April 8, 2004

Dear Patty,

Our little beagle, Alvie, wandered into our front yard 2 1/2 years ago, scarred and dusty like a big-eared bluesman too long on the road.

We found out that he dug under a fence to escape from the previous person who'd taken mercy on his vagrancy. She'd picked him up looking even scragglier 60 miles south of Cape Girardeau. He was hanging out at a field where skydivers land.

Alvie was born to go yonder.

His first trip to the cabin on the Castor River, we let him off his leash thinking he'd stay near us. Beagles follow their nose. He disappeared into the underbrush so fast no one saw him go. We found him digging for the highway.

When workmen are about the house, as they are now, the other dogs usually go into the basement. We barricade them behind old screen doors and attach Hank to a leash. DC plasters all the doors with notices telling them where the dogs are located. It's like a prison lock down.

Some days when the workers need to go down into the basement to turn off the water or rearrange some pipes, we put Hank and Lucy in the back yard. We don't trust the fence to be enough of a barrier so we bought a wire mesh kennel.

Even when the dogs are in the kennel, we lock the gates in the fence and the door to the back porch.

We have learned that strangers in Hank's territory ought not depend on his kindness.

Alvie is above all this. He loves everyone. He spends his days on his pillow by the radiator. He stretches occasionally, then pads across the room for a drink of water or perhaps upstairs to see the workmen.

He is so short and his belly so swollen from heart congestion that it takes effort for him to walk up and down the stairs. Sometimes we carry him.

Alvie is our hero. Whenever we feel like complaining about something gone wrong in our lives, Alvie reminds us that to renew ourselves over and over again is everyone's destiny.

Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, said all heroes undergo the same passage: separation, initiation and return. Alvie has left his original home far behind. The scars, the health problems and the look in his eyes say he has, like Prometheus, stolen fire from the gods. He is attracted to skydiving. He is scared only of thunder.

Finally the hero comes home from his quest with the power to teach others his lessons.

Leaving for work yesterday, I couldn't find Alvie. One of the workmen told me he'd seen him go into the back yard, but I couldn't find him there either. I realized one of the workers carrying in equipment must have left the back door to the porch open for the few seconds it takes a wanderer like Alvie to his escape.

Getting into my car, I hoped he would bay the way he does so gallantly when DC takes him for a walk around the neighborhood. I was afraid to drive fast for fear I would overlook him and afraid to drive slow for fear I wouldn't find him in time.

Two blocks north at Independence Street, I spied familiar haunches working their way up the hill toward city hall. He seemed unsurprised to see me or for me to hold him a little tighter than usual, in a way meant to reassure him that he has already found his way back home.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is the managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.