The Visitor

Nature Event I
Yesterday I went to the little basti (slum) down the street from the diocesan compound to check on a sick baby. When I entered the basti, several children came running up to me telling me excitedly that a monkey was in the village. That excited me too, and I wanted to know where it was. It didn't take long to find out. As I was talking to the mom about the baby, the monkey appeared. He very casually planted himself at my feet and became very interested in what I had in my hand. This is not a small monkey. He looked up at me and said something, which I did not understand, but that is not unusual for me in India, revealing lots of very sharp little teeth. I told him he would not like what I had, so I eased around him, and the mom and I went into the little room and shut the door. After a few minutes I went out to make sure the stuff in my basket was still there, and the monkey was sitting on the ledge of the house next door. When the door opened, he hopped down from his perch and came into the room. Those of us in the room moved out the other door and watched to see what he would do. Well, he made himself quite at home. He went over to the cooking area of the house where a pot was still sitting on the "stove". Remember the food is cooked campfire style on the ground, so it is just the right height for this visitor to have a look-see. He lifted the lid off the pot and I tell him "No!" He replied with his little grunt and showed me his teeth. Well, maybe he won't eat too much.
The grandmother came into the room with a tin plate, scooped some rice from another pot onto the plate and set the plate in front of the monkey. Lunch was served.
The monkey ate from the plate for a few minutes and then grabbed a handful of rice, went to the door and propped his legs up on the door frame and continued to eat.
He left this little hut and went to visit some other folks. When I was leaving, lots of people were gathered at the entrance to the basti. The monkey had decided to rest a spell on the porch of what used to be the school room before the eviction notice arrived. A man was also resting there, but that didn't bother the monkey, and it didn't seem to bother the man. I was watching from the walkway and chatting with folks when the monkey decided to come and check out my bicycle. He acted like he wanted to climb up on it, but he was content to fool around with the wheels and the pedals. I cautiously made my way to the front of the bike still holding onto it while he made his way around the back and to the spot where I had been. Then he was finished. He left the basti and headed toward the little tea stall down the road.
Of course my camera was back at my house. Twice now I've missed great pictures of monkeys because I haven't wanted to lug my camera around. This event was just too cool and even without the pictures, I am not likely to forget it.

Event II
Last year when I was living in one of the guestrooms at the compound, a wasp decided to make her home under my plastic dining table. She always came at breakfast and lunch; I guess she liked to keep me company while I was eating. She was never agressive so I let her come and go.
This year, a different kind of wasp has taken a liking to my little wooden table in my kitchen where I eat. This wasp, and maybe it's not even a wasp but something else in that family, is huge. I mean really big. The first time it flew by me, I felt a big gust of wind on my face. I have some fake flowers in a vase on my table and she seemed very curious about those flowers. I told her they were fake and that there were some real ones in the living room, but she didn't bother to listen. Then she disappeared. I looked around but couldn't find her not even under the table. All of a sudden she was back and right in my face. But she wasn't interested in me and she didn't care that I was having to do some shifting to let her pass. She has been working several days now and the other day when she came in, she had a large green caterpillar suspended from her body. At first I thought it was her body, but I got a good close up look at it and it really was suspended from the wasp's body and was curling up and uncurling. She had to work a long time to get this thing stuffed into her house. She is still working coming regularly at breakfast and lunch. I don't plan to remove this home once she is finished. I have no idea how long it takes for the baby to go through all its stages and emerge from its home. Maybe I'll be back in the states by then. If not, I hope it's a friendly little wasp, like its mom.

There is a third nature event with a sad ending.
Last year, I made a box doll to use for teaching body parts. This doll has arms and legs of toilet paper rolls. I made some clothes for her so she is dressed decently.
I decided to use her this year to teach prepositions to one of the classes. We named her Behula and when I picked Behula up to put her on a chair, a tiny egg fell out of her body. I had to forget prepositions for a minute and scoop up the egg and show it around to a bunch of squeamish kids. Things calmed down and once again I began to move Behula to different places and once again, another little egg came tumbling out of her body. I then searched her hollow arms and legs to make sure there were no more eggs to go "splat" on the floor. These were lizard eggs, and a lizard lives in the computer lab which is also where Behula lives. I am sorry this mom decided Behula would make a good safe place for her eggs, but you can be sure, I will be very careful the next time Behula gets put to use.

simple pleasures

If you have ever spent time in a developing country, then you know about simple pleasures. I want to share some simple pleasures that I have observed here in Durgapur.
When the kids first moved into the hostel, I was especially concerned about the girls and their feminine needs, so I bought them each a package of sanitary napkins. You cannot imagine the excitement that simple gift caused. There were hugs and squeals of "Oh, thank you, Miss, thank you." When was the last time you gave thanks for a sanitary napkin?
Or when did you thank someone for giving you a dose of medicine that didn't taste especially nice? We've had some children suffering from coughs, fever, headache, the usual childhood ailments, but we have also had a couple of kids who really required medical attention. One little girl had a urinary tract infection, but we thought maybe it was typhoid fever from drinking some bad water. When her fever shot up to 105 we put her in the hospital, a good one. Every time I gave her medicine, before the hospital stay and after, and every time I took her temperature, she never failed to thank me. One of our older girls required surgery on her leg to remove a tumor which we treated as a carbuncle for over a month. This was a painful thing, and I had to apply hot compresses, cream, and a bandage twice a day. These moments were not pleasurable, but she never failed to thank me for inflicting this pain on her. I know these are not simple pleasures as such, but the act of caring for someone and about someone here is recognized, and the response is always "Thank you, Miss."
I am amazed at how the simplest thing excites these kids. They don't need thriller rides or game-boys to make them happy. A face cloth for mopping the sweat off your face, a packet of pocket tissue, a new needle for sewing are all received with exuberance.
On the 26th of March, Manju celebrated her birthday. If you live in the slums, most likely you don't even know when your birthday is or how old you are, but Manju knew.
I am not as adept as the Indians when it comes to putting together a party on short notice, but I made some barely edible sugar cookies and found a little gift from the things left behind by the NC delegation and we had a party for Manju. It was indeed a simple affair but greatly appreciated. There were no gift bags for those attending the party, no theme, no trip to the bowling alley, just two cookies apiece, the birthday song, and two simple gifts. It was joyous, and it was enough.
Now my birthday was a different matter. I was not even planning to tell anyone that it was my birthday. Last year, you may recall, I spent my birthday in the office of foreign affairs in Calcutta because of a lapsed visa. Anyway, after Manju's party, the girls started asking me when my birthday was and my response of "I don't know" was getting me nowhere, so I told them. They immediately began planning something, and it wasn't long before everyone here at the compound knew about my birthday.
On Saturday, my doorbell rang early, but I couldn't answer the door right away, and when I did, I found the children all sitting on the floor facing my door with smiles on their faces and they began singing happy birthday to me- simple pleasures,
It was visiting day at the hostel, and the moms of the kids kept coming into the computer lab to wish me a happy birthday. Then when they all left I noticed a small crowd of people beginning to gather, and the girls were running about collecting flowers. Hmmmmmm, this day is not going to pass so quietly after all.
On request, I headed up the stairs to the hostel, and in the big room there were balloons, a small table with a birthday cake on it with my name on the cake, all the children from the hostel, and my friends from the compound. Of course there were candles on the cake, which I had to blow out, and of course, these were those candles that never go out. Everyone enjoyed that part immensely. Then there was the cutting of the cake and the birthday song, and then a traditional little ritual I could have done without, someone stuffing your mouth with a piece of the cake, not just one, but several.
The children wanted me dressed in an outfit I had recently bought, kind of a wild Punjabi thing, but just right for a party, so I excused myself for a moment and changed into that outfit. When I returned to the party, there were cheers from the kids.
We set up the CD/cassette player and put on our one tape and danced. There were other things to eat as well, and it was fun. Simple by our standards, but enough.
The really fun part for me was watching the children get so excited about this party.
"Tis the gift to be simple."

Muleeta

I want to tell you a story about Muleeta.
When I was here last year, Muleeta won my heart. I'm not sure exactly why unless it was because she was so tiny and seemed so vulnerable. She lived in the village closest to the Diocesan Compound and her daughter, Manju attended the Child Study and Development Centre.
Muleeta was in her forties and for lack of a better word, Manju's stepmother. Muleeta was the first wife in the marriage, but since she couldn't have children, wife number two entered the scene. These two women became like sisters and while the second wife gave birth to two children, Muleeta was the one who took care of them, especially Manju.
When I arrived in Durgapur in January, Muleeta was noticeably absent. I asked Manju how her mother was and she told me "Not fine." She went on to tell me that Muleeta had been bowled over by a bull in the market, not Wall Street but Muchipara, and her knee cap had slipped out of place. The family took her to my favorite government run hospital where a doctor pushed the knee cap back into its place. Muleeta was in the hospital a long time but received no medical help and so the family moved her back to the village.
I went to the village to visit Muleeta and found her squatting on the ground, not able to walk at all. Since she was no longer able to get to the market to beg her bread, and wife number two spent her earnings as a construction worker on alcohol, there was nothing for them to eat. I was pretty upset by this so I went to the market and got them some food.
When the second delegation from NC came for their visit, I learned that a doctor was among the group. I asked him if he would check Muleeta out and see what, if anything, could be done to get her back on her feet. He agreed to do this and with a borrowed rickshaw van, Basu, a worker here, and I went to the village to get Muleeta. We loaded her up on the van and headed back to the centre. We located the school's stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and the doctor examined her. All the injuries seemed healed, but what she needed was some simple exercises to strengthen her legs and hopefully, that would get her back on her feet.
So I began going to the village a few mornings a week, and we did leg lifts and bends and with manju and I supporting Muleeta, we got her on her feet and started walking her around the small space in front of her house. I even found a chair back complete with the back legs which I thought might be a good walker. It really worked quite well and Muleeta was able to walk by herself with it.
Then the hostel opened and Manju left the village and moved into the hostel, leaving Muleeta pretty much at home alone. I continued going to the village and soon picked up another client, Khandi, a seventy something woman whom I had met last year. She was complaining about her back hurting and so I started giving her a back massage. Well, now I am a physical therapist and a massage therapist, and I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. But Muleeta is making progress, and she is excited about being able to walk even though it is with help, and she does seem to be getting stronger. Khandi enjoys her massage and even under my untrained hands, I can feel the tightness in her back ebbing somewhat.
To fully appreciate this story you have to know what these women look like. First of all they stand about 3' tall. They both have short, wild, gray hair, and they both wear the white sari of the widow. Sometime they wear the little sari blouse under the sari, but most of the time, they don't, or if they do, the blouse isn't buttoned so it doesn't really make a difference. Basically, they are exposed from the waist up although they attempt to stay covered with the end of the sari that goes over the shoulder. Half the time, Muleeta can't keep her sari tucked in very well so she is losing it a lot. These saris could stand a good washing, but I don't think they have anything else to wear. It would be comical if it weren't so sad.
One day when I arrive at the village, Khandi is there and begins to gather her styrofoam mat, some packing material she has scavenged, getting ready for her massage. Muleeta is not in her usual spot and I ask about her. Khandi tells me that Muleeta is not well and she is sleeping. After the massage and some simple exercises, I check on Muleeta. She is being plagued by a stomach thing and hasn't eaten or drunk anything for awhile.
I go back to the centre and pick up some safe water, a banana, make some toast, grab some hand sanitizer and head back to the village. Manju is with me and we get her to drink some of the water. We leave her resting.
The next morning, Manju and I take her another banana and some rehydration salts. She actually eats the banana and drinks some of the salts and I am feeling encouraged. Later in the morning, Manju's bio mom comes to the centre where she has been working on the cathedral, but instead of working she squats down at the sand pile and begins crying. Basu comes to get me and tells me that Muleeta isn't drinking anything and she isn't talking.
I head back to the village and find Muleeta very weak and cold to the touch. When I get back to the centre, I have Mrs. Kobiraj call some doctors she knows, but they are all out of station. Getting her to the hospital isn't out of the question, but there is no one to stay with her. I offer my mornings, but the villagers decide to call a doctor from a town which is a considerable distance from Durgapur, and he won't come until the evening.
At 2:30, Mrs. Kobiraj and I go back to the village and Muleeta is not good at all. She is thrashing about and grabbing at anything close to her, and she is very cold to the touch. I should recognize these signs by now, but I bury the recognition in the hope that she will get better. We go back to the centre and a very short time later, maybe thirty minutes, Manju's mom comes to the centre to tell us that Muleeta has died. Just like that. Gone.
Back we go. Manju and I go into the little hut where Muleeta is lying on her thin mat on the hard ground. I lift the cover from her face and I'm amazed at how different she looks in death, more like the forty years she was than the sixties look she carried through life. All the pain and anxiety has melted from her face, and she truly does look peaceful.
The little group of villagers gathered around the hut start giving orders about the things that need to be done. First, the body must be removed from the house. The only space to put her is filled with kindling, so we begin moving it to another
spot. The villagers are only too happy to direct this process but not willing to participate in it. Then Manju, her mom, and I lift Muleeta from her bed and carry her to her resting place. Moving her is awkward because the hut is dark and the ceiling is so low even I cannot stand up straight, but we get her moved.
Manju hands me the incense sticks and the little incense holder. She lights the sticks and puts them in the holder. Then I place the holder close to Muleeta's head on what I hope is a level enough spot to keep the holder from toppling over.
We keep a short vigil and then leave. Already there are men there collecting information and the papers needed to get Muleeta buried.
I miss Muleeta. I feel so helpless here in this place where Death just hangs out waiting for someone to become weak so he can make his move.
The days of mourning are over, Manju is back at the hostel, and life in the village has returned to its definition of normalcy. I still go and massage Khandi's back and lead her through some simple exercises, but I am very much aware of Muleeta's presence in that little space in front of her hut where she spent so many hours just squatting.
The picture is of Manju.

India, round 2

Nomashkar,
I have been back here in Durgapur for over a month now, and it has been busy, busy, busy..
Leaving Charlotte on Jan.3rd, I was in the majority of travelers mostly all westerners headed for the UK. In Gatwick, I switched to Emirates Airlines and immediately became a part of the minority. That's quite humbling to be knocked off your western pedestal, but I loved being with the Arabs and as we made our way east, the population changed again, and I was mostly with Indians.
Fr. Halder met me in Kolkata and we headed to Durgapur. I had been here maybe an hour when several children from the different villages arrived to present me with a garland of marigolds and a bouquet of flowers and lots of hugs.
My flat is very comfortable. The plumbing in the bathroom has been fixed and the geyser or maybe geezer (hot water heater) works most of the time. The pipe in the kitchen still leaks, but the floor is just concrete and there is a drain hole so I don't worry about it too much.
I've ridden my bike to the market and to the hospital to visit Mrs. Kobiraj's son who was quite ill. I was excited that I remembered how to ride in traffic yielding to every other moving thing along the lane.
Mrs. K's son was in the government run hospital. You may remember my experience in that place. Nothing has changed. The hospital has no medicine to speak of, so if you need more than an IV of saline solution, you're in big trouble. Munti, the son, was suffering from jaundice probably caused by alcohol abuse. When I first visited him, he was going through withdrawal, not pretty. The doctor recommended shifting him to the private hospital just down the road. I was there when this happened, and those of us who were visiting, including Mrs. Kobiraj trekked down to this hospital, which is quite new. What a difference!
This place actually looks like a hospital. It's clean, polished, and lots of friendly and competent looking people running around doing their work.
Munti received very good care there. He was in an IC unit complete with a monitor keeping track of all his vital signs. He began to improve rapidly and was soon moved to a private room with a TV.
One morning when I was visiting, Munti was surfing through the channels (a universal syndrome) when I caught a glimpse of UNC playing Clemson. "WAIT" I whispered loudly. "Go back to that channel." Sure enough, it was ESPN and I was watching the game live at 9:30 in the morning of the next day. Mmmm, maybe this could be a new mission, introducing NCAA basketball to India.
I'm sure you're curious about My Dog. Well, she remembered me and makes frequent trips to my flat to get her supper. She waits patiently at the door and so far we have managed to keep this little secret quiet. She is the mother of seven puppies. She gave birth in a very protected spot, the space under the driveway but above the drainage ditch. It's like a cave. The puppies have yet to make their debut to the greater world, eventhough they are big enough now to be out and about. Guess she remembers losing her whole litter last year to cars and bigger creatures.
I spent all of January working on a grant from the Episcopal Church's United Thank Offering. We want to construct a sewing center on top of an existing building. The women are already coming to the center for classes two days a week. When they saw the girls from their villages who attend our project learning how to sew, they came and asked for training as well. If we get the grant, we will be able to have a nice space for instruction along with tables for cutting fabric, and several sewing machines. We hope this center will be a production facility as well allowing the women to contract their work in addition to making things to sell at church gift shops in the US and the UK. Keep your fingers crossed.
The hostel is finished, the beds are made, the curtains are hung, the forms have been filled out, the warden has arrived, and the cook, although temporary, has also arrived. The whole space has been blessed, and the kids have moved in.
Thank you Diocese of Western North Carolina. This is the hostel that you built.
Of course, my quiet little sanctuary will be no more, but that's okay. I'm excited!
Now, I want you to imagine what moving into the hostel might feel like to these kids.
They have been sleeping on the ground, or if they have had a bed, it was shared by however many bodies could crawl into it. They've had no sanitation, unsafe water, meager meals, lots of mosquitos and no guarantee of being safe, warm, or dry.
All that has changed, except for the mosquitos, but now they have nets.
They came to the center on moving day with their bags, boxes, and some even had little suitcases complete with a lock and key. They know a little bit about security, or rather the lack of it. Some of the moms left teary-eyed, but for the most part, handing over their children into our care went very smoothly.
It was quite something to watch them unpack their things and organize their space. They smiled the whole time. Even attaching the mosquito nets was fun.
On Friday morning, my doorbell was ringing at 6:30AM. UH OH, not good. After dressing, I entered the big room where they were all having breakfast and demanded, in a somewhat growly voice, to know who had rung my bell.
Lots of laughing and giggling, finger pointing and cries of "Not me" (there's one in every family) ensued.
Soon they were off to school, different groups at different times.
It's been challenging to keep the water tank full. Taking showers is a relatively new thing and they, especially the teenage girls, are taking full advantage leaving the rest of us high and dry. Time to introduce the 3 minute shower.
When the kids are not in school, they are studying. Did you get that? They study all the time. Lights out is at 10:00PM but by 9:00 they are begging to go to bed.
One of the members of the 2nd North Carolina delegation visiting Durgapur is a doctor, and he graciously examined, not just the hostel kids, but all the children who attend our project. It was an all day event.
On Sunday, we watched the Jungle Book in Hindi in our nice big room. Twenty-two children ranging in age from 5 to 14 sat on the floor mat and actually watched this DVD. There was no fighting, pushing, shoving, whining, or any of those things we are familiar with when the family gathers to watch something on TV.
So, my mission this time around is quite different, but I'm much more experienced in this area; I'm a mom!

blogging off

Well, I am back in Blowing Rock and trying to adjust to this culture, although I don't plan to get too comfortable. I will be heading back to Durgapur in January for another 6 months.
Knowing that I would be going back made leaving a little bit easier.
I am already missing the children, the projects the diocese is involved in,my teacher friends, and the folks at St. Michael's Church.
When I go back, I don't think I will keep a journal in the blog format. I realize that responding to a blog requires a registration which most of you did not want to do. I understand that completely. With that in mind, I think I will write articles for the Highland Episcopalian for those of you in the Diocese of WNC and The Franciscan Times for those of you in TSSF. For those of you who want to hear from me via e-mail, I will need to hear from you and will put you on a new e-mail list.
If I don't hear from you, I will assume you don't want to be on my list and I will drop you.
I will be changing my e-mail address before I return to India to get rid of the hundreds of spam messages about viagra of all things. Never respond to any message that says Congratulations, you have won a laptop!
I really appreciate those of you who took the time to respond to the blog either on the site itself or through e-mail. Your comments and your own news helped me stay connected. Thanks!
Nomashkar,
Lynn

My Dog pics

The Conductor and My Dog

"Chalo, Go!" the young man shouts banging his hand against the side of the bus. The bus moves away from the stop, and the conductor pulls himself into the bus closing the door behind him. In between stops, he skinnies his way through the sardine packed bus flipping through the wad of rupees with his thumb like a deck of cards letting you know he wants the fare. He puts most of the money in a leather bag he wears over his shoulder and should you need change, you will get it. He always knows who and how much.
Soon he's back at his post announcing the next stop. Some folks are trying to get off at the stop, pretty challenging since everyone's body has become entangled with someone else's, and to create as much havoc as possible, folks are scrambling to get on the bus. The conductor is a master at mob control and soon, believe it or not, people who want off, are off and people who want on, are on. If the stop is an actual stop which lasts a minute or two, the conductor is off the bus hawking the destination, "Durgapur, Durgapur!" so fast that to a foreigner's ears it's indistinguishable.
The conductor can pack a bus. He has his orders to transport a certain number of people during the day, and if he wants to keep his job, he will meet the demand, forgetting all safety precautions. So with people back to back and belly to belly and who knows what else, the conductor urges more people on. "Chalo, Go!" BANG! and we're off.
Standing on the bottom step leaning out into the traffic with his body against the open door of the bus, the conductor shouts directions to drivers of other vehicles, not just cars, but cycles and rickshaws, and using his free hand tells drivers to move over or to come on by.
The driver of the bus is totally dependent on the the conductor. For one thing, he cannot see who's getting on or off. He's in a spot pretty much by himself, separated from the rest of us by a metal divider which is right behind his back. He cannot be watching for passengers and he certainly isn't taking the fare or even directing the traffic, so the conductor's position is prime.
Since the buses are on a schedule, they waste no time at stops, especially in Calcutta. The conductor wants you off quickly and on quickly. He does help the elderly (not me) and mothers with young children lifting the children onto the bus or off the bus, but the rest of us have to have a bit of leapping ability to get a foot on the bottom step, and this step is way up off the ground, and grab the railing as the bus is already moving out.
When I am able to actually see this guy in action, that is when I am not flattened against the throng of people standing on the bus, I love watching him go through his routine.
Agile, athletic, and alert, the conductor keeps India on the go.

My Dog
I've already introduced you to My Dog, but now I want to tell you more about her.
She's still on the skinny side, but not like she was in the beginning when I first met her.
She still doesn't have much hair, and she is still scratching but less feverishly. There are not as many open, raw patches on her as before.
In spite of all this, she's got a spirit about her that's endearing, not a lot unlike the people who live in the slums. They are survivors, at least for the moment, and they are spirited ones.
I think My Dog is clever, smart, and loyal. She can also be stubborn or maybe it's just a language barrier.
To illustrate: One evening I was riding my bike back to my flat from the Center when My Dog decided to follow me. I shooed her back and thought I had succeeded, but when I came to the intersection I have to cross, there was quite a lot of traffic, all kinds of wheeled things with no lights, so I had to stop and wait. When I stopped, My Dog pulled up beside me, sat down and waited with me. What to do? I'm too tired to turn around and take her back, and besides, it is dark. I do nothing. When the road is clear, I take off on my bike with My Dog running along beside me, but not too close so I don't have to worry about hitting her.
As we approach my block, the dogs who hang out at the chemist shop spotted her and came charging after her barking and snarling as they are prone to do. I didn't stop, but I did slow down to listen for the usual yelping and squealing that accompanies a dog attack. There was none. Okay good. Now maybe she's learned a lesson and will not try to follow me again.
The next day I couldn't find My Dog. I asked everyone if they had seen her and no one had. I began to feel very guilty about not returning her to the Center or checking to make sure she had escaped the ferociously territorial dogs in my block.
I started cruising up and down the lanes in between my flat and the Center looking for her body, but I found nothing.
Then on the third day, there she was in her usual spot. "Where have you been?" I asked. A young seminarian doing a short internship at the Center told me he had spotted her on the roof, which is where a lot of the dogs like to sleep.
Soon she started trying to follow me again, and I asked the guard to please keep her behind the gate and not let her out. This lasted only a short time, however, and one evening she managed to slip past the guard and took up her post alongside my bike.
When we got to the chemist canines, nothing happened. I rode right past them and My Dog stayed right with me. We got to my gate and My Dog wanted in, of course. While I was wrestling my bike through the gate, she slipped in. Oh well. My landlord was out doing his nightly laps so there was no way to sneak her in. I parked my bike and began the task of coaxing her back out the gate. The landlord helped a bit knowing Bengali dog talk. On the other side of the gate, she lingered awhile and then left.
This became a routine, and I must admit it was kind of fun having My Dog trotting along beside me, especially one night when it was very late.
Another evening, Mrs. K. and I were walking together toward our homes and My Dog was along as well. When we reached the chemist, two of the canines came tearing across the street in their usual obnoxious, teeth baring way. Mrs. K. and I stopped to see what would happen. Well, My Dog held her ground. She hissed a couple of words at them, her nose twitching and her mouth moving up and down, and those two fat and sassy dogs slinked back across the street without another word.
Mrs. K. and I looked at each other in wonder. When My Dog joined us, we asked her, "What in the world did you say to them?" I'd like to have those words tucked away for emergencies. We got to my flat, and Mrs. K. went on her way and My Dog slipped in through the gate as usual. I got her out, closed the latch, and proceeded to the doors which provide me access to the stairs. I hoisted my bike up the steps to the landing and headed up to my flat. About half way up, I heard something behind me. When I turned to see who or what it was, yes, you guessed it, My Dog! Someone must have come in or left and My Dog seized the opportunity. She knew exactly where the doors were and she boldly came through them and began the climb up. What now? I had my arms full as usual so I went on up to my flat. My Dog followed me in like she owned the place, took a self-guided tour and sat down in my dining area. She wasn't loud, no barking or running. For one brief moment, I was tempted to keep her overnight. Bad idea since we get locked in for the night and there would be no way to get her out should the need arise. Besides, I like my landlord and wouldn't want him to think Americans were a sneaky lot. "Okay, My Dog, let's go." Back down the stairs we went. My landlord, again lapping, just laughed when he saw her.
One morning as I was leaving to go to the Center, My Dog came bounding out of the bushes next door. Together we went to school.
Now that I am spending more time at the Center since I am shifting my stuff here for the last month and a half of my stay, My Dog is a constant companion. If I am painting in a classroom, she is there. If I am working at the computer, she is there. I have even let her in my little one room flat here at the Center. One day when I let her in and then wanted her out, she wouldn't go. Round and round we went My Dog dodging me every which way. Finally I got one of the men to help me. "Heh, Heh" he said, and My Dog got up and left. I've been working on my "Heh, hehs" and sometimes My Dog understands.
It is certain My Dog will never win any beauty pageants, but it is also certain that she's won my heart.