Free The Trouble with Tuck by Theodore Taylor Page B

hurt her. He's a very powerful dog.”
    “I wouldn't let that happen,” I promised.
    “You can't be around them twenty-four hours a day. And if Tuck really wanted to hurt her, I doubt you could stop it.”
    “I'll teach them to be friends,” I said.
    “That's a good start,” she replied. “But there's no instruction for what you're about to do. Another thing, you and you alone should be the trainer. It's always best that way. One person doing it.”
    My father said, “Suppose Tuck and Daisy just don't get along.”
    “Well, the answer to that is simple,” Mrs. Chaffey replied. “We'll place Daisy in another home or take her back to the school. We never abandon these dogs, under any circumstances.”
    My father said, “Okay, let's see how Mr. Tuck reacts.”
    We all went out to the backyard, and Tuck, fur standing in a ridge on his back, growled the moment the door swung open. Unable to see, he'd smelled Daisy, and even though she was female, she was intruding into his space nonetheless.
    Mrs. Chaffey quickly said to me, “Talk to him, reassure him.”
    I commenced talking fast, telling him Daisy wanted to be his friend, but the low, throaty growling went on as Tuck circled her, tense and suspicious. Daisy stood absolutely still as he inspected her, sniffing and sizing her up.
    The growling worried me, and I said sharply, “Behave, Tuck!” I'd seen some of his wild fights in the park, and they'd begun that way, growling and circling.
    “How do I do it?” I asked.
    Mrs. Chaffey looked at me. “You're the trainer, Helen. But I'd go slowly. Very slowly. You can't force friendship—humans or dogs.”
    She departed for San Carlos a few minutes later, extracting a promise from my parents to call her at the least sign of trouble.
    I stayed out in the backyard a while longer, just watching the activity. Tuck soon seemed to lose interest in Daisy and clanked over to his favorite sleeping spot by the house. She then lowered herself to the walk by the back steps and closed her eyes too.
    Deciding to take Mrs. Chaffey's advice to go slowly, I did nothing with Tuck and Daisy that night except feed them in separate bowls, well apart from each other.
    By bedtime, when Mother came into my room, Tuck was in his usual place on the rug beside me, and Daisy had taken up a neutral position in the middle of the floor.
    Sitting down on the edge of my bed, Mother said, “Well, tomorrow you start an adventure. A big one.”
    I said that so far Lady Daisy had been very careful.“Not drinking out of Tuck's bowl. Not taking Tuck's place here by the bed.”
    “She's obviously an extremely intelligent dog. Now, Helen, don't ask too much of her—nor of Tuck; nor of yourself, for that matter.”
    I said I wouldn't, though, of course, I really wasn't lis-tening to that kind of instruction.
    “We'll be rooting for you.”
    “And for Tuck?”
    Mother smiled. “Daisy, too.”
    Most everyone I know who owns a dog talks to him or her occasionally, or even frequently, but aside from the few basic commands, I don't think the exact words count for too much. The tone of voice means much more, along with the movement of one's hands. The latter did not apply to Tuck now. Looking back, I see that I talked a lot to him over the next weeks. Pleaded might be a better word. Whether he understood or not, he began to display almost every bad trait there is. Selfishness, jealousy, anger, pettiness. I could go on for a page. He was an awful dog for quite a while.
    As soon as I arrived home the next afternoon, I brought Daisy out of the house and unsnapped Tuck from his yard chain. He chose to ignore her, as if she didn't exist.
    I then led Daisy up to his side, positioning her so that his big ears were about opposite her ample rump. I then said to him, “Tuck, put your head against her,” and simultaneously pushed his skull her way.
    A tremendous roar of anger and defiance rumbled from deep within him. His jaw was open, and his fangs werebared. Those