Baxter was a very big dog with a very big heart—and a very big problem.

Every morning, as he padded through the park with his humans, a tiny terror named Niblet would come charging at him. Niblet was no bigger than a loaf of bread but packed the attitude of a lion. Barking, yipping, nipping at Baxter’s heels—every day was a new ambush.

Baxter hated conflict. He was a gentle soul, happiest when rolling in the grass or snoozing in sunny patches. But Niblet? Niblet turned every walk into a battleground.

One afternoon, after a particularly vicious attack where Niblet had tugged on his tail, Baxter fled. He ran down winding alleys, across busy streets, and through the woods beyond town until he was out of breath—and far from home.

There, under the shade of a crooked oak, stood a man in a long purple coat and a hat full of feathers.

"Lost, are you?" the magician said, peering over spectacles that twinkled.

Baxter whimpered.

"You wish you could disappear, hmm?" the magician chuckled. "Well, wish granted!"

Before Baxter could even wag his tail, the magician waved a wand—and poof! Baxter looked down. No paws. No nose. Nothing!

He was invisible.

At first, it was glorious. When he trotted back to the park, Niblet didn’t even notice him. Baxter strutted right past without a single yap or snap at his ankles. He was free!

But freedom quickly turned sour.

When his humans called for him—“Baxter! Dinner time!”—he rushed to them, tail wagging, but they only frowned and searched the bushes. When he nudged his favorite toy toward their feet, they only looked puzzled.

“Where’s our good boy?” they cried. “Where’s Baxter?”

Baxter’s heart sank. They thought he had run away. They were sad. They missed him.

He had to fix this. Fast.

But how? The magician was nowhere in sight. Baxter raced back to the woods, sniffing the ground, desperate. How could he find someone when he couldn’t even see himself?

Night fell. Crickets chirped. Baxter howled into the starry sky, a lonely, invisible sound.

And then—a voice.

"Ah, you learned the hardest magic of all," the magician said, stepping out from behind the crooked oak. "The magic of being missed."

Baxter barked, circling him joyfully.

With a chuckle, the magician twirled his wand. "Very well. Let's bring you back, my brave friend."

A puff of golden smoke, a shimmer in the air—and there were Baxter’s big, fuzzy paws again. His wagging tail. His bright, worried eyes.

Without wasting a second, Baxter sprinted home. His humans were still on the porch, calling, searching.

"Baxter!" they cried when they saw him, rushing forward with open arms. "You're back!"

Baxter leapt into their arms, knocking them over in a happy, tail-thumping, face-licking heap.

From that day forward, Baxter never wished to be invisible again. He didn't even mind Niblet so much. After all, a little bark now and then was nothing compared to being unseen by the ones who loved him most.

Besides, he had a new magic trick: staying right where he belonged.