The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) by Teresa J. Rhyne

the only one with a camera.
    They wanted me to take a photo with my own camera? Why?
    The family was gathered behind the man’s wife, looking at us, the photo subjects. My mind raced. Was this an elaborate scam to steal my camera? If I handed my camera over, would it be gone forever, along with the hundreds of photos I’d just taken? I’d lose the photos of my golden dog! I hesitated, looking at their smiling faces. If it was a scam, it was indeed an elaborate one. And if it was not, well, I’d have another beautiful photo to remember this day. I handed her my camera.
    She took the photo and then another. She laughed and nodded and handed the camera back to me. The husband asked, in half hand motions, half broken English (“we see”), if they could see the photo. I popped open the screen and showed them the photo taken moments before. The family gathered around and smiled their approval. We all nodded and, hands in prayer position, said our namastes .
    Later I asked Wisdom (who else would I ask?) what the photo request was about. He said it was a sign of respect and a story for them—the blond American they met at the Taj. Or for the baby, a story they would share as he grew up. The Hindu culture is very respectful of visitors; this much we had seen and learned. This was one more way of showing that. Since I was so obviously a visitor, they were, in a sense, acknowledging that I was special.
    What a very kind thing to do. Especially on that day.
    In our hotel room, following breakfast, we had an hour to rest or pack or shower before we needed to meet downstairs for two more stops and the long bus ride back to Delhi. Lina and I opted to rest in our side-by-side twin beds, the height of luxury compared to where we’d been sleeping. Maybe it was exhaustion, the lingering thrill of the Taj, or the sudden comfort of soft beds, but Lina talked to me. I asked her if she was married. She laughed joyfully and pointed out that I had missed the “letting go” burning ceremony two nights before. What she was letting go of, sending up into smoke, was her marriage. She told me her husband had an affair and she’d filed for divorce recently. I remembered then that in the group therapy session before I’d made my outburst, Lina had said she was enjoying the trip because she didn’t have to think about anything. Her schedule was set, her meals were made for her and served regularly, and there was no time to think. For her this was a reprieve. I had been shocked, but now I understood why. It’s always perspective, isn’t it?
    I shared with her that my first husband had cheated on me twice (that I know of; I’m sure there were more, but it loses significance after two). One of his mistresses was named Lina. This Lina’s eyes flew wide open and she let out a hearty laugh.
    “Get out! Are you kidding me? Was she Italian?” she said.
    “Yes, she was. So you’ll forgive me if I’ve called you Deena before. I have a mental block about your name.”
    She laughed again. “You can call me anything you want. I totally understand.”
    We talked for so long we had to throw our things back in our overnight bags in a rush and still were late getting downstairs. But at least I wasn’t alone. I had a friend. I had shared a feeling. Maybe two (anger is a feeling, right?).
    As we toured additional sites that day, I made more of an effort to talk with my fellow travelers and to join with the group. Though, even in my new lighter mood, I was enjoying being alone with my thoughts. Seeking to stay in that peaceful space I’d found, I now watched more closely for the dogs, and the monkeys, the cows, the goats, and even the birds.
    It occurred to me that the animals were in no better or worse condition than the people. If we were in a particularly poverty-stricken place, the dogs were more likely to be thin, hungry, and sick or injured, or both. At one temple there was a particularly aggressive baby goat. She danced and pawed at the ground to