Bing/Chapter 4

Of all the puppies ever raised at Sunshine Cottage, Bing was the most unfortunate. All of the ills that puppyhood is heir to seemed to come to him. This was partly because of his sorry adventure while he was in hiding in the swamp during those ten dreadful days in winter. Every one to whom the adventure was described ​said it was a miracle that he ever came through alive.

For weeks he suffered from frostbitten ears. They were especially painful whenever he went near the stove and, since his favorite hiding-place was under the kitchen range, he often felt a burning and smarting in the frostbitten ears from being near the stove. Then he would climb whimpering into his master's lap and that patient man would take him to the sink and bathe his ears until the pain had abated. It was not so hard to do this in the daytime, but at night it was quite another story. Several times each night Mr. Browning would hear the whimpering of the little dog down in the kitchen and would crawl out of his warm bed and, in bathrobe and slippers, go down and minister to the suffering puppy. But the little dog was so patient and so grateful for all ​their efforts that they loved him more each day, even though he caused them so much trouble.

The ears had barely healed when the little hound developed stomatitis, a serious disease of the mouth. When the veterinary first looked into Bing's mouth, he shook his head.

"You will have to keep right after this trouble or you will lose him," he said. "Get a bottle of peroxide of hydrogen and sop it on the gums. Do this several times each day, and don't neglect it if you want to keep your dog."

So, half a dozen times each day, Mr. Browning would get Bing between his knees and hold his mouth open, pulling the lips back from the gums so that Mrs. Browning could sop on the remedy, using a small swab for the purpose. After a few treatments, Bing seemed to under​stand that they were trying to do him good, so, as soon as he was in position, his tail would begin to thump the floor and he would keep up the thumping until the operation was over.

After the stomatitis had been conquered, a swelling came in the neck. This soon developed into a very angry-looking abscess. The only remedy was a hot application, so an old stocking was filled with steaming bread and milk, the end was sewed up, and then it was sewed around Bing's neck. When this strange necktie was in place, he was a very queer-looking little object. He seemed to know that this was done for his good, and was very grateful and would wag his tail while the bread-and-milk poultice was being renewed.

The pain in his neck was so great that he often ran whimpering to his master or mis​tress in the night to have them renew the poultice and so keep down the pain.

Then there were the usual small troubles with worms and fleas, not to mention baths with flea soap and generous sprinklings with flea powder.

When the springtime came and the little dog could get out on the lawn and play in the green grass, the Brownings thought their troubles were over. But, one day when he was playing with another puppy in the street, an automobile bowled him over and passed over him even before he knew what had happened.

Mrs. Browning witnessed the accident from the piazza and ran to his assistance, but he scrambled to his feet to the surprise of every one and ran yelping into the yard and out into the orchard. Around and around the place he ran, ki-yi-ing and occasionally stopping to roll on the grass. ​It was at least five minutes before he quieted down enough for his good friends to examine him and see what was the matter, but they could not discover any broken or dislocated bones. He had escaped as by a miracle, merely suffering a bad shaking up.

In the late spring, or by the time Bing was nine months old, he had developed into a very alert little watch-dog, without any training on the part of his master. His first accomplishment was the guarding of the inside of the house. When the front door-bell rang or some one knocked on the back door, he would come scrambling down from the window-seat to take up his position by the side of his master or mistress, uttering belligerent little growls. This was his way of telling the caller to beware, for there was a dog in the house.

From guarding the inside of the house, ​he gradually assumed censorship over the outside. On cold days, he would station himself in the bay window and watch the passers-by. If any one turned into the walk to come up on the piazza, he at once barked and ran to tell his master or mistress that some one was coming. Later on, when it was warmer, he would lie by the cellar window on the south side of the house and, from this vantage point, he guarded the entire premises. If any one so much as stepped a foot upon his master's land, the little dog at once gave warning.

In the springtime when his mistress began to dig among her flowers, he was always on hand to watch the process. He would lie in the grass for hours looking up at his mistress with adoring eyes, yet it was exasperating to find one of his dirty bones in the very midst of the tulip-bed. ​When Bing was scolded because of the bone, he would carry it away and hide it under a bush, but it was quite apt to turn up again in the tulip-bed or in some other equally choice flower-bed.

Bing very early conceived the idea that his mistress' flowers were very dear to her, so he guarded them from the depredations of children in a most zealous manner.

Bird Acre, as the Brownings called their grounds, was generously stocked with fruit, and the little watchman had to guard this, also, but his mistress often hinted that his efforts along these lines were not altogether altruistic, as he was very fond of fruit himself, but Mr. Browning scoffed at this idea and said that he would guard a pumpkin vine just as faithfully as he did the pear-tree, if he knew it belonged to his master.

Few dogs have ever been so fond of ​fruit as was this little hound. When the first currants ripened, he would search carefully along under the side of the bushes and snip them off one by one. But it was not until his mistress was picking strawberries that the fruit season for him really opened. He would follow after her all over the bed, searching for the ripe berries. Raspberries and blackberries were also quite to his liking, but probably the fruit that suited him best of all was that from the pear-trees. He was especially fond of an early sweet pear. As soon as the pears began to fall, woe betide any boy who tried to pilfer the Brownings' fruit, for did one so much as set a foot upon the place, the little watchman was after him. He never tried to bite, but would circle round and round his victim, barking incessantly. He seemed to be calling to his master to come and help him.

​"I've got him, I've got him, I've got him," his sharp barks seemed to be saying. "You come and help hold him."

The peach-trees and plum-trees had to be guarded from boys, and it was not until the last tomatoes and late apples were gathered that the vigilance of the little watchman was in any way diminished.

Bing soon learned the habitual callers to the house—the butcher, iceman, laundry-man, grocer, and all the other tradesmen. He early evinced a dislike for the electric-light man, for he would come stamping into the house without knocking or ringing the bell as a respectable citizen should do. This greatly angered the little watchman.

Bing also learned that it was one of his duties as watchman to guard the wheelbarrow, the lawn-mower, and any other ​garden or lawn tools which had been left outside. By the time he was a year old, Mr. Browning said that any one who could take either flowers or fruit when the little dog was on guard would be welcome to them.

Perhaps the greatest fun that Bing experienced in guarding the place was that of driving off trespassing chickens, for, when he chased them, they squawked and flapped their wings and made a great fuss, which made the whole affair very exciting. He soon learned that he should not drive them beyond the boundary line, so, in time, he came to know where the boundaries were as well as his master did.

Bird Acre, as you will guess, was a haven for the birds, as the Brownings were very fond of their feathered friends. They fed them throughout the year, put up birdhouses, and also helped in nest-building. ​For this reason, the entire grounds were fairly alive with birds.

Woodpeckers, flycatchers, tanagers, and grackles swarmed in the orchard. Robins and other small birds nested in the pear-trees near the house. The catbirds reared their young in the lilac-bushes north of the house, while the oriole swung her nest from a branch in the top of the elm-tree.

Stray cats were always prowling about in search of fledglings, and Bing conceived the idea that he must guard the birds from these stray cats. If ever on rare occasions the Professor forgot himself and tried to stalk a bird, Bing would at once place himself between the old cat and his quarry. So, on many occasions, he saved some of the rare songsters on Bird Acre, including a wonderful catbird that the Brownings called The Little Chorister.

Mr. Browning was continually drawn ​into arguments with his dog-fancier friends as to the merits of large or small dogs for watch-dogs. The master defended Bing, that his dog-fancier friends thought was too small for a watch-dog.

He always concluded his argument in the same way. "You see, Bing can make as much noise as any large dog, and that is all that is necessary. No one wants a watch-dog that will bite. It is simply his office to make a great racket and call his folks, and they will do all the fighting."

But when Bing was about eleven months old, he put up a fight in the defence of his mistress that made Mr. Browning proud of him, and which vindicated all he had said in favor of the little watchman.

It was an evening in late August, just after dusk. Mrs. Browning was in the kitchen working over the cook-stove with ​her back to the door when a sinister-look ing tramp silently lifted the latch and noiselessly stepped inside.

"Don't cry out," he hissed under his breath, raising his hand threateningly. "I want what money there is in the house, and you've got to give it to me quick."

In spite of herself, Mrs. Browning uttered a little cry as she turned to face the man. Bing had been lying on the window-seat in a deep sleep, else he would have heard the man sooner, although he had entered silently. But this slight outcry from his mistress brought him to his feet and, before the man even guessed his presence, he sprang at his throat like a little fury.

Taken off his guard, the intruder backed away, then let his half-clenched fist fall heavily on the side of the small dog's head, sending him to the floor with a loud ​thump. But Bing was game and was up again like a flash and sank his teeth in the tramp's trouser leg just above the knee, also including in his grip a portion of the man's leg.

"Get out, you little devil," roared the now infuriated burglar, kicking at the small dog with his other leg, but Bing held on with a desperate grip and the man could not break his hold.

"Don't you dare kick that dog again," cried Mrs. Browning, seizing a heavy poker that lay on the stove hearth and brandishing it over the man's head. "I will dash your brains out if you dare to kick him again."

Seeing that he was threatened from two quarters and being now fully cowed, the tramp backed away towards the door, putting up one hand to ward off the poker and striking at Bing with the other.

​"You call off your dog, ma'am," he finally blubbered, "and I will get out."

But there was no calling off Bing. His mistress had been attacked and he intended fully to avenge the insult. So it was not until after the tramp was out in the yard that he loosed his hold and let him go, and even then he circled around and around the fleeing impostor, snarling and barking like a little fury. And he did not give up the pursuit until the tramp was well off the premises.

A couple of weeks later Mrs. Browning noticed another hobo standing by the maple in front of the house, looking at a strange monogram that some one had recently cut in the smooth bark of the tree. The tramp was scrutinizing this character so intently that the woman's curiosity was aroused and she finally ventured to accost him.

​"Perhaps you know what that strange figure means," she said.

"Reckon I do, ma'am," returned the hobo. "It is as plain to me as the nose on your face."

"I wish you would tell me what it means," returned the woman. "I am quite curious to know."

The tramp grinned at her quizzically, and a look of avarice overspread his face.

"I'll tell you for a dollar, ma'am," he said, "and that's my lowest figure."

"I'll give you twenty-five cents," returned Mrs. Browning. "I don't care much what it means, anyway."

"Make it fifty," said the hobo.

"All right," replied Mrs. Browning, holding up a shiny half-dollar. "What does it mean?"

"Well," said the tramp, "that's a little sign that some friend of mine put on this ​tree to tell me that there's a nasty little dog in this house that will tear your trousers off, if you do not look out for him."

Mrs. Browning laughed. "He is not a nasty little dog," she retorted, "but he will tear your trousers off if you get bold around here, so you had better move on," and she gave him the half-dollar.

The hobo first smelled the money, then bit it and weighed it in his palm before he put it in his pocket. He then hurried down the street, occasionally looking back over his shoulder to see if that nasty little dog that might tear his trousers had put in an appearance.

One evening, about the middle of September, Mr. and Mrs. Browning sat at the supper table with Bing on the floor between them. He was most impartial and always sat half-way between them, not ​wishing to slight either. Before they had sat down to supper, he had walked leisurely around the table, standing on his hind legs making a careful inventory of the food on it. He had discovered a plate of gingersnaps which were quite to his liking, and he was now on his good behavior, thinking that, if Mr. Browning did not give him some, his mistress would.

When the man reached for his tea, he surreptitiously slid off a gingersnap and dropped it in his lap, where Bing found it a minute later.

"You mustn't feed him at the table," remonstrated Mrs. Browning. "You'll spoil his manners."

"Weren't you feeding him toast a minute ago?" returned the man. "I thought I heard him crunching it over by your chair."

"Well," returned Mrs. Browning, ​"you see, it is Bing's birthday. He is a year old to-day. And besides, toast is good for him, and you know all the dog books say that cake and gingersnaps are harmful."

"Well, the doctor's books say that cake and gingersnaps are harmful for folks, but we eat them just the same, don't we, Bing?" and Mr. Browning threw him another gingersnap.

"I don't see," he said, passing his cup for more tea, "but that the old, old thing has happened again, the thing which always happens when we get a new dog."

"Why, what do you mean?" inquired Mrs. Browning in surprise, returning the cup filled with hot tea.

"Oh, just the same old thing. Once more we have given our hearts to a dog to tear."

"Why, Bing wouldn't even tear my ​finger, much less my heart," returned the mistress. "You ought to see how gently he takes the toast from my hand."

"Oh, I don't mean that!" replied the master. "Don't you remember Kipling's poem, 'The Power of a Dog'?