Humans stop pretending they enjoy “the great outdoors.” Squirrels lie flat on tree limbs like melted pancakes. Birds look offended by the existence of sunlight. Even mosquitoes seem too tired to bite with any enthusiasm.

And then there is Winnie Lew.

Now, if you know Winnie Lew, you know she is not what anyone would call an adventurous spirit. She likes routine. She likes air conditioning. She likes judging other dogs from a safe distance. She believes puddles are personal insults and rain is something that happens to people who made poor life choices.

Water, in Winnie Lew’s estimation, belongs in one place. Her water bowl.

Everything else is unnecessary. This presents a challenge at Doggie Day Camp.

Most mornings, Winnie hops off the Bark Bus convinced she is headed to another day of sniffing, napping, supervising the younger dogs, and quietly reminding everyone that she is not running for “Most Enthusiastic Camper.”

But this particular week Alabama forgot all sense of mercy. The kind of heat where stepping outside feels like opening the oven to check on a casserole. The kind of heat that makes squirrels question their career choices. Even the counselors at day camp gave up on chasing tennis balls and opened the little wading pool in the play yard.

The younger dogs charged toward it as though someone had announced free bacon. Goldendoodles cannonballed. Labs splashed with reckless abandon.

Rosie, the Chihuahua mix invented a game that appeared to involve creating tidal waves.

Winnie Lew watched the whole spectacle from the shade with the expression of a tiny accountant auditing everyone’s questionable decisions. “I’m just saying,” her face seemed to communicate, “there are perfectly good dry places available.” She maintained this position with remarkable consistency.

Every time Dawn chirped, “Come on, Winnie Lew! Just dip your feet!” She looked away. Every. Single. Time.

But by 10:00 the Alabama sun had become downright persuasive. Even the dirt was warm. The breeze had called in sick. The dogs famous for endless energy had slowed to a lazy stroll. Winnie Lew began reconsidering her long-held theological objections to water.

She started inching closer. Not close enough to get wet. Just…close enough to gather information. She investigated the edge of the little pool with tremendous suspicion. She sniffed. She stared. She sniffed again.

Some scientific experiments require replication.

The poodle sibling bounded through the water, sending droplets flying everywhere.

My co-pilot jumped backward approximately four feet. Clearly the pool was dangerous.

Still…It looked awfully refreshing. She walked away. Returned five minutes later. Walked away again. Returned. This continued for nearly half an hour, which is about how long it takes a stubborn dog to negotiate with herself.

Finally she stood at the edge. One paw hovered. One of the counselors held her breath.

The other dogs were blissfully distracted by the splash pad sprinkler.

Slowly… Ever so slowly… Winnie Lew lowered one tiny paw into the cool water. The look on her face suggested she’d just discovered ice cream could also pay taxes. Well. That wasn’t terrible.

She left it there. Then she tried the other paw. Still alive. Interesting. She glanced around to make sure no one important had noticed. One has a reputation to maintain. Before long both front feet rested happily in the cool water while the rest of Winnie Lew remained safely on dry ground.

It was a compromise worthy of international diplomacy. “I acknowledge the existence of water,” she seemed to announce, “without endorsing all of its policies.” The transformation was immediate. Her shoulders relaxed. Her tongue stopped hanging halfway to Georgia.

She sighed. It wasn’t just any sigh. It was the sigh of someone who has spent years arguing against something only to discover it is actually delightful. Before you knew all four paws were in the water and she was actually smiling.

The Queen of Dry Land simply sat beside the pool with her little feet soaking in the cool water like she’d booked an afternoon at the finest canine spa in Alabama. Every few minutes she’d lift a paw, inspect it, then put it right back. As if to say, “Yes…still excellent.”

When the Bark Bus dropped her off, Dawn was practically glowing. “You are not going to believe what Winnie Lew did today.” Whenever someone begins a sentence that way, I immediately assume lawyers are about to become involved. Instead she pulled out her phone. There was Winnie Lew. Sitting in the kiddie pool.

All four paws in the water. Looking as pleased with herself as if she’d personally invented summer. The humans couldn’t stop laughing. Not because she looked ridiculous. Well…perhaps a little because she looked ridiculous. Mostly because we’d witnessed something rare. A genuinely stubborn creature changing her mind.

That doesn’t happen every day. Certainly not among people. Sometimes we make lifelong decisions based on one bad experience. One cold swim. One embarrassing moment. One disappointment. Then we build fences around ourselves.

“I don’t like water.”

“I don’t trust strangers.”

“I don’t try new things.”

Years go by. Meanwhile there sits a perfectly wonderful little pool waiting patiently for us to stick one paw in. Not leap. Just…one paw. Winnie Lew reminded me that courage rarely arrives looking heroic. Sometimes courage is simply placing four fuzzy paws into water you’ve spent your whole life avoiding. Sometimes bravery is changing your mind.

Sometimes wisdom is admitting, “Maybe I was wrong.” By the time she boarded the Bark Bus to come home, Winnie Lew was noticeably cooler, considerably happier, and just a little smug. Not because she’d conquered the pool. She hadn’t. She still wasn’t interested in swimming. Let’s not spread ugly rumors.

But she had discovered that life isn’t always divided into things we love and things we hate. Sometimes there’s a delightful little middle ground.

Sometimes you don’t have to jump into the deep end. Sometimes you simply dangle your feet. And on the hottest day Alabama can invent, that turns out to be more than enough.

These days, if anyone asks Winnie Lew whether she likes water, she’ll probably wrinkle her nose and pretend the question is beneath her. Appearances matter. But if the thermometer climbs high enough, and if no one makes a big fuss about it, don’t be surprised if one afternoon at Doggie Day Camp she quietly wanders over to the little pool. Paws submerged. Tail perfectly dry. Looking as though she invented the whole idea herself.

Which, if you know my co-pilot, is exactly how she’d prefer history to remember it.

Amy George is an Episcopal priest in Selma, Alabama, where she shares an office with her volunteer pastoral care assistant, Winnie Lew. When not doing God’s work, you can find Amy doing Dog’s work–vacuuming a never ending supply of dog hair, chauffeuring Winnie Lew, and being the provider of endless dog treats. Amy feels blessed to have no fear of ever being attacked by squirrels, UPS delivery people, or small lizards.