It all started one day in June of 2013, when my nephew brought this stray dog home for my mom and dad. They couldn’t keep her because their dog, Pepper, would not eat if the stray was around. Pepper was very old and we had thought several times that she was dead or dying, but she always perked back up and was doing okay. So, even though I had been petless for many years and was quite content to be so, or so I thought, I agreed to keep her for them until Pepper passed and then they could take her back. So, I brought her home.
She was a good dog. Very happy and playful. I decided to name her Prissy, as she seemed to priss off after a ball or the Frisbee. After a couple of days, I took her to the vet, to have her checked for a chip and make sure she was healthy, get shots, etc. That night, someone from the vets office called and said one of the vet techs was Facebook friends with someone who was looking for their lost dog and they thought it was Prissy. With her distinct markings, it would be hard to mistake her for another dog. So, I got in touch with the lady, we exchanged pictures, and sure enough, it was her lost pet.
I was getting ready to go out of town for a few days, so I told her to come on over and get her that night. As soon as I hung up the phone, I started crying. I had only had Prissy a few days and was already in love with her and didn’t want to let her go. When the lady came to pick her up, “Prissy” ran and jumped in her arms as soon as she got out of the car. I knew she was home, but I had lost a friend.