positivity. Maybe that would be true now in my own life.
Armed with that hope, and with the calm brought to me by the golden dog, I set out to salvage my second week in India from the ruin I’d wrought in my first. Groups would never be my thing, so I made efforts to get to know my fellow participants individually. By running out shopping with one of them, I learned she feared dogs and had never traveled far from home, let alone without any family. And I knew then, though she’d been joking and popular with everyone throughout the trip, how very difficult this all must have been for her being in a land where dogs run wild and the culture is so very different from ours. I had dinner out with a small group, and together we were late to the evening wrap-up session. Though the anger at a late arrival was palpable, this time I made amends by joining the conversation. I shared a story of a friendship I’d lost when I went through cancer. I defused the anger rather than stoking the fires, and I realized I missed the friend of whom I spoke. I tried to help another participant by trading volunteer placements for a day—she had wanted to go to Mother Teresa’s and instead was sent to teach at a school. Although the trade didn’t work out (Mother Teresa’s does not allow a one-day volunteer), I was sent to the school for a day and learned I could, in fact, deal with children. I knew that going in—there was a dog sleeping on a cart outside the school when I arrived.
Chapter 10
Walk Beside Me
I wanted to run from baggage claim, laden with my suitcases and packages, to Chris waiting in the car at curbside pickup, but I couldn’t. On my last day in India I sprained my ankle—I don’t even know how, but I guess it was inevitable with the roads and potholes and uneven terrain—but the injury and twenty hours of air travel had swollen my ankle to the size of my thigh (not small, if you were wondering). But I knew Seamus was in the car with Chris, and I needed to see him—alive and happy. Chris had texted me a photo of Seamus in his crate in the backseat of Chris’s car, along with a note: We can’t wait to see you. I couldn’t wait either. Nor could I move more than inches at a time without pain shooting up my leg.
When Chris saw me, he jumped out of the car and took the bags from me.
“What happened?”
“I have no idea. It started yesterday. Or two days ago now, I guess.” I opened the car door.
Seamus wagged his tail quickly, thumping the side of the crate. He greeted me with an enthusiastic howl. I opened the crate door and kissed his head, petting him and breathing him in. He was thinner, but not by much, and his energy seemed better than when I had left. Chris had not been deceiving me with his middle-of-the-night emails. Seamus was doing better. I closed the crate door.
“Sorry, Moose. We’ll get home and cuddle like mad.” I took my place in the passenger seat while Chris finished loading my luggage.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he said.
I kissed him. “I’m glad to see you too. It’s been a very long two weeks.”
“Tell me about it. Every minute for two weeks, I’ve worried about keeping this dog alive. I promised you he’d be here when you got back and I had to make that happen.”
“Were there problems?”
“No. Just in my imagination. If he sneezed, I panicked. When he slept, I worried he wouldn’t wake up. When he was awake, I worried he wasn’t sleeping enough. Let’s just say it was a stressful two weeks.”
“Agreed. Very, very much agreed.” I reached across and rested my hand on his thigh. Seamus’s tail tapped against the crate wall. I was exhausted and injured, but I was home.
• • •
Since Seamus was supposed to be kept calm, and I was recovering from…well, from India…we spent the next several days on the couch watching documentaries. (Okay, Seamus may have slept.)
The movies I’d been stockpiling were documentaries about food. Not
Armed with that hope, and with the calm brought to me by the golden dog, I set out to salvage my second week in India from the ruin I’d wrought in my first. Groups would never be my thing, so I made efforts to get to know my fellow participants individually. By running out shopping with one of them, I learned she feared dogs and had never traveled far from home, let alone without any family. And I knew then, though she’d been joking and popular with everyone throughout the trip, how very difficult this all must have been for her being in a land where dogs run wild and the culture is so very different from ours. I had dinner out with a small group, and together we were late to the evening wrap-up session. Though the anger at a late arrival was palpable, this time I made amends by joining the conversation. I shared a story of a friendship I’d lost when I went through cancer. I defused the anger rather than stoking the fires, and I realized I missed the friend of whom I spoke. I tried to help another participant by trading volunteer placements for a day—she had wanted to go to Mother Teresa’s and instead was sent to teach at a school. Although the trade didn’t work out (Mother Teresa’s does not allow a one-day volunteer), I was sent to the school for a day and learned I could, in fact, deal with children. I knew that going in—there was a dog sleeping on a cart outside the school when I arrived.
Chapter 10
Walk Beside Me
I wanted to run from baggage claim, laden with my suitcases and packages, to Chris waiting in the car at curbside pickup, but I couldn’t. On my last day in India I sprained my ankle—I don’t even know how, but I guess it was inevitable with the roads and potholes and uneven terrain—but the injury and twenty hours of air travel had swollen my ankle to the size of my thigh (not small, if you were wondering). But I knew Seamus was in the car with Chris, and I needed to see him—alive and happy. Chris had texted me a photo of Seamus in his crate in the backseat of Chris’s car, along with a note: We can’t wait to see you. I couldn’t wait either. Nor could I move more than inches at a time without pain shooting up my leg.
When Chris saw me, he jumped out of the car and took the bags from me.
“What happened?”
“I have no idea. It started yesterday. Or two days ago now, I guess.” I opened the car door.
Seamus wagged his tail quickly, thumping the side of the crate. He greeted me with an enthusiastic howl. I opened the crate door and kissed his head, petting him and breathing him in. He was thinner, but not by much, and his energy seemed better than when I had left. Chris had not been deceiving me with his middle-of-the-night emails. Seamus was doing better. I closed the crate door.
“Sorry, Moose. We’ll get home and cuddle like mad.” I took my place in the passenger seat while Chris finished loading my luggage.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he said.
I kissed him. “I’m glad to see you too. It’s been a very long two weeks.”
“Tell me about it. Every minute for two weeks, I’ve worried about keeping this dog alive. I promised you he’d be here when you got back and I had to make that happen.”
“Were there problems?”
“No. Just in my imagination. If he sneezed, I panicked. When he slept, I worried he wouldn’t wake up. When he was awake, I worried he wasn’t sleeping enough. Let’s just say it was a stressful two weeks.”
“Agreed. Very, very much agreed.” I reached across and rested my hand on his thigh. Seamus’s tail tapped against the crate wall. I was exhausted and injured, but I was home.
• • •
Since Seamus was supposed to be kept calm, and I was recovering from…well, from India…we spent the next several days on the couch watching documentaries. (Okay, Seamus may have slept.)
The movies I’d been stockpiling were documentaries about food. Not
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