Free The Trouble with Tuck by Theodore Taylor Page A

“Then we have kennels for the dogs in training after they've been out with farm families for a year and a half. They're here for about six months, including the time they train with their blind masters or mistresses. They have to learn to work in harness and master all the commands.”
    “Has Daisy done all that?” I asked.
    “She was born here, tested here, and then spent eighteen months with the McIver family in the Imperial Valley. Then she was six months back here again and was graduated, along with Mr. Stafford, in 1953.”
    We stopped by a small office building to add a trainer to the party. Introduced as Harry Peterson, he had a leather dog leash wrapped twice around his hips, like a belt. It was easier than carrying it everywhere, he said.
    Momentarily, we turned into one of the kennel buildings, full of happy, barking dogs, and about eight pens down, we stopped. So did my heart and whole body.
    There was Lady Daisy, sitting on her haunches, looking at us through the triangles of pen wire. She was a brown and black German shepherd and had soft, kind eyes. A little chubby, she looked like a very motherly dog.
    She's so right for Tuck, I immediately thought. Saint Lady Daisy!
    While Mother and I stood in the aisle between the long rows of pens, the trainer and Mrs. Chaffey went inside. Mrs. Chaffey squatted down by Daisy, asking the companion dog, “How would you like to retire at the age of six?”
    Daisy was very dignified, standing quietly, wagging her tail in response, looking in my direction.
    Then Mrs. Chaffey said to the trainer, “She's really too old to start retraining with a new master, isn't she?”
    Peterson answered, “Borderline, at best.”
    Then Mrs. Chaffey said to Daisy, “I think I know of a super home for you and a super job.”
    Harry Peterson said, “I trained her well.”
    Mrs. Chaffey smiled up at him quizzically. “Well enough to guide a blind dog?”
    “Oops,” said the trainer.
    Mrs. Chaffey arose. “Daisy, I'd like you to meet some people.”
    Then she brought Lady Daisy out, and I sank beside her on the concrete floor, whispering to her, “Wait until you see Tuck.”
    She turned her lovely head to look at me, full face, andthere was an ancient calmness in her brown eyes, as if she knew many things.
    I heard Mrs. Chaffey saying to my mother, “Even under normal circumstances, we'd retire her in another two years. The dogs begin to lose their sharpness about the age of eight. But Daisy has a lot of life ahead, I think.”
    I looked up. “Can we take her home today?”
    “I'm afraid not,” Mrs. Chaffey said. “She has to have a good physical. We also have to make inquiries about your family. This is all highly unusual, and it can't be done overnight. Next week sometime, I'd guess.”
    There would never be a longer wait in my life.

15

    T he arrival of Lady Daisy at 911 West Cheltenham the following Monday was loudly, angrily announced by none other than Friar Tuck Golden Boy himself. He knew that a canine intruder was on his front porch, and he set up a din in the backyard, straining at the very end of his chain.
    Daisy followed Mrs. Chaffey through the door as if she were two-footed and totally human, and then she sat down politely by Mrs. Chaffey's feet and looked around as though inspecting her new house.
    My mother said, “That's the most sedate, serene dog I've ever seen in my entire life.”
    Soon, that most sedate, serene dog met the entire family, excepting Friar Tuck, who was, or had been, the full opposite of Daisy on many occasions. On this late afternoon,he was unserenely making enough noise for a pack of barking wolfhounds.
    I went out to shush him.
    When I returned to the living room, my mother was saying, “I'm worried that Tuck might resent her. Plain jealousy. Listen to him now.”
    “That's a real worry,” Mrs. Chaffey admitted.
    I asked, “You mean Tuck might not let her stay here?”
    “Yes, that's possible,” Mrs. Chaffey said. “He might even