My mom was born and raised in West Virginia. She met my dad when she came up north to work in an ammunitions plant in Maryland in 1942. She had been married and had two kids, had no intention of ever getting married again. Dad must've caught her at a weak moment. I never really have been close to my older half-brother, his wife saw to that. But my half-sister and I got closer as we got older. They were raised in West Virginia by my grandparents until they became unruly teenagers. Then they were sent up to Pennsylvania to us. That flopped and the two of them went to Maryland to live with their father. My sis died in 2005, brother is alive, living in Delaware somewhere. My brother-in-law called me this afternoon and told me my mother's baby sister's husband passed away, and, three days later, my mother's other sister passed. So now, out of twelve children, there's only one left. I called her and gave her my condolences, she sounds the way she always has. I haven't been south since 1976. There were 37 grandchildren and I was the only Yankee. Those family reunions were not much fun for me.
I went to look at another dog today. The lady told my friend Bob that she had to find a home for her because she didn't get along with their Chow-mix dog. They had found her at a fruit stand outside of town around Christmas and after much inquiry, nobody claimed her. She was an adorable terrier mix. I went to pet her and she snapped at me. The lady said, 'Oh, yes, she will do that, but, she has never broken the skin.' She and our other dog get to playing and she'll get all hyper'
I didn't take the dog, but I had a brain fart on the way home and remembered the first comment about not getting along with her other dog but now they are playing? My gut was right again. Something didn't feel right, plus they had given her a name, so I think she didn't really want to part with her.