No more worries

Mom asked recently if I was going for a walk with just Fame to tell her all my worries. I said no, and she asked why not, pointing out that I used to tell Claren my troubles.

She had a point, but I am not going to start spilling my guts to Fame -- she doesn't need that. The more I  thought about, I came up with three reasons.

First, I am dumb. Lord only knows what I did to Claren by telling her my worries. With Fame, I stick to song lyrics and happy words.

Second, in retrospect, I think Claren was an "old soul." She was happy I was her person, but she was more than happy to "love the one you're with." Fame is, too, as long as I am there.

I hesitate to use the word "clingy" because I find Fame's neediness what I need, but anyone who has seen her upon my return from one of the rare trips without her knows what I mean. She jumps into my lap as if to say "OhmygodIthoughtyouhadleftmeforever. Then she pins herself to my chair. When I returned to Claren, she was like, "'Sup."

Finally, I lived alone when I first had Claren. I needed to talk to her. She was my worry-eater, my version of a sin-eater. Now, Fame can be a service dog; I have Mom as worry-eater!