The Trouble with Tuck: Chapters 4–10

Because he’d become “civilized,” Tuck was now a permanent night resident in my room, and although I maintained to everyone that he slept strictly on my bedside rug, there wasn’t a single night that I couldn’t feel his weight at the end of my bed, often a cozy lump over my feet.

By now, the Dudley pink was confirmed and had enlarged to cover about half of his nose, making it mottled black and pink.

‘Take care whom thou pushest against!' cried a great, burly friar.

‘Take care whom thou pushest against!' cried a great, burly friar.

Wouldst thou dig thine elbows into me, sirrah? By’r Lady of the Fountain, if thou dost not treat me with more deference, I will crack thy knave’s pate for thee.

Wouldst thou dig thine elbows into me, sirrah? By’r Lady of the Fountain, if thou dost not treat me with more deference, I will crack thy knave’s pate for thee.

Even Stan and Luke had something to say about it, though grudgingly.

His paws were compact and thickly padded, toes perfectly arched and hocks well bent.

However, as much beauty as there was in his supple body, it was Tuck’s head that caused people on the street to stop us and marvel.

All of it stopping as suddenly as it had begun, Tuck soon came over to me, flecks of blood around his nose and in the yellow hair on his chest.

Maybe it was silly to keep thanking him, but I did, with words and hugs. He surely understood the latter.

He stood there, bewildered, knowing that he’d hit something.

I do remember that somehow Tuck got a foxtail barb down in one ear his second summer and Dr. Tobin had to put him to sleep to take it out with instruments.

Our appointment was for ten-thirty, and I gingerly led Tuck into one of the clinic’s small examination rooms.

He listened intently and then said, “Okay, let’s see what’s going on here.”

“He has disintegration of both retinas, the part of the eye that receives images.”
I didn’t know what all that meant. My father did. He stated simply, “He’s going blind.”

Dr. Tobin said some other things and then, finally, “...there is, to date, no known treatment that will slow the progress of retinal atrophy in canines or effect a cure.”

My mother turned back, her face somber. “I’m sorry, Helen. Yes, come on in with us. But you might not like what you hear.”

“Or you can give him to the university at Davis. They’re working very hard on retinal atrophy.”

“Helen, you may be condemning him to a rope for as long as he lives. I’m not sure that’s fair. Think about it.”

Tuck can turn vicious. He’ll live in a world of darkness, and the kind hand that suddenly, unexpectedly touches him can be mangled.

She was cultivating her marigolds and petunias at this moment, digging into the rich brown earth with a metal claw.

The furniture in that room was white wicker covered in a flower print, but my favorite was a large white rocking chair from Hickory, North Carolina, where my grandmother lived.

I relented and yelled after him, “Thanks.”

There wasn’t any wind blowing, so whatever odor I had wasn’t wafting up toward him.

Without hedging around, I said, “I’d like to make an appointment to talk about a companion dog.”

Mother chided Stan. “It’s a well-known charitable organization, and I’m sure they don’t go around telling anyone to drop dead.”

I also get the impression that the school thinks we might be indigent, since they offered us transportation.

Mother glanced at him once again and then back at me, her eyes bleak.

I took a long time to answer, then said, “Tuck has a catastrophic problem too.”

I advised Tuck, “We won’t be too long,” and got out too.
My mother said bitingly, “That’s an understatement.”

There were several other older dogs lolling around, sleeping in the hallway or padding down it.

“We’re entirely supported by public donations and endowments.”

With anguish, Mrs. Chaffey said to my mother and father, “Can’t anything be done surgically to help him?”

Mrs. Chaffey shook her head and said, “I wish so much that I could help you.” We could see how distraught she was.