The Wild Robot

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.”