The Wild Robot

by Peter Brown

  “I’d like you to pull out the quills!”

  Roz calmly knelt beside Fink and said, “I will pull out the quills.”

  The robot started to tug on a quill, but it snapped off in her fingers. Fink yelped and said, “Pinch it closer to the skin!” So Roz pinched the broken quill closer to the skin, and then, very slowly, she pulled it out. The fox winced in pain and said through his teeth, “Please, Roz, pull them out faster. This is agony!”

  Roz quickly tugged out another quill. Then another, and another. The fox lay perfectly still, eyes closed tightly, wind whistling through his nose, until every single quill had been removed and placed in a neat pile beside him.

  Fink struggled to his feet. “Thanks, Roz. I… I owe you one.” The fox smiled, briefly, and then he limped away.

  CHAPTER 24

  THE ACCIDENT

  As Roz wandered through springtime, she saw all the different ways that animals entered the world. She saw birds guarding their eggs like treasures until the chicks finally hatched. She saw deer give birth to fawns who were up and running in a matter of minutes. Many newborns were greeted by loving families. Some were on their own from their very first breath. And, as you’re about to find out, a few poor goslings would never even get a chance to hatch.

  Roz was climbing down one of the forest cliffs when the accident happened. The wind started blowing out of the north, and suddenly clouds were rushing over the island. With the clouds came a spring shower. A downpour, actually. And there was our robot, clamping her hands onto a wet block of stone on the side of the cliff. But the block couldn’t handle the extra weight. And as the heavy robot hung there, cracks suddenly shot through the stone and it started breaking apart. Down went the robot, plummeting into the treetops below. She crashed through branch after branch before finally hooking an arm around one. Then she dangled there, gently swinging as rocks roared past her on their way to the forest floor.

  When the dust settled, Roz shimmied down the tree trunk. The ground was littered with broken rocks and splintered wood and pulverized shrubs. And within all that rubble was a goose nest that had been torn to shreds. Two dead geese and four smashed eggs lay among the carnage. The robot stared at them with her softly glowing eyes, and something clicked deep inside her computer brain. Roz realized she had caused the deaths of an entire family of geese.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE EGG

  As Roz stood in the rain, staring down at those poor, lifeless geese, her sensitive ears detected a faint peeping sound coming from somewhere nearby. She followed the peeps over to a clump of wet leaves on the ground. And when she peeled back the leaves, she discovered a single perfect goose egg sunk in the mud.

  “Mama! Mama!” peeped a tiny, muffled voice from within the egg.

  The robot gently cradled the fragile thing in her hand. Without a family, the unhatched gosling inside would surely die. Roz knew that some animals had to die for others to live. That was how the wilderness worked. But would she allow her accident to cause the death of yet another gosling?

  After a moment, the robot started to walk. Carefully holding the egg, she moved through the forest and away from that sad scene. But she didn’t get far before Fink burst out from the bushes.

  “What happened?” The fox panted. “The whole forest was shaking!”

  “There was an accident,” said the robot. “I was climbing those cliffs when the rocks started to fall.”

  “You should be more careful,” said Fink as he checked out the robot’s new scrapes and dents. “I’ll need your help if I ever have more porcupine trouble!”

  “I will be more careful.”

  “What do you have there?” said Fink, looking up at Roz’s hands.

  “A goose egg.”

  “Oh! I love eggs! Can I eat it?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you want it?” The fox scowled. “I thought you didn’t eat food.”

  “You may not have this egg, Fink.”

  The fox sighed. He scratched his chin. And then he started sniffing the breeze. His nose had found the scent of the dead geese. “You can keep your egg!” he said as he trotted toward the cliffs. “I smell something better!”

  The robot walked on through the misty forest for a long time, until she was standing beneath a sprawling oak tree. Roz placed the egg on a pad of moss. Then she snatched grass and twigs from the ground and delicately wove them together to make a little nest. She placed the egg inside the nest, placed the nest on her flat shoulder, and climbed up into the branches.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE PERFORMER

  Up in the sprawling oak, the goose egg was peeping and wobbling around its nest.

  “Mama! Mama!” said the egg.

  “I am not your mother,” said the robot.

  The egg continued peeping and wobbling until nightfall, when the gosling inside settled down to sleep and the egg became quiet and still.

  The robot was about to settle into her own kind of sleep when she heard something in the underbrush below. Roz peered down from the branches and saw weeds rustling in the moonlight. A creature was crawling past. But the creature stayed low, hiding in the darkest shadows, so that Roz couldn’t see who it was. Roz wasn’t the only one watching. A pair of furry ears rose up behind a log. The ears belonged to a very hungry badger. He lay in wait as the shadowy creature came closer and closer, and when the time was right, the badger pounced.

  You might expect a creature under attack to run for her life, or to defend herself, or at the very least to scream. But when the badger pounced, this creature just rolled onto her back, stuck out her tongue, and died. Not only was she dead, she was rotten, and the badger’s face twisted with disgust. “Blecch! What a stench!” He pawed at the stinky corpse a few times and then gave up. “No, thanks,” he grumbled to himself. “I’d rather eat beetles.” And the badger hurried off to find a less disgusting meal.

  Had that mysterious creature been frightened to death? And how could her body possibly rot so quickly? Roz was confused. And the robot became considerably more confused an hour later, when the dead creature’s ears began to flicker, her nose began to twitch, and she rolled onto her feet and went on her way as if nothing had happened.

  The robot’s voice called down from the tree. “Are you alive or are you dead?”

  The creature’s voice hissed up from the shadows. “Who’s there? Why have you been watching me?”

  “What you just did was unbelievable,” said Roz. “I could not look away.”

  “Unbelievable? Really?” The creature’s voice seemed to be softening. “I thought perhaps I overdid it when I stuck out my tongue.”

  “I was certain you were dead.”

  “Oh, what a lovely thing to say!”

  “Were you dead?”

  “Well, of course not! Nobody can actually come back from the dead. It was just an act!”

  “I do not understand.”

  “It’s simple. I knew that if I played dead and really laid it on thick, that old badger would be so disgusted that he’d run off. And that is exactly what happened. We opossums are natural performers, you know.”

  “So, you are an opossum.” Roz’s computer brain quickly retrieved any information it had on opossums. “You are a marsupial, and are nocturnal, and are known for mimicking the appearance and smell of dead animals when threatened.”

  “It’s true, death scenes are my specialty,” said the opossum. “But I have a wide dramatic range, believe me.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Have you done any acting?” said the opossum.

  “I have not,” said the robot.

  “Well, you should! You might enjoy it. You can start by imagining the character you’d like to be. How do they move and speak? What are their hopes and fears? How do others react to them? Only when you truly understand a character can you become that character…”

  The two odd creatures sat there, one in a tr
ee, the other in the weeds, and talked about acting. The opossum went on and on about her various acting methods and her triumphant performances, and our robot absorbed every word.

  “But why do you pretend to be something you are not?” said the robot.

  “Because it’s fun!” said the opossum. “And because it helps me survive, as you just saw. You never know, it might help you survive too.”

  Soon, the robot’s computer brain was humming with activity. Performing could be a survival strategy! If the opossum could pretend to be dead, the robot could pretend to be alive. She could act less robotic and more natural. And if she could pretend to be friendly, she might make some friends. And they might help her live longer, and better. Yes, this was an excellent plan.

  Roz wasted no time and spoke her next words in the friendliest voice she could muster. “Madam marsupial, it would be a great honor and absolute privilege if you would kindly inform me of your name.” Roz’s friendly demeanor needed some work, but it was a start.

  “Yes, of course!” said the opossum. “My name is Pinktail. And you are?”

  Leaves gently shook as Roz climbed down from the tree. “It is a very lovely pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear Pinktail.” A moment later, the robot stepped into the moonlight. “My name is Roz.”

  “Oh my!” the opossum gasped. “You’re the m-m-monster!”

  “I am not a monster. I am a robot. And I am harmless.”

  “Harmless? Really? Well, you do seem rather gentle. And I heard someone say that you don’t eat any food at all, which makes no sense, but hopefully it means you won’t eat me?”

  “I will not eat you,” said the robot.

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” said the opossum. And a moment later, she too stepped into the moonlight. “It’s nice to meet you, Roz.” A weak smile appeared on Pinktail’s pointy face.

  Roz thought things were going really well. But she didn’t know what to say next. Neither did Pinktail. So the two friendly creatures just stood there together and listened to the crickets for a while.

  “Well, I should be on my way,” said Pinktail at last. “Have a nice evening, Roz.”

  “Have the nicest evening, Pinktail. I shall look forward to the pleasure of encountering you again in the future. Soon, I hope. Farewell.”

  With that awkward good-bye, Pinktail slipped back into the weeds and Roz climbed back into the tree.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE GOSLING

  Something was happening inside the goose egg.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, CRUNCH!

  A tiny bill poked through the eggshell, peeped once, and then continued crunching away. The hole grew bigger and bigger, and then, like a robot breaking from a crate, the hatchling pulled himself out into the world.

  He lay quietly in his nest with his eyes closed, surrounded by chips of broken shell. And when his eyes slowly winked open, the very first thing he saw was the robot looking back.

  “Mama! Mama!” peeped the gosling.

  “I am not your mother,” said the robot.

  “Mama! Mama!”

  “I am not your mother.”

  “Food! Food!”

  The gosling was hungry. Of course he was. So, using her friendliest voice, Roz said, “What would you like to eat, little darling?”

  “Food!” was the only response. The hatchling was far too young to be helpful. Roz needed to find a grown goose. So she scooped up the nest with the gosling inside, placed it on her flat shoulder, and marched through the forest, searching for geese.

  CHAPTER 28

  THE OLD GOOSE

  Ordinarily, the forest animals would have run away from the monster. But they were awfully curious why she was carrying a hatchling on her shoulder. And once Roz explained the situation, the animals actually tried to help. A frog pointed Roz up to the squirrels. A squirrel recommended that she speak with the magpies. And then a magpie sent them over to the beaver pond.

  The ground grew soggier, the grass grew taller, and soon the robot and the gosling were looking across a wide, murky pond. Dragonflies buzzed through the reeds. Turtles sunned themselves on a log. Schools of small fish gathered in the shadows. And there, floating in the center of the pond, was an old gray goose.

  “A very good morning to you!” the robot’s friendly voice boomed over the water. “I have an adorable little gosling with me!”

  The goose just stared.

  “I am in great need of your assistance!” said Roz. “Actually, the gosling is in need of your assistance!”

  The goose didn’t move.

  “Food!” peeped the gosling. “Food! Food!”

  That tiny voice was more than the old goose could bear, and she began gliding across the pond and squawking to the robot, “What are you doing with that hungry hatchling? Where are his parents?”

  “There was a terrible accident,” said Roz. “It was my fault. This gosling is the only survivor.”

  “If there was a terrible accident, why does your voice sound so cheerful?” The goose flapped her wings. “Are you sure you didn’t eat his parents?”

  “I am sure I did not eat his parents,” said Roz, returning to her normal voice. “I do not eat anything, including parents.”

  The goose squinted at the robot. Then she said, “Do you know who his parents were?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Well, they must have belonged to one of the other flocks on the island, because nobody in my flock is missing.”

  “Will you take the gosling?”

  “I most certainly will not!” squawked the goose. “I can’t take in every orphan I see! You say this is your fault? It seems to me that it’s up to you to make things right.”

  “Mama! Mama!” peeped the gosling.

  “I have tried to tell him that I am not his mother,” said the robot. “But he does not understand.”

  “Well, you’ll have to act like his mother if you want him to survive.”

  There was that word again—act. Very slowly, the robot was learning to act friendly. Maybe she could learn to act motherly as well.

  “You do want him to survive, don’t you?” said the goose.

  “Yes, I do want him to survive,” said the robot. “But I do not know how to act like a mother.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, you just have to provide the gosling with food and water and shelter, make him feel loved but don’t pamper him too much, keep him away from danger, and make sure he learns to walk and talk and swim and fly and get along with others and look after himself. And that’s really all there is to motherhood!”

  The robot just stared.

  “Mama! Food!” said the gosling.

  “Now would probably be a good time to feed your son,” said the goose.

  “Yes, of course!” said the robot. “What should I feed him?”

  “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—”