by Lyn McNicol
THE LUNICORN PRESS
Glasgow
Text © 2012 Lyn McNicol and Laura Cameron Jackson
Illustrations © 2012 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 2012 by The Lunicorn Press.
Reprinted January 2013.
2
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 978-0-9569640-1-4
eISBN 978-0-9569640-7-6
www.badgerthemysticalmutt.com
www.facebook.com/badgermutt
www.twitter.com/badgermutt
For Donald McKinney
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 Crumpled Capers
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
“Ewwwww!” winced Badger the Mystical Mutt, burying his nose in his neckerchief. “What a pong!”
It was a half past elevenses and all was not well in the lane … or in Badger’s tummy.
“Not long now till toast time,” he said, patting his gurgling stomach. “Once I crack my famous smell-removing spell, we can have our morning snack, and all will be well again.”
Most mornings, Badger’s job was bird-poo patrol. He had to watch his Big Folk’s clean washing on the clothes line, and be alert and ready to bark away the birds with their low-flying poos. But today, even the birds had decided to migrate early, to escape the vile stench of the lane. And now, before he could enjoy his higgledy-piggledy tower of toast, his Big Folk had given him a far bigger task — to get rid of the smell in the lane. An unexplained smell … a mystery stink … a stench of the very worst kind.
To make matters worse, his latest smell-removing spell didn’t appear to be working very well.
He held his breath and tried again.
“Charcoal rocks and mouldy old socks,
Cardamom seeds and corn that pops,
Mix up together in a cardboard box,
Take this stink and make it stop!”
He stood back and waited … and waited. His tummy rumbled, the charcoal crumbled, and still nothing happened. He sniffed the air around him nervously. Then his nose wrinkled in horror as he caught an even bigger whiff of the whiffiest kind.
“How can this be?” wondered Badger, scratching his head. “I followed the spell to the letter, but it’s got worse not better.”
Just then he heard a loud hammering noise in the lane. He trotted to the end of his garden and peered through the crack in the fence. There in front of him, on the fence opposite, was a freshly pinned poster.
The official-looking notice read:
ATTENTION!
OWING TO A PONG OF THE PONGIEST KIND, THE PONG POLICE WILL CLOSE THE LANE AT NOON TODAY FOR STINK ASSESSMENT AND REMOVAL. THE PONG POLICE WILL SPRAY THE AREA WITH ANTI-PONG POISON. NO ONE MUST ENTER THE LANE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
“Goodness!” thought Badger. “I could have fixed this without the Pong Police getting involved. I’m almost there with my smell-removing spell.”
Suddenly, he heard a hullabaloo in the distance. He looked down the lane and saw the gang, led by Dodgy Dave, thundering towards him in a cloud of dust.
“Uh-oh! Who are they after today?” he wondered.
As they hurtled past him, Badger turned to go back to his spell and heard a tiny voice shouting after the gang:
“Dodgy Dave! Dodgy Dave! Wait, please! I just want to speak to you.”
“Leave us alone. You stink!” shouted Dodgy Dave.
“I’m getting the Pong Police on to you,” warned Snif.
“If you get any nearer, I’ll keel over,” whimpered Lennie.
“Go away pooperscoopersmellysnooper!” yelled Pickle, running faster.
“I’ve just had my breakfast. I can’t bear it!” yelled Pogo Paws, zooming ahead.
Badger watched as leaves swirled and bin lids rattled. Suddenly, the smallest dog he had ever seen went flying past him in a blur.
“Well, that makes a change. I’ve never seen that before; the gang on the run with someone chasing them!”
Badger’s eyes watered as the rotten air stung his nostrils. He shook his head, thinking, “If I can sort this spell before noon, I could save the lane from closure. And get my toast!”
He padded back to the spot where his ingredients lay. Sparkles of light twinkled around him as he repeated the spell.
“Charcoal rocks and mouldy old socks,
Cardamom seeds and corn that pops …”
His tummy rumbled loudly again. “Ah,” he thought. “Maybe I need my higgledy-piggledy tower of toast before the spell will actually work.”
/> Even through the smelly yuckiness, Badger’s nose twitched as he picked up the familiar scent of a freshly made toastie somewhere very close. Then, he heard the plinkety plonk tune of the local bakery van.
“Right on time,” he smiled, as he untied his famous red-spotted neckerchief and spoke to it seriously.
“’Chief, I have a job for you. Float, float, float away. Find some toast to make my day.”
Badger sat back confidently and awaited his snack. ’Chief always came back with the goods and had never let him down yet.
At the bottom of his garden, a pair of beautiful blue eyes peered brightly through the crack in the fence as Badger stretched out, licking his lips. The sun cast a shadow on his sundial showing a quarter to noon. Suddenly, his nose pinched, the smell was getting even more icky.
“Yuck! I hope ’Chief hurries back. I’ll have to finish the spell before noon or the Pong Police will close the lane.”
Right on cue, ’Chief drifted over the fence and hovered above Badger’s nose.
“Yummity yum yum yum, must get this toast into my tum, then my magic can be done!” Badger drooled, feeling very pleased with himself. ’Chief wrapped itself back around his neck and knotted neatly.
As Badger munched into the delicious cheese toastie, the blue eyes at the bottom of the garden widened and watched in wonder. The tiny dog that had been chasing Dodgy Dave and his gang skipped through the crack in the fence and marched up to Badger.
“Ahem!” she coughed slightly.
Badger stopped mid-munch and looked around him, unable to see where the noise had come from, but the air reeked worse than before. He thought no more of it and finished the last bite of his toastie. It was time to get back to work on his spell.
A loud prffffft sounded nearby. Badger looked around him again, but still couldn’t see what had caused the noise. He shook his head and got back to work.
Shuffling the ingredients, he rubbed two small twigs together vigorously.
“Charcoal rocks and mouldy old socks,
Cardamom seeds and corn that pops,
Mix up together in a cardboard box,
Take this stink and make it stop!”
As the twigs sparked and the clock struck noon, he heard another cough, an even louder prffffft, a big bang … and everything went black.
Badger and the tiny dog looked at each other, blinking. They were covered in soot from head to toe.
“What just happened?” choked the little dog, shaking the soot from her fur.
“Oh! I’m not quite sure. Something exploded.” Badger frowned, scratching his head. Then he noticed a wisp of smoke rise from the tiny dog’s bottom.
“Why were the twigs sparking?” asked the little dog.
“I was perfecting my famous smell-removing spell, only it didn’t quite work,” said Badger raising an eyebrow. “Because, I suspect, some sort of windypops is connected with the sparks.”
He untied his dirty neckerchief and held it over his nose.
“And now the smell is worse now than before. Hang on …” said Badger leaning down to sniff the other dog. One sniff was more than enough.
“It’s you!” shouted Badger, stumbling backwards away from the stink. “You’re the cause of the unexplained foulness! That’s why the gang was running away from you.”
The ball of fur next to him shook her bottom indignantly and waggled her tail.
“Indeed it is not!”
“Who are you anyway?” asked Badger more gently “I’ve not seen you in the lane before.”
The small dog puffed out her chest and proudly announced, “I’m Cheryl with a C, that’s me, not Sheryl with an S, because Sheryl with an S goes ‘Ssssshhhh’, whilst Cheryl with a C goes ‘Ch’ … as in cha-cha-cha!”
“Are you a Chiuhuaha?” he asked
“I’m a sausage dog actually; a chipolata.”
“I don’t think you’re a sausage dog, Cheryl, but you definitely put the wah-wah in Chihuahua.”
“Whatever! I’ve got a bigger problem than the smell right now,” exclaimed Cheryl. “They’ve closed the lane!”
“The Pong Police need to get to the bottom of the mystery smell. Except I think we both know why the lane smells,” said Badger, raising his other eyebrow in the direction of Cheryl’s tiny bottom.
“But now I’ve got nowhere to practise,” sighed Cheryl.
“Practise what?” asked Badger, still dusting off the dirt from his coat.
“My dancing, of course! I want to enter the Hotpaws Barking Boogie. But now I’ve got nowhere to practise, and no dancing partner.”
“You dance? Are you any good?” asked Badger, somewhat amused.
“Good? Am I any good? I am the very best. My cha-cha is world famous,” she replied, sashaying across the garden. “But the rules for the Barking Boogie say I cannot enter without a partner,” she added sadly.
“You’re certainly full of beans, Cheryl. But maybe that’s exactly the problem!” Badger smiled.
“They talk of you everywhere, Badger. You are the Mystical Mutt, and you can fix things with your magic. Can you open the lane again so I can practise my groove? Maybe you can help me find a dancing partner?”
“Okay, I will do what I can to help, Cheryl. But why are you after the gang? It did make me chuckle, to see them being chased for a change.”
“It’s Dodgy Dave. I’ve seen him …” she sighed.
“Seen him what?”
“At night, under the street spotlight, I’ve seen him dance a slow paw-shuffle. He’s my Sugar Paws; my hero. He has put the jam in my jamalamadingdog.” Cheryl clasped her paws to her tiny chest.
“Goodness! Dodgy Dave? A dancer? Isn’t he a tearaway? Who knew he had some rhythm in his bones instead of four left paws?”
“He knows about the Barking Boogie too. Anton Du Bark will be the judge. But if the lane is closed, the Barking Boogie can’t go ahead anyway and Dodgy Dave won’t dance.”
“How do you know he won’t dance?” asked Badger
“Every time I try to speak to him, he runs away.”
Cheryl looked up at him with her big, innocent eyes. Badger thought for a moment, careful not to hurt Cheryl’s feelings anymore by telling her just how badly she stank.
“Maybe we need to get you smelling better, and then Dodgy Dave will dance with you!”
“Do I really smell so bad, Badger? The gang keep telling me I stink.” Cheryl’s bottom vibrated with another long, loud prffffft. The smell clung to her.
Badger had to make Cheryl believe the truth about her smelliness, otherwise there was no hope for her dancing dreams with Dodgy Dave.
“Cheryl, I do believe that you’re the reason for the lane’s closure. So that’s good news in a way, because if we can make you fragrant, the lane will open again and Dodgy Dave might dance with you.”
Cheryl lowered her head and looked up at Badger sadly, her eyes brimming with tears.
“I don’t know why I smell so bad, Badger. Can you do a spell to make the smell disappear?”
“Oh, Cheryl. I can do amazing magic. I can levitate toast. I can fly. I can even time travel. But I don’t know about making your smell go away. I’ve been trying my smell-removing spell, but you saw for yourself … it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Cheryl dropped her shoulders and sighed. “Never mind, Badger. Thank you for trying. I’ll see you another time,”
Cheryl clicked her heels, turned and tip-toed softly back to the bottom of the lane, her head hung low. Over her shoulder, she said:
“One day, you will see me dance, Badger, and you will be enchanted!”
“I know, wee one, I know,” said Badger gently.
As Cheryl stepped through the crack in the fence, she found the lane deserted. The Pong Police had started their task, and were spraying the area, using big machines strapped to their backs.
Cheryl looked wearily up the lane and spotted Dodgy Dave hiding behind the bins. She sneaked up to him.
“What are you
doing here, Cheryl?” whispered Dodgy Dave, “All of us are supposed to be out of here by now.”
“So why are you still here?” she asked.
“I’ve got nowhere else to go. This is my home,” replied Dodgy Dave.
“Where’s the rest of the gang?”
“They have pals in other lanes who’ve taken them in”
“I’ve seen you dancing, Dodgy Dave,” said Cheryl shyly.
“What?” he shouted aghast.
Just then four Big Folk’s boots trundled towards them both.
“Uh-oh! Quick! Let’s get inside this wheelie bin,” yelled Dodgy Dave, pulling Cheryl with him.
The patrolling Pong Police stopped immediately at the wheelie bins and shouted for back-up. They loaded their deadly sprays and took aim.
Cheryl and Dodgy Dave cowered inside the wheelie bin, listening to the commotion outside. Dodgy Dave peered through a tiny hole and saw more and more of the Pong Police gathering around them, with their back packs and their sprays. They were surrounded, with nowhere to run.
Dodgy Dave winced, both at the scene outside and the smell inside as yet another slow, low prffffft sneaked out of Cheryl’s bottom. He turned to her in horror.
“What on earth do you eat to make you smell so badly, Cheryl?”
“Just my usual hot Mexican fajitas. Why? What’s wrong with them?”
“But they’re really spicy, Cheryl! Far too spicy for dogs. Right, how are we going to get out of this one? The Pong Police are loading their sprays, ready to fire.”
“If only Badger the Mystical Mutt were here. He could help us with one of his special spells.”
Dodgy Dave rolled his eyes. “Badger the Mystical Mutt? What could he do?”
Meanwhile, back in Badger’s garden, his neckerchief started to unravel from his neck. It swirled around and pointed towards the lane.
