ROBOT BUDDY FWEND

One day a large box materialized on the floor of my work shop. I was fairly certain I hadn't ordered it. I had no idea what was inside, and neither did anyone I asked. I poked at it. I shook it. I sniffed and I listened. In a sudden seizure of insight I knew exactly what it was and scrambled for the nearest sharpie.

When I was a kid I loved the movie Short Circuit. Johnny-5 was my jam. I wanted a Johnny-5 playmate so badly that my dad was finally persuaded to make me one, using wood scraps and lag screws for the body, and a large bouncy ball for the head. I was not so easily impressed. Where were the hydraulic pumps, I lamented? And those expressive fluttering eye flaps?

When a four year old says the word compsognathus it just sounds like they're sneezing.

Robots could never cast a shadow on my love of dinosaurs. However, due to what turned out to be a really upsetting conversation in which my father assured me the spry chicken-sized Compsognathus I so passionately desired would still eat my dog, my heart eventually warmed to the clunky cyborg who had a hard time holding himself upright at the dinner table.

Our robot mascot had about as short a life span as the one from my childhood. Once we realized he had an important picture frame inside of him we had no choice but to finally slice him open. Sorry buddy! No hard feelings, I hope.