Beth Apone Salamon '90 | July 26, 2017
In between the screams over the phone from my 17-year-old daughter, I could only make out a few actual words. It sounded like she said the dog had been hit. Maybe with a car. Maybe by her. Impossible to say from her unstrung wailing.
I had just begun my 45-minute commute home from work and there was no way to expedite the drive. All I could really do was stay on the phone and try to calm her down and assess whatever terrible situation had transpired between a hysterical teenager and a blond Labrador retriever with a lovely disposition and not much sense.
“You were driving the car?” I asked.