Heidi and Mr. Chips

Heidi maintained her dignity, her squat legs supporting the long, sagging weight of her swollen body, a model of patience and tolerance. Chips was puzzled. Here was a dog who had no interest in puppy jousting, yet forbore to discipline him. His mother must have sent him sprawling with a quick nip on countless occasions for lesser infractions.

Chips bowed in front of Heidi, the white tip of his tail waving an invitation to play. A few sharp barks and he bounced up and grabbed one of her drooping ears and tugged. She moaned and moved toward him. From that moment on, Mr. Chips would use Heidi's ears to direct her, until all of the graying fur on her ears was stripped bare, and her ears were reduced to a leathery charcoal gray.

Such was the discipline and training that Mr. Chips experienced in our home. We may have taught him the basic obedience drill, although he never quite understood the command, "Come," except at mealtimes, or with the lure of a puppy biscuit.

He soon mastered the Beagle art of escape. The front door would open, and out he would dash, ears flying, heading for the nearby park with Peter and me hot on his heels. He was never more joyous than when he was being pursued by the two youngest members of his pack. Eventually he would stop in the shade of the tree-lined park fence to catch his breath, and we would creep up to capture him and clip on his leash. He would follow, his tail still erect and his spirit undaunted.