Lammy’s Latest Adventures

You may recall our adventures with Lammy on our trip to San Diego last summer, and the all-out effort it took to find her when she got lost.

Lammy photo

My making a fetish of Lammy is having some unforeseen results, probably more for me than for Chloe. Lammy got left in my car yesterday when I took Chloe home, and I had to text my daughter at my next stop to let her know Lammy was safe and that I’d take good care of her until I see them again Tuesday.

I find myself carrying on conversations with Lammy. She listens beautifully and is usually agreeable, except when someone says “Lamb chops!” Then she covers her ears and doubles over into the fetal position. Chloe loves to taunt her with “Lamb chops! Lamb chops!” as Lammy cowers.

"Not lamb chops!"

“Not lamb chops!”

Last Sunday the opening hymn at church was “Comfort Me.” Chloe had just handed Lammy to me so, from the choir loft, Lammy pantomimed the hymn: “Comfort me…” I rocked her in my arms; “Sing with me…” she raised her paws (hooves? what kind of feet does a chenille lamb have?) in song; “Dance with me…” she did a little jig. “Speak for me…” was tougher, and she remained silent.

Lammy even has an adopted sibling, “Sharon.” We got her at Barnes and Noble right before Easter, and once again it was I who was seduced by that face. After we got her we couldn’t figure out what she was–sort of a rabbit/lamb cross, so we named her “Shammy.” (All Chloe’s animals are female.) Then I noticed the receipt said “Sharon the Sheep,” so that was settled, but “Shammy” stuck even though she’s a real, not sham, sheep.

"Shammy," not "Sharon"

“Shammy,” not “Sharon”

I realize how silly this is, but as long as it’s not causing Chloe to have a pathological attachment to stuffed toys, I’m not worried. She still has her “blankie,” too, and when she’s ready it will be left behind, as I suspect will happen to Lammy as well.

Blankie when she was a lot newer.

Blankie when she was a lot newer.

However, the other day, Chloe said she hoped she kept Lammy for her whole life, and then Lammy would be buried with her. Now many Grandmas would find this creepy, but I am impressed with how nonchalant she is the with the understanding that she, like every other living thing, is not immortal. All I said was that I hoped it was a hundred years from now, when she’ll be 106. She said, “Longer than that!”

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