Tuck started off as he did on any other morning, loping down the driveway, but less than ten seconds had passed when Mother heard the sickening screech of car brakes and a muffled yelp. Instantly she guessed what had happened and called out to my father, who was upstairs, shaving. Then she ran outside, still in her blue robe and scuffs. A car was stopped in the middle of Cheltenham, about fifty yards from our house, and in front of it was poor Tuck, on his side on the pavement, a still gold mound. Maybe dead. The driver of the car was kneeling down. My mother ran to Tuck, and then my father, having pulled on his robe, joined her. There was blood on Tuck's head, and he was quivering, breathing in short gasps, blank eyes still wide with fright. Fortunately the car had struck him a glancing blow as it skidded to a stop, only the bumper hitting him. The driver, a student on his way to college classes at Los Angeles State, was very upset, saying, “The dog suddenly ran out in front of the car, as if he hadn't seen me.”
What do You think about The Trouble With Tuck (1981)?
