In 2006, in the middle of the Thai jungle, Jessica and I were adopted by a warm-hearted, broad-grinned doggy named Belly. We adopted him right back, and brought him home to the States to live with us. We made for ourselves a little family, and Belly was always the fuzzy, loving heart of that family. And now he's gone. And it hurts.

We had never been to Nicaragua before, or even Central America, but somehow our trip there last week felt like returning home. It was almost like all of our favorite parts of traveling were rolled into one country just waiting for us to explore.

Our plane swooped low over Lago Managua, offering us a stunning view of both the lake and the city sprawling along its southern shore. The massive, cone-shaped volcano Momotombo loomed to the north, and below us the midday sun glimmered off of choppy blue waves and red-tiled roofs alike. It was our very first glimpse of Nicaragua. It was love at first sight.

We told Lokesh that we were indeed love-married. He patted his chest and proudly proclaimed, "I am love-married too." We were very surprised, and eagerly pressed him for more. What was his wife's name? How did they meet? Was it difficult to be love-married in India? And then he told us his story.

I was impressed with how well the dogs were faring in India. I can't count the number of times we saw traffic divert itself because a dog was sleeping soundly in the street. Just like the cows, the dogs knew no harm would come to them.