Part 4 – The Dog in the Delivery Van
There were days when the van felt like a second home.
Not just for Tasha and Tony, but for Jayden too—sitting shotgun on days off school, a backpack of snacks by his feet, his voice echoing through the Bluetooth as he helped navigate to the next delivery. They called it “The Bell Wagon.” Even wrote it in window marker on the back glass:
DELIVERY WITH HEART (AND PAWS)
It made some people smile.
It made others roll their eyes.
But most days, it reminded Tasha of something she hadn’t felt in a long time—pride.
—
The gig work was still brutal.
Her knees ached from apartment staircases. Her fingers cramped from carrying triple-stacked drink trays. And on the worst days, she only made $47 before gas and taxes.
But now, when the night ended, there was always Tony. Always that thump of his tail against the van floor when she opened the door. That moment when he stood up slow, stretched long, and leaned into her thigh like a welcome.
She’d never known a silence so healing.
—
One rainy morning, they stopped at a trailer park on the edge of town.
Order: breakfast sandwiches and orange juice. Customer note: “Please leave by mailbox. I’m immunocompromised.”
Tasha placed the bag on the stoop, knocked twice, turned to go.
But Tony didn’t follow.
He stood frozen, head low, ears pulled back, nose twitching at the thin air.
Then she saw her.
A girl—maybe nineteen—barefoot in a nightgown, face pale, eyes swollen. She stood just behind the screen door, watching Tony like he was the last good thing she remembered.
Tasha raised a hand in greeting.
The girl opened the door—slow—and crouched on the first step, not saying a word.
Tony stepped forward. Carefully. Cautiously. Then sat down in front of her, as still as stone.
She reached out with trembling fingers and touched the white spot on his chest.
Tasha couldn’t hear what she whispered, but she saw the way her shoulders loosened.
Tony just closed his eyes and leaned in.
—
Back in the van, Tasha didn’t say anything.
But she drove slower that afternoon.
Like the world deserved a little more gentleness than it usually got.
—
The next day, Jayden brought home a permission slip for a class field trip.
Cost: $18. Deadline: Friday.
“Can I go?” he asked, hopeful. “It’s the science museum. They’ve got this robot dog that—”
He stopped himself.
Looked at Tony, asleep in his usual spot by the radiator.
“I mean,” Jayden mumbled. “I already got a real one.”
Tasha forced a smile. “You can go, baby. I’ll make it work.”
But her account was already overdrafted.
And her tires were bald.
And the electric bill was due.
Still, she signed the paper.
Because that’s what mothers do—they make it work, even when it doesn’t.
—
That evening, her last delivery took her to a wealthy neighborhood on the west side—two-story homes with manicured lawns and decorative wreaths on every door.
The woman who answered barely made eye contact.
“You’re late,” she snapped, snatching the sushi bag.
Tasha bit her tongue. “Sorry, ma’am. Traffic and rain—”
Then Tony barked. Once. Loud.
The woman jumped, frowning. “You brought a dog?”
Tasha started to explain, badge and all, but the woman was already walking away, shaking her head.
The next morning, Tasha found a message in her inbox:
“Customer complaint received: unprofessional behavior. Further complaints may result in badge review.”
She stared at it for a long time.
Then turned her phone over and left it facedown on the table.
—
Later, while waiting for Jayden to finish homework, Tasha knelt beside Tony and touched the old nick behind his ear.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she whispered. “Some people just can’t see past their own fences.”
He leaned into her, eyes soft.
She knew that look.
The one that forgave everything.
—
Two days later, she got a text from Mrs. Connelly’s daughter.
Hi, this is Anne. My mom hasn’t answered her phone today. Any chance you’re delivering nearby? She trusts you more than she trusts me. 🙁
Tasha was already halfway across town.
Didn’t matter.
She turned the van around.
When she arrived, Tony leapt out before she even parked. Scrambled up the stairs and sat at the door, nose pressed tight against the frame.
Tasha knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again.
Nothing.
Her pulse quickened.
“Mrs. Connelly?” she called. “It’s Tasha. And Tony’s here.”
Silence.
Then a thump.
Then the click of the lock.
The door creaked open.
Mrs. Connelly stood there in her robe, pale and confused.
“I… I must’ve fallen,” she murmured. “He woke me up.”
Tony nuzzled her elbow.
She sank into a chair and held onto his collar like it anchored her to the world.
—
By the time Anne arrived, paramedics had already checked her mother’s vitals.
“Dehydrated,” one of them said. “Mild concussion. Could’ve been worse.”
Anne took Tasha’s hands. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Tasha just nodded toward Tony. “Thank him. I was just the driver.”
But as she looked down at the dog by her feet—coat speckled with gray, tail resting still—she felt something shift.
He wasn’t just a companion.
He was a witness.
To loneliness. To grace. To all the small moments that didn’t make headlines—but mattered.
—
That night, Jayden curled up beside her on the couch.
“Did Tony save someone again today?”
Tasha nodded slowly. “Yeah, baby. He did.”
Jayden grinned. “He’s not just a delivery dog. He’s a memory dog.”
Tasha looked at the old scarf still wrapped around Tony’s neck.
And whispered, “Yeah. That’s exactly what he is.”