Free The Trouble with Tuck by Theodore Taylor

sidewalk tour one of those afternoons—the exact date was January 16, 1957—to find my mother waiting for me in the kitchen.
    She said, withholding news, “Go hop in the car.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “You'll see.”
    So Tuck and I went out to the station wagon, and in a moment we were gliding over the slick streets.
    “Remember Mrs. Chaffey?” asked my mother.
    Of course I did. She was the woman at the San Carlos school.
    “She called just after I came home.”
    Mother took her eyes off the road a second. “There's a dog that they may retire.”
    My heart beat a little faster. “That's where we're going?” Under my breath, I said, “Oh, God, thank you.”
    My mother nodded.
    “Will they give us a dog?”
    “I don't know. She didn't say. She just said we should come out there if we were interested.”
    “You said we were?”
    My mother laughed. “What do you think?”
    “I wonder what kind of dog it is.”
    “Does it make any difference? They only train the four types.”
    It made no difference. I would have taken a purple poodle guide dog, and I don't really like poodles, espe-cially little ones.
    Mother went on. “Now, don't get your hopes up high. Last time you moped for days.”
    How could I keep from getting my hopes up? They'd gone up out of sight already.
    Mother kept on talking, driving through the pelting showers. “Even if they do lend us a dog, it may not work. Remember Mrs. Chaffey said she didn't think it had ever been done before.”
    I finally refused to believe that it wouldn't work and said so. How did anyone know?
    I sat there as the bright green winter countryside, washed in rain, whirled by, already positive that Tuckcould be led everywhere by the companion dog. Such was my faith.
    In just over an hour, we eased through the entrance to the school and went directly to Mrs. Chaffey's office, saying hello to old Henry on the way.
    She said, “I suppose I should be surprised that you'd drive this far in bad weather, but I knew you'd come. I've thought of Tuck so many times—I couldn't get him out of my mind.”
    She stood and crossed over to the big status board and put her finger on one particular line. “Lawrence Stafford,” she said. “He was in his early seventies and died of a heart attack this morning.”
    By Mr. Stafford's name was another name,
Lady Daisy.
    Mrs. Chaffey went on. “He lived alone in an apartment in Irwindale, which isn't too far away, and the para-medics took his dog to the animal shelter. One of our trainers picked her up around noontime.”
    Lady Daisy! I thought. Heaven had sent her to the rescue.
    Mrs. Chaffey went back to her desk and sat down. “I remembered Tuck …”
    Balanced on the edge of the chair, I held my breath. My mouth had gone completely dry. Daisy!
    “… and wondered if you still had the problem. If you do, we might think about lending Daisy, who was Mr. Stafford's companion dog.”
    Words rushed like spilled beans. “Tuck's problem is bigger than ever,” I said. “He's on a chain. On rainy days, he's locked in the garage. He eats the doors and windows. He stays in trouble and gets me in trouble.”
    Mrs. Chaffey laughed. “I'm sure you don't want that. So, would you like to see Daisy?”
    I was standing upright before Mrs. Chaffey could even finish the sentence.
    We followed her out. The dogs were noisy, since it was once again near feeding time.
    The kennel buildings were long and low, with high chain-link pens extending out from each side, so the dogs could have outside air and sunlight when they wanted it. Each pen had a little open doorway to the inside of the kennel building for bad-weather sleeping and living.
    As we went along, Mrs. Chaffey said, “We have ken-nels for the mothers and their puppies. Also places for the puppies during their testing period. We test them for reactions to strange sounds and obstacles, as well as gen-eral intelligence.”
    “Some are rejected?” my mother asked.
    Mrs. Chaffey nodded.