# Bing/Chapter 6

Few dogs have ever loved their families more than little Bing did his, yet his attitude towards his master and mistress was quite different. Mrs. Browning he loved, yet Mr. Browning he loved, worshipped, and adored. He would take liberties with his mistress and, upon occasion, would even play pranks upon her or ​try to bully her, but with his master it was quite different. Mr. Browning had owned dogs ever since he was a small boy and understood them as few men do. Bing recognized this fact, and it was more pleasure to him to obey his master than it was to play pranks on his mistress.
It was quite by accident that Mrs. Browning discovered how deeply the dog loved his master. One day she chanced to go into the bathroom and, to her surprise, discovered Bing there. He was standing on his hind legs before a chair, caressing one of Mr. Browning's old shirts that he had discarded that very morning. Bing would move one side of his face up and down on the shirt, then he would turn the other cheek to this garment which reminded him so strongly of his beloved master. His expressive dog countenance was eloquent with love. When he dis​covered that he was being watched, he ran to Mrs. Browning apologetically, but at once returned to the shirt and again began his expressions of endearment.
"That's right, Bing," said the mistress, "he is a good man and I love him, also."
It was not until Bing was fifteen months old that he made a discovery concerning his master which greatly changed his attitude towards the man from that day.
It was a warm spring morning in early April and Mr. Browning was sitting on the piazza in the sunshine, listening to the occasional bird songs that glorified the spring air. Several of their old friends had come back to Bird Acre.
Bing and another small dog were having a wonderful romp in the yard. They were rolling each other over and over, snapping, snarling, and barking, and hav​ing a furious sham battle. Presently, above the din, there rang out a whistle, shrill, clear, and imperative. It was the call with which Mr. Browning always summoned Bing. Now a poorly trained dog might not have heeded it, but not so Bing. Instantly he withdrew from the sham battle and trotted to his master, eager to do his bidding. But it happened that, at just that time, a dump-cart went by, making a great rattling over the cobble-stones so Mr. Browning did not notice Bing's approach. Again the shrill whistle rang out, and Bing glanced up at his master with a surprised expression. Once again Mr. Browning whistled shrilly, and then Bing put his front paws on the man's knees.
"Why, Bing, good chap! You were here all the time," exclaimed the man. "What a stupid old fellow your master is! ​Well, Bing, we can't help it, so we shall have to make the best of it."
So from that day forth Bing understood that, when his master called him, he might not know of his approach unless he rattled the license tag on his collar, or barked, or opened his mouth very wide and said oow-ee-uu, which is a word in dog language meaning many things.
Bing also soon discovered that his master sometimes missed the pathway leading from the sidewalk to the bone store. The bone store was a combination market and grocery, but the master and mistress always referred to it as the bone store. This was out of respect to Bing, who understood the word "bone." In fact he understood a great many words, perhaps fifty, and also two or three dozen short sentences. So it will be seen that he was a very good companion when one had no ​human being to talk to. Bing likewise discovered that, when they returned from the bone store, his master would sometimes go by the walk leading up to the house. This was most likely to happen when he had his arms full of bundles and could not freely use his cane, so Bing would run ahead of him and up the piazza walk rattling his little license tag to give the requisite cue.
Each morning they took the half-mile walk to the post-office. When the master had secured his mail, he would call Bing over to the candy counter and ask him if he would have a stick of candy. Then Bing would stand upon his hind legs and peer through the glass at the tempting array of sweets. When the storekeeper asked what kind he would take, the master always replied, "Cinnamon." He said it was Bing's favorite. Then the store​keeper would ask why cinnamon was his favorite, and the master would reply: "Because of the bark in it," at which the storekeeper would laugh and all the children who were watching Bing stand on his hind legs would join in the laugh. Then Bing himself would know that something funny had been said and would grin and wag his tail. After that, the master would break off a piece of the cinnamon candy and give it to Bing. When he had swallowed it with a gulp, as he usually did, he would bark three or four times to show that the bark in the candy was having the proper effect, at which the children were thrown into great glee.
Bing's master was a great joker, and Bing soon learned to watch for these pleasant things which his master said that made everybody so happy, and invariably he would grin and wag his tail at the right ​point, all of which soon gained him the reputation of being a dog of considerable humor.
There was a strange psychological accord between Bing and his master that has rarely been equalled between man and dog. If Mr. Browning was tired or discouraged, he could not hide it from this little pal. The dog also had a knowledge of his master's whereabouts and movements that was almost uncanny.
Often the master spent half the night in writing on his books, and so, in the morning, he would be very late in getting up. But when he opened the door leading from his bedroom to the bathroom, no matter where little Bing was, in some strange way he knew it. He might be a hundred rods away playing with other dogs, but, at the instant this door clicked, he would turn his nose towards the house ​and run with all his might so that, when his master finally came down-stairs to breakfast, he would be standing at the foot of the stairway, rattling his collar in morning greeting.
Bing's fidelity in watching over his master was remarkable. The good people of the town observed it, and often strangers who came to the village noted the devotion of the little dog. When the master walked up and down in front of the house for exercise each morning, Bing would take up his position by the maple-tree opposite the front door, a faithful little sentry on guard.
Frequently in the winter the master would go to the city, taking the trolley car at the corner by the bone store. No matter how long he was gone or how cold it was, when he returned and alighted from the trolley car, little Bing would be wait​ing at the corner. Often he would lie in the snow for hours, shaking with the cold, patiently waiting for his master's return. If Mr. Browning sat down of an evening to listen to the radio, Bing always came scurrying into the living-room and plumped himself down under the table close by. Then Mr. Browning would pick out some soft melodious music that he knew the dog liked. Bing would give a deep sigh of satisfaction and thump the floor with his tail. One evening the two were listening to a lecture from a near-by college. The subject was geology. One of the professors was very much excited about a new fossil-bone he had discovered that very day, during one of his walks. At the sound of the word, bone, Bing's tail began thumping the floor and his mouth began to water. Again and again the professors used this word in their discussion.
​"How old do you think this bone is?" finally inquired one of the professors.
"Oh," replied the other, "perhaps it is two hundred and fifty million years."
By this time Bing was standing in his excitement. He could even smell that bone, but at this statement the master broke into peals of laughter, and poor Bing fled to the kitchen and hid under the stove. He did not know just what had happened, but the joke was on him, and he knew it full well.
We often read of dogs that detect unseen danger and guard the folks they love from it. Many a time little Bing kept his master from getting lost, and on one occasion he even saved him from a severe injury.
The man had gone to the post-office one morning without Bing. At the time he had been visiting a neighbor's dog and ​did not hear his master's whistle. Mr. Browning had stopped at a neighbor's house near by for a call, so that Bing had time to come home and crawl under the kitchen stove and fall fast asleep, without even knowing his master had gone.
Presently his sleep beneath the stove became troubled. He whimpered and whined and then came scratching out from under his favorite hiding-place and started for the front door. His efforts to open it were so frantic that Mrs. Browning hurried to his assistance.
As she flung the door wide open, he shot out of the house like a rocket and ran up the street as she had never seen him run before.
"What in the world is the matter with him?" exclaimed his mistress excitedly.
She ran to the end of the piazza to watch his wild flight. At the corner by ​the bone store he turned and took the street leading to the post-office. Then Mrs. Browning went into the house that she might follow his flight from the north kitchen window. The street leading to the post-office had few houses on it, so she could get an occasional glimpse of him in the spaces between the buildings.
"I do believe he has gone stark mad!" she exclaimed, as she followed the frenzied flight of the little dog.
At the next gap she discovered Mr. Browning walking at a rapid stride along the street towards the post-office. Bing was perhaps two hundred feet behind; then, when they came to the next gap, she saw the dog quicken his pace and, half-way between the two houses, he was seen to spring upon his master and grab him by the trouser leg. Then, as nearly as Mrs. Browning could discover, he braced ​his paws and pulled back with all his might.
"What a strange performance," said his mistress. "I can't make it out, but I don't believe he would bite Mr. Browning."
Then several people came running up, and there seemed to be an animated discussion. Finally Mr. Browning and Bing turned about and hurried home. Mrs. Browning met them at the front door.
"What in the world has got into Bing?" she asked. "He was lying under the kitchen stove asleep, and he shot out from under it like a bullet and nearly tore the front door down before I could open it for him. Then he ran up the street as though he had lost his wits, and I thought it looked as though he tried to bite you or tear your trousers."
"He didn't do anything of the kind," ​returned Mr. Browning stoutly. "You can thank your lucky stars to-day that we have got him. One more step and I should have plunged into an open sewer, a fall of six or eight feet. It would have cost me a broken leg at the very least, and possibly have crippled me for life. The ditch was dug directly across the sidewalk, and there was no one to warn me of it."
Mrs. Browning knelt down on the floor and took the little dog in her arms. He kissed her upon each cheek and then on the mouth.
"Bingsey, you're a dear little dog," she said, "and there is not money enough in the whole world to buy you."