I knew this because they cc’d me on all the emails.
Email #1:Mendoza proposed a “Dumpster Bunny Awareness Week.”
Email #2:Pritchard suggested a parade.
Email #3:Ingersoll attached a spreadsheet explaining why we couldn’t afford a parade.
Email #4:Ayala wrote simply:
Stop. Please stop.
Jake read over my shoulder while chewing a breakfast burrito the size of his forearm.
“They’re going to do it, aren’t they?” he said.
“Jake,” I said, “they’re government officials. They can’t not do it.”
He nodded solemnly. “A principle of nature.”
My radio crackled.
“Anxo, you copy?” Sheriff McCready’s voice boomed like God addressing a malfunctioning microwave.
I pressed the button. “Go ahead, Sheriff.”
“We’ve got a… situation.”
There was a pause.
A very ominous pause.
Jake mouthed: bunny-related?
I mouthed back: always.
McCready sighed into the radio.
“It’s at the elementary school.”
Jake froze mid-chew.
“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh no.”
We got there in five minutes.
Coyote Vale Elementary sat just outside the residential district — cheerful murals, mismatched playground equipment, and a marquee out front reading:
WELCOME TO LITTER AWARENESS WEEK!BE KIND — CLEAN BEHIND!
A crowd had gathered near the playground.
Teachers.Kids.Parents.One panicked custodian holding a broom like a defensive weapon.
In the center of it all…Rusty.
“Sheriff,” I said as we approached, “you want to explain why Rusty is on school grounds?”
McCready angled toward us, already in Press Mode.
“It was an unanticipated autonomous engagement event.”
Jake translated under his breath: “Rusty wandered over and now everyone’s freaking out.”
Rusty sat placidly beside a trash can, bucket open, doing nothing wrong.
Which was, frankly, more alarming.
A teacher hurried over.
“Mr. Anxo? Hi. Yes. So… um… your little robot friend caused a bit of a disruption.”
I braced. “What kind of disruption?”
A small voice piped up behind her.
“I hugged him!”
A kid — maybe six — stepped forward with the unshakable confidence only children and certain cats possess.
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Her name tag read EMMA.
I closed my eyes.
The teacher clarified:“She hugged him. He… reacted.”
I exhaled sharply. “How badly?”
“No, no, no,” she said quickly. “Not badly. Just—unexpectedly.”
Jake crouched. “Hey there, Emma. Can you tell us what happened?”
Emma grinned. “He did a wiggle.”
Jake glanced at me, eyes bright. “A wiggle, Howard.”
“Please don’t call it that.”
“He totally wiggled.”
I knelt in front of her. “Emma, can you show me?”
She nodded enthusiastically and demonstrated a kind of enthusiastic shimmy.
Rusty — hearing motion — perked its sensors and gave a single hydraulic chirp.
The class erupted into delighted shrieks.
“He likes it!”“He made a noise!”“He’s dancing!”“Do it again!”
McCready stepped in, hands raised as if calming livestock.
“Okay, now, children, the autonomous municipal receptacle is not performing choreography.”
Rusty made the chirp again.
The kids screamed with joy.
I checked the tablet.
HUMAN PROXIMITY: CHILDSTATUS: FRIENDLY APPROACHSAFETY MODE: ACTIVE
SECONDARY RESPONSE FLAG:“MOTION MIRRORING — LIMITED”
I put the tablet down.
“Jake,” I said quietly, “it’s mirroring. Kids wiggle, its gyros compensate. That’s all.”
Jake nodded slowly. “So… it’s dancing?”
“No. It’s keeping balanced.”
“It looks like dancing.”
The tablet updated again.
HUMAN ENGAGEMENT INDEX: VERY HIGHNOISE LEVEL: ELEVATEDREINFORCEMENT: POSITIVE
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is a disaster.”
Emma tugged my sleeve.
“I named him!” she announced proudly.
Rusty chirped again, which did not help.
“What… what did you name him?” I asked.
“Mr. Trashy.”
Jake grinned. “Oh my god that’s so good.”
“No,” I said. “No, it isn’t.”
Emma ignored me. “He’s my favorite. I told him he’s my favorite and then he did the wiggle.”
The other kids nodded as if this were incontrovertible scientific proof.
I checked Rusty’s logs again.
There it was:
PICKED UP VOCAL TAG: “MR. TRASHY”NOTED: HIGH POSITIVE RESPONSESTORED: TEMPORARY HUMAN LABEL (NONFUNCTIONAL)
Jake leaned in. “Buddy, it learned its nickname.”
“It didn’t learn,” I hissed. “It tagged a sound pattern. That’s it.”
“So,” he said, “it learned its nickname.”
I wanted to lie down in the mulch and ascend into the void.
The principal arrived then — exhausted, sympathetic, holding two coffees like a man who’d already lived an entire week today.
“Mr. Anxo?” he said. “Could we… possibly… move this outside school hours?”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
“No,” Jake added, exactly as quickly.
McCready stepped in front of both of us.
“Citizens,” he said in his Official Tone, “the unit has simply engaged in a limited, supervised community interaction event. Nothing more. Nothing unusual.”
Rusty chirped again.
A kid yelled, “MR. TRASHY!!! DO THE THING!”
Rusty adjusted its chassis to stabilize.
Half the class screamed, “HE’S DOING IT!”
I thought McCready might pass out.
We finally got Rusty loaded back onto the trailer.
Kids pressed against the fence waving goodbye.
“Bye Mr. Trashy!”“Do more wiggles!”“I love you!!!”
Rusty chirped once — probably coincidental — and the children lost their minds.
Jake watched them go. “You know… this is actually good PR.”
“No,” I said. “This is how chaos begins.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I had a Hopper chase a raccoon last night.”
“…okay, so maybe you’re reacting appropriately.”
Back at the station, we plugged Rusty into its charger.
I checked the logs again.
The nickname was still there.
TEMP HUMAN LABEL: “MR. TRASHY”ENGAGEMENT RESPONSE: ELEVATEDTHRESHOLD WEIGHTING: ADJUSTING…
I stared.
Jake stared.
Rusty hummed innocently.
Jake sighed. “He’s gonna be called Mr. Trashy forever now, isn’t he.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes he is.”
That afternoon, another email arrived from the Commissioners.
SUBJECT: Mascot ProposalHoward —Given today’s events, the Commission believes adopting a friendly nickname for the Hopper units may help community engagement.Please prepare a list of “bunny-friendly brand options.”Examples:? Mr. Trashy? Hopper Helper? The Clean Crew? Litter Critters?— M.
I wrote back:
Please stop.
They did not stop.
At 4:12 p.m., Lydia texted me.
I heard about “Mr. Trashy.”Interview tomorrow.Bring the bunny.??
I stared at the phone.
Jake patted my shoulder sympathetically.
Rusty chirped.
“Howard,” Jake said, “this is destiny.”
“No,” I said. “This is my life falling apart in real time.”
But deep down, I knew.
Kids naming the robots?
That was unavoidable.Predictable.Pure psychology.And… honestly…
Maybe a little bit sweet.
Not that I’d ever admit it.