THE FIRST NIGHT
The stars were out. A fire was crackling in the fire pit. Roz and Brightbill were settling into their first night in their new home.
“This lodge is where we will live from now on.” The robot plucked her son from his little woven nest and placed him on the floor. “I hope you like it.”
The gosling did like it. He liked that it was big and warm and peaceful. And he liked knowing that the forest and the pond were just outside. He waddled around, peeping to himself and exploring every little corner of the lodge until it was time for bed. His mother carefully laid him on a soft cushion of moss. But he didn’t want to sleep there. So she put him back in his little nest, but he didn’t want to sleep there either.
Brightbill looked up and said, “Mama, sit!”
Roz sat down.
Then he said, “Mama, hold!”
Roz held him. The robot’s body may have been hard and mechanical, but it was also strong and safe. The gosling felt loved. His eyes slowly winked closed. And he spent the whole night quietly sleeping in his mother’s arms.
THE DEER
The deer family did not run from the sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves. They had heard all about Roz and Brightbill, and they knew there was nothing to fear. Crownpoint stood before his doe and his three spotted fawns, and the family watched as the robot approached with the gosling on her shoulder.
“Hello, deer, my name is Roz, and this is Brightbill. We are looking for a doe named Tawny.”
Crownpoint moved aside, and the doe silently stepped forward.
“Mr. Beaver helped us build a lodge,” said Roz, “and he thought you might help us grow a garden.”
“Mr. Beaver helped you?” came Tawny’s gentle voice. “You must have done something for the beavers.”
“I brought them freshly cut trees,” said Roz.
Tawny looked at Crownpoint, and the buck slowly nodded.
“I will help you grow a garden,” said the doe to the robot, “if you will let my family eat from it.”
The robot nodded in agreement. And then she quietly led Tawny back to the Nest.
THE GARDEN
After inspecting the grounds, Tawny asked Roz to remove all the dried brambles and weeds and leaves from the garden area. She asked her burrowing friends, the moles and the groundhogs, to dig through the dirt and loosen the soil. And then she asked all the neighbors to do something rather peculiar.
“Please leave your droppings around the Nest! The more droppings, the richer the soil, the healthier the garden.”
As you can imagine, Tawny’s request got everyone’s attention. The place was soon crawling with woodland creatures curious to hear more about the garden project. And just like that, the robot was meeting her neighbors. The plan to help her make friends was already starting to work.
There was a festive feeling around the Nest that day. Animals were coming and going and chatting and laughing. After some pleasant conversation, each neighbor would choose their spot, leave their droppings, and be on their way. And always with a smile.
“We’re happy to help!” said two smiling weasels after finishing up their business.
“It was our pleasure!” said a flock of smiling sparrows before they flew away.
“I shouldn’t be much longer, now,” said a smiling turtle as he slowly made his contribution.
As all this was going on, Roz walked around and thanked everyone. “I am not capable of defecating,” she explained, “so your droppings are most appreciated!”
Once the grounds were fertilized, it was time for the plants. Tawny brought Roz and Brightbill out to a lush meadow. The robot sank her fingers into the ground and felt the spongy layer of roots below the grass. Slowly, carefully, she rolled up wide strips of sod, exposing the dark, wormy soil. She carried the rolls back to the Nest and spread them out to make a patchy lawn. Then she transplanted clumps of wildflowers and clovers and berries and shrubs and herbs until the Nest was surrounded by a scraggly collection of plants.
“It’s not much to look at now,” said Tawny, “but the grass will grow into these gaps, and the flowers and bushes should perk up in a few days. I’ll return soon to make sure it’s all taking root. Before long this will be a lovely, wild garden.”
THE MOTHER
Like most goslings, Brightbill followed his mother everywhere. He was a slow, tottering little thing, but Roz was rarely in a hurry, and together they loved meandering along the forest paths and around the banks of the pond. However, they spent most of their time right in their own garden. You see, the garden was no longer scraggly. Thanks to the robot’s careful attention, it was now bursting with colors and scents and flavors. Clearly, Roz was designed to work with plants.
“Oh, Roz, you’ve been busy!” said Tawny as her family grazed on the wonderland of growing things. “This garden is glorious! You’ll be seeing quite a lot of us around here.”
Tawny meant what she said. Each morning, around daybreak, Roz and Brightbill would hear quiet footsteps outside the Nest. And there would be Tawny and Crownpoint and their fawns, Willow, Thistle, and Brook, happily nibbling on the garden.
The deer weren’t the only regular visitors. The beavers became quite fond of gnawing on a certain hardy shrub at the edge of the garden. Digdown, the old groundhog, popped up to munch on berries. Broadfoot, the giant bull moose, came by to chew on tree shoots. And of course bees and butterflies were there every day, happily floating through the flowers. There always seemed to be friendly animals hanging around the garden.
It was amazing how differently everyone treated Roz these days. Animals who once ran from the robot in fear now stopped by the Nest just to spend time with her. The neighbors smiled and waved whenever Roz and Brightbill wandered past. And at the Dawn Truce, the other mothers were eager to share their parenting advice.
“Make sure Brightbill gets plenty of rest. A tired gosling is a cranky gosling!”
“When the wind starts blowing from the north, you must immediately get Brightbill to safety. North winds always bring bad weather.”
“You’ll never be the perfect mother, so just do the best you can. All Brightbill really needs is to know you’re doing your best.”
No gosling ever had a more attentive mother. Roz was always there, ready to answer her son’s questions, or to play with him, or to rock him to sleep, or to whisk him away from danger. With a computer brain packed full of parenting advice, and the lessons she was learning on her own, the robot was actually becoming an excellent mother.
THE FIRST SWIM
“Good afternoon, you two!” said Loudwing as she waddled into the garden. “Remember me, Brightbill?”
“Loudwing! Loudwing!”
“Very good!” The old goose giggled. “Now, Roz, do you know what tomorrow is? Tomorrow is Swimming Day! The day when all the parents take their goslings out on the pond for the first time. And you simply must bring Brightbill.”
“Swim! Swim!” said the gosling, shaking his tail feathers.
“Brightbill can go,” said Roz, “but I cannot swim. I cannot go on the pond with him. I will not be able to protect him.”
“Who’d have thought a big thing like you would be afraid of a little water?” Loudwing laughed. “Well, don’t you worry about Brightbill; he’ll be safe in the flock. And he’s going to have so much fun swimming with the other goslings! We begin at sunrise, so don’t be late! See you in the morning!” And with that, the goose plopped into the water and glided away.
“Swim! Swim!” said the gosling.
“Yes, Brightbill,” said the robot, staring at the pond. “Swim, swim.”
Early the next morning, peeps and honks and splashes began echoing across the calm water. Roz and Brightbill followed a trail through the fog and over to a beach that was crawling with fluffy goslings and proud parents.
Roz took a few steps into the water, and her Survival Instincts immediately flared up. The robot’s computer brain knew that if water got inside her body, it could do serious damage. And so as the other parents began swimming across the pond, Roz stood safely in the shallows and watched.
Brightbill ran up and down the beach with the other goslings, peeping and laughing and pretending to be afraid of the tiny waves. When one wave finally pulled him in, he felt his body floating on top of the water. A big smile appeared on the gosling’s face. Clearly, Brightbill was designed to swim.
“Very good, Brightbill!” said Loudwing as she floated past. “You’re a natural!”
“Yes, Brightbill, you are a natural!” said Roz, trying to sound like a good mother.
Loudwing rounded up all the goslings and gave them a quick swimming lesson. “Remember, everyone, paddle your feet evenly to swim in a straight line. Paddle with your right foot to go left, and paddle with your left foot to go right. Try it out and join the rest of us when you’re ready. Happy Swimming Day!”
Loudwing and the other adult geese calmly glided toward the center of the pond. A jumble of goslings tried to keep up with them. The youngsters jostled and splashed and peeped with excitement, and gradually they paddled in the direction of their parents.
Only Brightbill lagged behind. “Mama swim?”
Roz pointed to the flock. “I cannot swim. Go have fun with the other geese. You will be safe with them.”
The gosling took a deep breath. Then he shook his tail feathers and paddled his feet and set out on his very first swim. He drifted too far to the left. Then he drifted too far to the right. But his feet just kept paddling until he caught up to the other goslings.
Roz spent the morning watching her son swim around and around the pond. And as she watched him, she felt something like gratitude. Thanks to Brightbill, the robot now had friends and shelter and help. Thanks to Brightbill, the robot had become better at surviving. In a way, Roz needed Brightbill as much as Brightbill needed Roz. Which was precisely why she felt such concern when the mood on the pond suddenly changed.
One moment everything was tranquil, and the next moment the geese were in a panic. Something was violently sloshing through the group. It was Rockmouth, the giant, toothy pike. The fish had been a problem in the pond for as long as anyone could remember, but he’d never attacked goslings before. All the parents immediately went to protect their young—all the parents except Roz. The robot could only stand in the shallows and watch as her son left the other geese behind and desperately swam toward his mother.
“Swim to me, Brightbill! Quickly!”
The gosling kicked as fast as he could. But alone on the water, he made an easy target. The pond rippled as Rockmouth slashed below the surface.
“Mama! Help!” squeaked Brightbill.
The robot was terribly conflicted. Part of her knew she had to help her son, but another part knew she had to stay out of deep water. Her body lurched forward and then backward, again and again, as she struggled to make a decision.
And then Loudwing came to the rescue.
“Rockmouth, don’t you dare harm that little darling!” The old goose fluttered over and splashed down right on top of the fish. “Leave… him… alone!” She pecked and kicked and beat her wings against the fish until he surrendered to the murky depths of the pond.
Loudwing escorted Brightbill back to the beach, and a minute later the gosling was in his mother’s arms, safe and sound.
“Rockmouth isn’t as dangerous as he seems,” said the goose, out of breath. “But I think that’s enough swimming for one day.”
THE GOSLING GROWS
Brightbill soon forgot about the incident with Rockmouth, and he spent his mornings cruising around the pond with the other goslings. He was becoming a great little swimmer. He was also becoming a great little speaker.
“Hello, my name is Brightbill!” he said to anyone who would listen.
The gosling was small for his age, and he always would be, but he was growing bigger and stronger by the day. His increasing size was matched by his increasing appetite. He gobbled down grass and berries and nuts and leaves. Sometimes he’d snack on little insects. If it was edible, Brightbill would eat it. And even if it wasn’t edible, he might eat it anyway. Roz felt something like fright the time she saw Brightbill swallowing pebbles on the beach. She was holding him upside down, hoping the pebbles would fall out of his mouth, when Loudwing stepped in.
“Put the gosling down,” said the goose with a laugh. “It’s perfectly natural for Brightbill to eat a few pebbles. They’ll help him digest his food. But not too many, okay, little one?”
Like most youngsters, Brightbill was incredibly curious. He explored the garden and the pond and the forest floor. And he would occasionally explore neighboring homes. He’d wander down some hole in the ground and say to whoever was there, “Hello, my name is Brightbill!” Then a long robot arm would reach in and pull the gosling back outside. “Sorry to bother you,” Roz would say, in her friendliest voice.
The mother and son slipped into a good nighttime routine. While the gosling slept, the robot might tend the fire if it was cool out, or gently fan him if it was warm. If he woke up hungry or thirsty, Roz brought him food or water. And whenever he had nightmares, she was always there to rock him back to sleep.
THE SQUIRREL
A small squirrel was scurrying through the garden. Brightbill had never seen her before. He peered out from the Nest and watched her bounce across the lawn. After a minute of spying, the gosling shook his tail feathers and waddled outside. “Hello, my name is Brightbill!”
The squirrel froze. Then she slowly turned around. And then she started to talk.
“Hi Brightbill my name is Chitchat and I’m a twelve-and-a-half-week-old squirrel and I’m new around here and your home is really big and round and I don’t understand why smoke sometimes comes out of it…”
Reader, I’m not quite sure how Chitchat got enough air into her lungs to go on like that. And I’m not quite sure how Brightbill had the patience to listen. But he stood there and politely nodded as Chitchat rambled on and on and on.
“… and sometimes I see you waddling behind your funny-looking mother and you seem so nice that I thought I’d come down and introduce myself but now I’m nervous and I’m talking too much and my name is Chitchat I think I said that already.”
There was a pleasant silence.
Brightbill stood on one foot for a moment.
Then the gosling took a deep breath and said, “It’s very nice to meet you Chitchat I don’t think you talk too much I think you talk just enough and I like you so let’s be friends.”
A big smile appeared on the squirrel’s tiny face. For once, Chitchat was speechless.
THE NEW FRIENDSHIP
Chitchat wasn’t speechless for long. She’d already been alive for a whole twelve and a half weeks, and she wanted to tell Brightbill about every exciting thing, and every boring thing, that had ever happened to her. And so, as the new friends played and explored and ate together, the squirrel shared her stories.
“I was born on the other side of the hill and then last week I decided I was ready to build my first drey which is what you call a squirrel nest and now I live in that tree with the weird bump in its trunk,” she said while the two of them kicked pebbles into the pond.
“One time a weasel chased me through the treetops until he missed a branch and fell all the way down and crashed into a bush and walked away all wobbly and he never bothered me again,” she said while the two of them crawled through a hollow log.
“Eww gross I saw you eat that ant one time I ate a gnat by accident and I didn’t like it at all I mostly eat acorns and bark and tree buds and sometimes the yummy berries that grow in your garden,” she said while the two of them took a snack break.
But Chitchat was as good a listener as she was a talker. And whenever it was Brightbill’s turn to speak, she’d keep quiet and hang on his every word.
Do you know who enjoyed their conversations most of all? Our robot Roz. The protective mother was never far away, and she felt something like amusement at the silly conversations she overheard, and she felt something like happiness that her son had made such a good friend.
THE FIRST FLIGHT
Brightbill had spent his entire life by the pond, and he was becoming very curious about what lay beyond his neighborhood. So one day his mother said to him, “Let us go for a walk, and I will show you more water than you can possibly imagine.”
Roz placed the gosling on her flat shoulder, and the two of them set off across the island. They marched out of the forest, crossed the Great Meadow, and climbed uphill until they were at the top of the island’s western ridge. Before them was a grassy slope that descended all the way to the dark, choppy waves that surrounded the island.
“That is a lot of water,” said the wide-eyed gosling. “I’m a good swimmer, but I’m not good enough to swim across that pond.”
“That is not a pond,” said the robot. “That is an ocean. I doubt any bird could swim across an ocean.”
Waves rolled in from the horizon.
Seagulls circled above the shore.
A steady breeze blew up the slope.
Brightbill’s yellow fluff had recently changed over to a coat of silky brown feathers, and he spread his feathery wings into the breeze. And then—
“Mama, look!” For the briefest of moments, the wind lifted Brightbill off the ground. But he quickly tipped backward and thumped into the soft grass. “I was flying!” he squeaked.
“That was not flying,” said Roz, looking back at her upside-down son.
“Well, I was almost flying. I’m gonna try again!”
“I have observed many birds in flight,” said Roz. “Sometimes they flap their wings quickly, and other times they fly without flapping at all. They spread their wings and soar on the wind.”
“So I was soaring?” said Brightbill.
“Almost. There, look at that soaring seagull. It seems like she is not doing anything, but if you look closer, you will notice that she is making small adjustments with her wings and tail. I think you should try adjusting your wings in the wind, like her.”
Brightbill hopped onto a rock and opened his wings wide. “The wind is pushing me backward!”
“Change the angle of your wings,” said his mother. “Let us see what happens when they slice through the air.”
Brightbill slowly angled his wings downward. The more he turned them, the less the wind pushed him backward. And just as his wings leveled off—
“Mama, look!” he squeaked as his feet left the ground. “I’m soaring! I’m soaring!” He hovered there for a second, rising a little higher than before, and then he sailed backward into the soft grass again.
The gosling kept hopping onto the rock and kept riding the wind and kept tumbling into the grass, until he started to find his wings. With each attempt he floated a little higher and a little longer, and finally Brightbill really did soar. He lifted high into the air and hung there, floating. He turned his wings down and felt himself drop. He wiggled his tail feathers and felt himself veering back and forth.
“I’m a natural!” he squeaked.
“You are doing very well,” said Roz. “But you need to keep practicing.”
And so they spent the afternoon practicing up on the ridge. Once Brightbill was comfortable soaring, he tried flapping his wings. He flapped high into the air. He flapped in straight lines. He flapped around and around in circles. A big smile appeared on the gosling’s face. Clearly, Brightbill was designed to fly.
“I’m flying, Mama! I’m really flying!”
“You are flying!” said the robot. “Very good!”
Brightbill was now a real flier. But all that flying had worn him out. He lowered himself toward the ground and tumbled into the grass one last time. His landings still needed some work.
Roz placed Brightbill on her shoulder and headed back to the Nest.
“I can’t believe I can fly now, Mama,” said Brightbill in his sleepy voice. “I just wish… I just wish you could fly with me.”
And then the gosling’s words were replaced by his quiet, steady breathing.