18/03/2026
My dispatcher said that when the caseworker brought Toby to the depot. She explained it straight: Toby had lost both parents, relatives stepped back, and every foster home returned him because they couldn’t keep up with the travel his medical schedule required. When she added, “Toby wants to stay with someone who doesn’t leave,” he climbed into my cab, buckled up, and looked at me like this seat already belonged to him. I’d lost my own family to the road, but Toby wanted the same road—just not alone. That was the reason I adopted him. Toby wasn’t asking for a house. Toby was asking for a person. I changed my routes—shorter runs, predictable returns, scheduled stops for his needs. Toby learned the job through actions: reading mile markers, checking maps, calling out exits, logging points, and tapping the dash whenever I drifted past a turn. He became my navigator long before any court paperwork cleared. Now every mile is ours—one rig, two seats, and Toby beside me with his map open. And when he says, “I’ve got the route, Dad—keep driving,” that’s the closest I’ve ever felt to home. ❤️
