The Wild Robot

“Give him some mashed-up grass. And if a few insects get in there, all the better.”

Roz tore several blades of grass from the ground. She mashed them into a ball and then dropped the ball into the nest. The gosling shook his tail feathers and chewed his very first bites of food.

“By the way, my name is Loudwing,” said the goose. “Everyone already knows your name, Roz. But what’s the gosling’s name?”

“I do not know.” The robot looked at her adopted son. “What is your name, gosling?”

“He can’t name himself!” squawked Loudwing.

And then, with a loud burst of wingbeats, the goose fluttered up from the pond and landed right on Roz’s head. Water streamed down the robot’s dusty body as Loudwing leaned over the nest.

“Oh dear, he certainly is a tiny thing,” said Loudwing. “He must be a runt. I’ll warn you, Roz—runts usually don’t last very long. And with you for a mother, it’ll take a miracle for him to survive. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. However, the gosling still deserves a name. Let’s see here. His bill is an unusually bright color. It’s actually quite lovely. If I were his mother, I’d call him Brightbill, but you’re his mother, so it’s up to you.”

“His name will be Brightbill,” said Roz as the goose fluttered back to the water. “And we will live by this pond, where he can be around other geese. I will find us a sturdy tree nearby.”

“You will do no such thing!” The goose flapped her wings. “A tree is no place for a gosling! Brightbill needs to live on the ground, like a normal goose.”

Loudwing sized up the robot. “I suppose you two will need a rather large home. You’d better speak with Mr. Beaver. He can build anything. He’s a little gruff at times, but if you’re extra friendly, I’m sure he’ll help you out. And if he gives you trouble, remind him that he owes me a favor.”

CHAPTER 29 THE BEAVERS

Every day, the beavers swam along their dam, inspecting and repairing it. The wall of wood and mud allowed only a trickle of water to pass through, and it had turned a narrow stream into the wide pond that many animals now called home.

As Roz and Brightbill walked around the pond, they passed hundreds of chewed-up tree stumps, proof that the beavers needed a constant supply of wood. And this gave Roz an idea.

The robot swung her flattened hand, and the sounds of chopping wood echoed across the water. They were soon replaced by the sounds of footsteps and shaking leaves as the robot carefully walked along the beaver dam with a gosling on her shoulder and a freshly cut tree in her hands. The beavers floated beside their lodge and stared at the bizarre sight with open mouths until Mr. Beaver slapped his broad tail on the water, which meant “Stop right there!”

The robot stopped. “Hello, beavers, my name is Roz, and this is Brightbill. Please do not be frightened. I am not dangerous.” She held out the tree. “I have brought you a gift! I thought perhaps you could use this in your beautiful dam.”

“No, thanks,” said Mr. Beaver. “I have a strict policy never to accept gifts from monst—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” interrupted Mrs. Beaver. “We can’t let a perfectly good birch go to waste!”

“I’m afraid I must insist!” said Mr. Beaver.

Mrs. Beaver turned to her husband. “Remember how you asked me to point out when you’re being stubborn and rude? Well, you’re being stubborn and rude!” Then she turned back to Roz. “Thank you, monster. If you’d be so kind as to drop the tree in the water, we’ll take it from there.”

“I am not a monster.” Roz tossed the tree like a twig. “I am a robot.” The tree smacked against the water and sent the beavers bobbing up and down.

Just then, Brightbill started peeping. “Mama! Hungry!” So Roz dropped a ball of grass into the nest.

“The gosling thinks you’re his mother?” came a quiet voice. It was Paddler, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver’s son.

“His real mother is dead,” said Roz. “So I have adopted him.”

There was a brief silence. Then Paddler looked up at Roz and said, “You’re a very good robot to take care of Brightbill.”

Mr. Beaver sighed. “Yes, yes, that’s very good of you, Roz. But I don’t understand what any of this has to do with us.”

“My son and I need a home, and Loudwing said you would help us build one.”

“Of course she did,” Mr. Beaver muttered to himself. “Loudwing gets me out of one lousy jam, and I spend the rest of my days doing her favors.”

Mrs. Beaver glared at her husband.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he was being stubborn and rude again. “Stay right there, Roz. We need to have a family meeting.”

The three beavers slipped under the water, and a moment later their muffled voices could be heard inside the lodge. The robot stood on the dam and patiently waited with her son.

“Mama! Mama!”

“Yes, Brightbill, I am trying to act like a good mother.”

A ripple, and Mr. Beaver’s head appeared above the water. “If you bring us four more trees—good, healthy ones—maybe I’ll have time to help you and the gosling.”

“That is wonderful!” said the robot. “We will be right back!”

CHAPTER 30 THE NEST