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!