Aug. 7, 1997

Dear Patty,

Standing in the middle of the Castor River a few days ago, DC and I witnessed a miracle. Not a miracle of biblical dimensions, surely, but a wonderment nonetheless.

Hank learned to swim.

To appreciate that feat, you'd have to have seen him standing in six inches of water, barking at Lucy while she played with us where the water runs deeper. You'd have to have seen him in the johnboat, shivering with fear but unwilling to be left on the bank.

A few weeks ago, DC abandoned ship just as we were turning a sharp bend, flipping us all into the water. Later she explained that an upcoming log in the water "looked snaky."

Lucy paddled leisurely ashore while Hank reached his snout to the sky and frantically churned his legs and paws heavenward in a doggie version of treading water.

He was going nowhere but in circles, though, so I put my hand on his back and pushed him to the bank.

We wondered if he'd ever go in the water again.

So there we were at the river once more a few days ago, DC and Lucy and I playing in the current while Hank ranged the edge whining. He grew more and more agitated until he finally plunged in.

More doggie water-treading ensued, though this time he was close enough to get back to the bank on his own. But something changed in Hank at that moment. It's as if his body suddenly took charge from the fear that had been hamstringing him.

Maybe he finally realized he could get back to the bank, and that a rescuer was only 10 yards away. No matter, Hank plunged in the water and stroked swiftly across as if he'd known how to do it all his life.

Suddenly Hank could swim.

Stunned and incredulous, DC and I just looked at each other. Much clapping, congratulating and barking ensued.

Maybe we shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, this is how we all learned to walk, falling down and being told by loving hands to try again.

Fear is the great enemy of learning, of progressing. Fear that we can't understand or won't do it right keeps us from succeeding and even from trying.

Once while taking a golf lesson from a new instructor, he sought to improve my performance of a new technique by telling me to imagine a .357 magnum was pointed at my head and would go off if I didn't do what he wanted me to. And all this time I thought I was supposed to stay relaxed.

Many people play the game in fear of looking bad. So every errant shot is not a chance to learn what works and what doesn't but a source of embarrassment and anger that prevents learning.

Instead of learning, they experience humiliation.

What's humiliation but having our pride hurt? And what is pride but a sense that we are more important or special than others?

"He who feels the humiliation of another person less than his own still has too much pride." -- Eva Pierrakos

Most of us are so far from that state of being that it almost seems improbable.

I don't know if Hank is capable of feeling humiliated, if when he runs and hides when we want to pet him he is exacting revenge for the many days he spent barking at us from the bank. I do know that when he took those first fear-free strokes through the water he looked reborn. A new dog.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian