical Mutt was a name given to me by my ancestors. I have travelled the world for centuries, and now I have ended up in this garden with these Big Folk to carry on using magical powers for good.”

  “Er ... right!” said Hamish.

  “See this tail?”

  Hamish examined his long-haired, sleek, swishing tail.

  “This isn’t just any tail. It’s a Badgical Magical tail. Have you seen those gigantic flying machines in the sky, carrying the Big Folk from one country to another?”

  “Erm … well… they’re very noisy. They’re not birds, are they?”

  “No, they’re not birds. The Big Folk made them; modelled on my invention, of course. Watch and learn.”

  Badger straightened his legs and wagged his bottom until his tail began to whirr. Within seconds, Badger lifted off from the ground and hovered in the air above Hamish.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Hamish, as Badger circled him mischievously.

  “If I add my famous doggie sky-paddle, I can move forwards and steer in any direction.”

  Badger’s big paws climbed the air in front of him and he rose higher and higher until he was level with his Big Folk’s roof.

  “Awesome!” squealed Hamish who, by now, was chasing his own tail in excitement.

  “But how do you get down?”

  “I haven’t quite mastered that particular manoeuvre yet,” shouted Badger, as his tail stopped whirring, his paws stopped climbing and he plummeted swiftly to the grass with a thud.

  “It’s still awesome,” said Hamish in complete admiration.

  Badger jumped to his feet, shaking himself vigorously. “So, let me see…”

  “You mean … there’s more?” asked Hamish, who had now forgotten his earlier trauma with Top Dog and was more than a little impressed.

  “Of course. See this nose?”

  Badger’s big brown eyes went cross-eyed as he focused fondly on his snout. Hamish looked on intently and nodded.

  “This nose is not just any nose. It’s a Badgical Magical nose. Not only can it detect browning bread in toasters next door, but also aromas the length and breadth of the country … and beyond. From a toasted baguette in the French Riviera to a freshly heated poppadom in the Far East; from a large Lancashire loaf to a buttered bagel in New York City. I can sniff them all!”

  “Goodness!” said Hamish.

  Badger, enjoying the attention, continued:

  “Once a famous spy asked for help with a special sniffing mission. Now, even the secret service has adopted these methods to catch out the baddies.”

  “Goodness!” repeated Hamish, eager for Badger’s next tale.

  “And last, but by no means least, have you seen the big white plates stuck on the walls of the Big Folk’s houses?”

  Hamish nodded.

  “Naturally, I gave them the specifications for such objects, based on my very own ears,” said Badger.

  “Why? What are they for, and how are they connected to your ears? Your ears are black and furry and much smaller than those big dishes.”

  “Ah,” said Badger, “like me, they get messages from space.” His ears began to revolve and he shouted excitedly, “Sonic boom boom!”

  “Wow!” said Hamish

  “Not just any ears, Hamish, these are…”

  “Badgical magical ears!” shouted Hamish.

  “You’ve got it! And that, my friend, is why I am called Badger the Mystical Mutt. Now, why are you here again?” asked Badger.

  Hamish pointed a paw upwards to his long floppy ears, which were still tied in a knot on the top of his head.

  “Ah yes. Let’s get that sorted.”

  Badger untied Hamish’s ears until they hung properly at the side of his head.

  “Now, next time you come face to face with Top Dog and his gang, tell them that they’re just jealous because you’re in the competition and they’re not.”

  And with that, Hamish set off home, feeling a lot better.

  But he had only just stepped back into the lane when he heard a strange click and scraping noise right next to his ears.

  He spun round in panic.

  “Not so pretty now, Hamish!” snarled Top Dog, waving a pair of gleaming scissors in his face.

  The rest of the gang, who were each armed with their own set of shears, pinned him to the ground as Top Dog held the scissors over his head.

  “Let’s see if you can win first prize now, Fancy Pants!”

  “No!” yelped Hamish. “Please … Don’t do that!”

  “Too late, Pretty Boy!” scowled Top Dog, cutting some of the hairs from the top of Hamish’s head.

  The gang gave Hamish a haircut until all he was left with were spiky tufts.

  “See you in the final!” said Top Dog, as he and the rest of his gang ran off, cackling gleefully.

  Hamish shook himself and attempted to stand.

  “Oh no!” he cried. “What am I going to do now?”

  Maybe Badger the Mystical Mutt can use his magic to fix my fur? He wondered.

  Hamish craw
led hopefully back through the crack in the fence. Badger was fast asleep again.

  “Badger, please wake up,” whispered Hamish.

  Badger shifted himself and raised one eyebrow lazily.

  “This had better be good, Hamish. I was enjoying the most scrumptious dream of higgledy piggledy towers of toast,” said Badger, and then spotted Hamish’s new hairstyle.

  “My goodness, you look like a thistle! Did Top Dog do that?”

  Hamish nodded.

  “Did you tell him what I told you to say?”

  “I didn’t get a chance. They just came at me with scissors and held me down.

  “Okay,” sighed Badger. “Let’s see what we can do. Follow me.”

  He marched to the bottom of the garden to a dusty old plant pot and rummaged inside.

  “Aha!” exclaimed Badger. “This is exactly what I need.”

  “What are you doing?” asked Hamish worriedly.

  “I am creating an ancient hair-restoring spell, which was passed onto me by Great-Auntie Thistle D’hu. Watch and learn!”

  Badger produced a handful of sticks and some slimy goo and placed them on Hamish’s head.

  “Keep very still,” said Badger, “and listen.

  “Snail trails and silver-birch sap, work together and hair will grow back!”

  Badger stood back expectantly, Hamish’s eyes widened … and nothing happened.

  “Need to try it again!” said Badger.

  He repeated the spell but this time, more loudly:

  “Snail trails and silver-birch sap, work together and hair will grow back!”

  He stood back and waited.

  Hamish waited.

  The snail trails slid down Hamish’s snout… but his spikes remained.

  “It’s a really old spell and I haven’t done it for a very long time,” said Badger apologetically.

  Hamish sighed heavily.