I called my brother last night because I hadn't talked to him in a while.
He asked me how I was doing, how I liked writing for an online newspaper. I started telling him about my involvement in the puppy mill protest and how I posed as a customer, and what I saw.
He proceeded to yell at me saying "I don't want to hear it!!" I did everything I could to fight back the tears, not letting him know he got to me (yet again!!). I was hoping he'd say "Good job, Donna!!" But no. He lives down South where puppy mills are all over the place. I told him I was just trying to educate people on the importance of either adopting from a shelter, or a reputable breeder where they CARE about where their puppies go and what happens to them. The conversation went down hill fast from there.
I feel like crap, crying at the drop of a hat, remembering WHY I hate these holidays so much. Then I realized that it's 37 years ago today that our house burned down and my maternal grandfather, Bumpy George died from his burns.
Merry freaking Christmas.![]()
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