He would make a pretense at diving, but this consisted simply in sticking his head under, and withdraw it in a instant, coughing, and shaking the water out of his ears.
Had he not been gun-shy he would have been an ideal retriever for ducks. Indeed, Ned taught him to retrieve sticks and balls, and other things thrown for the purpose; and whether or not Bob had seen them drop, by ranging in circles he always found them and laid them at his master’s feet.
Ned also taught him to “charge.” Bob would stay crouched against the walk or road until Ned or Mr. Miller had gone on for a block, perhaps; his eyes would be shining with eagerness, and his body fairly quivering with excitement.
“Come on, Bob,” would sound the whistle.
One note was enough. Up would he leap, and like a cannon-ball down would he streak, yapping with glee at every jump. He never grew tired of this game.
He would mind Ned or Mr. Miller—but upon Mrs. Miller or Maggie, the girl, he used to impose dreadfully. Let them try to stir him from the space that he had chosen before the kitchen or dining-room stove, and he would give a growl so gruff as to frighten them into the distance again. They would not catch the chuckle under the growl. However, he never tried to fool Ned or Ned’s father. When they said “Get up,” Bob got!
If he decided to accompany Mrs. Miller or Maggie, he always managed to do it. They might send him back, as they supposed, a dozen times; he only made a short circuit, and sneaking along behind fences and sidewalks would come out upon them, and grin. In spite of their scolding, and the stones and sticks that they tried to throw at him, he persevered, and had his way.
He did not bamboozle the two other members of the family. It was only the women upon whom he played tricks. He knew that, with all their threats, they could not bear to hurt him.
His bedroom was the barn loft, save when, in the hottest weather, he moved down-stairs. His favorite bed was a burrow in the hay; when a fresh load arrived, Bob would dig and nose into it, until he had made a long hole extending so far back that, in his nest at the end of it, he was quite out of reach.
To Bob, Ned was the whole world. It offered no bliss that could equal the touch of Ned’s hand, and no music that might equal the sound of Ned’s voice. Just to be near Ned was joy enough for Bob, and if allowed to snuggle at his master’s side he was in ecstasy. A kind pat and an encouraging word was all the reward that he wanted, no matter how hard had been his task. Ned was at once his playmate and his king, and life held nothing more.