My sister, Jeri, always loved dogs and cats from the time she was a little girl. I remember when she came home one day with a little black and white dog she picked up on the side of the road. Someone dumped her I’m sure. Anyway, it was homeless, so it joined the Templin household, we named her Prissy, and added another mouth to feed, but Prissy was easy. She liked biscuits and gravy. We all loved her and she loved us.
Her demise was a sad one. I was excited about a trip to Red River, New Mexico. Don Close had a new red, Chevy Impala with a Corvette engine. Boy could that thing run! Anyway, it was the first trip out of state for this old country boy and I was excited. I was getting out of Prosper! You can imagine the excitement I was feeling as I hurried home from Graybar Electric-where I worked in Dallas, to pack my clothes in my little brown suitcase. I was 20 years old, exhilarated with the prospect of an adventure. I ran in the house grabbed my clothes and threw them in the suitcase, slammed the screen door, hurrying with a skip in each step to my 1955 Ford. I threw the suitcase into the backseat, put the car in reverse and backed out. I heard a howl and felt a bump. Oh no! Prissy had gotten older, didn’t hear the engine, and I backed over her, must have killed her instantly. I had to take our little dog off, didn’t have time for a proper burial, because Donald was waiting in McKinney for me. That trip took my mind off Prissy.
By then, Jeri was married to Billy Bob Biggs. She had moved to McKinney where Billy Bob was a Manor Bread man, delivering bread door to door. Billy Bob was always a hard worker, but that’s another story for another day. Twenty years later my sister Pat heard what happened to Prissy.
A reflection of years gone by as told to Sandy by John Harvey Templin.
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