Bingo and the Great Bicycle Stunt

There were perfectly good afternoons when a dog didn’t need an adventure. An afternoon could be quite satisfying simply strolling around the village, checking who had walked past since breakfast, investigating a hedge or two, and perhaps digging up a few treasures in a promising pile of fresh dirt.

This was exactly the sort of afternoon Bingo had in mind when he slipped through the loose board in the fence and trotted off. The sun was warm, the village was quiet, and somewhere nearby was the unmistakable smell of freshly moved earth.

Bingo followed his nose.

At the edge of the village, near a new construction site, he found an enormous mound of dirt, almost like a small mountain. A trail ran steeply down one side into a deep dip at the bottom, then curved sharply upward again.

Wonderful.

Even better, he wasn’t alone. Two boys had brought their bicycles there. Bingo knew them: eleven-year-old Bill and his thirteen-year-old brother, Tom.

Bingo settled into the grass to watch.

Tom had apparently decided that the enormous pile of dirt was not a pile of dirt at all. It was a bicycle ramp.

“Watch this,” he told Bill. “I’ll ride down, hit that dip at the bottom, and it’ll shoot me right into the air.”

Bill studied the slope. Bingo studied it too. Neither looked particularly convinced.

Tom pushed his bicycle to the top. “Just watch me!”

Bingo’s ears went forward.

Tom climbed onto his bicycle and off he went. At first, everything seemed to be working. Then he went faster. And faster. And considerably faster than he had probably intended.

He reached the dip.

There was no magnificent leap through the air. There was a bump, a crash, the bicycle went one way and Tom went another.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then Tom sat up.

His hair was full of dust, his face was covered in dirt, and one knee of his jeans had acquired a new hole. Otherwise, remarkably, all his important pieces seemed to be exactly where they belonged.

Bill scrambled down the slope.

“Are you okay?”

Tom wiped his face with his sleeve, which only spread the dirt around.

“I’m fine.”

Bill looked at him.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Bingo arrived and sniffed Tom carefully from top to bottom. Tom smelled like dirt, sweat and wounded pride, but nothing seemed seriously wrong.

Then Bill picked up the bicycle. Or tried to. The front wheel pointed in one direction. The handlebars pointed in another. The chain dangled sadly from the frame.

Bill whistled.

Tom stared at it.

“That can be fixed.”

Bill raised an eyebrow.

Probably not.

Bingo, however, had seen enough. Boy flying through air. Crash. Boy on ground. Bicycle in pieces. This was clearly a situation requiring an adult. And Bingo knew exactly where to find one. Before either boy noticed what he was doing, Bingo turned toward the village and ran. He flew across the field and along the road, past gardens, houses and all sorts of things that normally deserved careful inspection. A cat watched him from a wall. Bingo didn’t even slow down. There was no time for cats. When he reached Joanne’s house, he raced to the door and barked.

Joanne appeared. “Bingo?”

Bingo ran several steps toward the road, stopped and looked back. Joanne stayed where she was. He raced back, barked again and took off once more.

“Bingo, what is it?”

There are moments when humans and dogs don’t need to speak the same language. Joanne knew Bingo was trying to tell her something. And Bingo had arrived alone.

“My boys?”

Bingo barked. That was enough. Joanne grabbed her car keys. Bingo waited for no invitation and jumped straight into the passenger seat.

“All right,” Joanne said. “Show me.”

As she drove, Bingo sat upright beside her, staring intently through the windshield. The moment she turned toward the construction site, his whole body became alert.

“This way?”

Bingo whined. Joanne drove a little faster. As they rounded the bend, she spotted two figures coming toward them. She slowed the car. Bill was walking perfectly normally. So was Tom. Although Tom looked considerably less dignified. His face was filthy, his clothes were covered in dust, and he was carrying his battered bicycle across his shoulders because the wheels no longer seemed interested in turning.