🇺🇸🐺 Sheepdog Goes to Washington 🐺🇺🇸

Last week, I had the opportunity to visit Washington, D.C. for the very first time. I didn’t go as a tourist, though I certainly soaked in the awe of the monuments and the weight of history that seems to live in the air there. I went as a producer and actor of Sheepdog, a film that has been more than a decade in the making—one rooted in trauma, healing, and the resilience of those who serve. The purpose of the trip was to celebrate a new partnership in support of our mission as a film and social impact project.

During our time there, we participated in two powerful events: a private dinner and nighttime monument tour with a group of supporters, and a Celebration of Service Gala, where our collaboration was officially announced. To our surprise and immense gratitude, we were presented with a $10,000 donation—funds that will go directly toward buying tickets for veterans, first responders, Gold Star families, and mental health workers to see the film when it releases widely this fall.

It’s hard to describe what it felt like to be in the nation’s capital for the first time with something so deeply personal. Sheepdog is more than a film to me. It represents years of work, passion, and a fierce belief in the importance of storytelling—particularly stories that shine a light on the invisible wounds of war and the possibility of post-traumatic growth.

Walking through the city, I was struck by the grandeur of it all—the symbolism, the marble, the institutions that were built to represent freedom, democracy, and justice. But I’d be lying if I said it was easy to feel wholly proud. Touring Washington stirred up a mix of emotions. On one hand, I was deeply moved by the history and significance of the place. On the other, I felt a quiet weight—a reflection of the complex political and social climate we’re living in right now.

It’s a challenging time for many of us. Division runs deep. Rights and freedoms that feel foundational to who we are often feel like they’re being debated, threatened, or rolled back. That reality can make it hard to stand in front of these symbols of democracy and not feel conflicted. I wanted to feel pride, and I did—but it was layered with frustration, and a sense of urgency to keep moving things forward.

But here’s where I land: in the midst of all of that, I got to stand in Washington, D.C., with a piece of art I helped create that stands firmly on the side of healing, compassion, and justice. I got to witness people in positions of influence acknowledge that art can be a vehicle for change. And I was reminded that the most patriotic thing any of us can do is continue to show up—to speak out, to vote, to rally, to create, to protect, and to uplift one another.

Hope isn’t blind optimism—it’s the choice to keep going even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I left D.C. carrying both my frustration and my pride. And I think maybe that’s the most honest way to walk through America right now—with both eyes open, and your heart still in it.

Big love to you all. So proud to have you as a part of our community.

M