The sun was going down over the construction site, and the foreman blew his whistle.
"Quitting time!" he called. "Park your machines!"
One by one, the big machines rolled to their spots.
The crane folded its long arm down. Click. Click. Click.
The dump truck emptied its last load and backed into place. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The cement mixer gave one final spin and went still.
But Rosie the bulldozer did not stop.
She pushed a pile of dirt to the left. RUMMMMBLE.
"Rosie!" called the foreman. "Time to park!"
She pushed a pile of dirt to the right. RUMMMMBLE.
"I'm not done yet," said Rosie. "There's still dirt to push."
There is always more dirt to push. That's the thing about dirt.
The other machines were parked in a neat row now. The crane's engine was off. The dump truck's headlights were dark. The cement mixer's big drum had stopped turning.
But Rosie rumbled on.
She pushed dirt into a hill. Then she pushed the hill flat. Then she pushed the flat dirt into a hill again.
RUMMMMBLE. RUMMMMBLE. RUMMMMBLE.
"Rosie," said the crane softly, "my arm is so tired. Aren't your treads tired too?"
"Nope," said Rosie. And she pushed another pile.
"Rosie," yawned the dump truck, "my bed is empty and it feels so nice. Don't you want to rest your blade?"
"Nope," said Rosie. And she pushed another pile.
Her blade — that's the big metal scoop on her front — was caked with mud. It used to be shiny yellow at the start of the day. Now it was brown from top to bottom.
The sky turned orange. Then purple. Then deep, dark blue.
One little star came out.
Rosie pushed a pile of dirt. But it was a smaller pile this time.
Two more stars came out.
Rosie pushed another pile. Even smaller.
Her engine went RUMMM-mmm-mmm.
It sounded different now. Not like a roar. More like a hum.
Her headlights flickered on, and the two yellow beams stretched out across the dirt like long, tired arms.
She pushed one more tiny pile.
She yawned — and when a bulldozer yawns, her blade lifts up real slow and drops back down with a heavy, soft CLUMP.
"I'm just going to sit here for one minute," Rosie said.
She stopped in the middle of the site. Not in her parking spot. Right in the middle, next to her last little pile of dirt.
Her engine went rummm… rummm… rummm…
The stars came out, all of them now, filling up the sky like someone had spilled a bucket of glitter.
The foreman walked over. He looked at Rosie sitting there with her muddy blade and her dim headlights and her engine humming softer and softer.
He didn't say "I told you so."
He just laid a big blue tarp over her, from her smokestack to her treads, and tucked it in tight — the way you tuck a blanket around someone you love.
"Goodnight, Rosie," he whispered.
Her headlights blinked once. Twice.
Then off.
The crane was sleeping. The dump truck was sleeping. The cement mixer was sleeping. And Rosie the bulldozer, right there in the middle of the dirt she loved so much, under a sky full of stars and a soft blue tarp —
Rosie was sleeping too.
And her muddy blade glowed soft in the moonlight — brown and gold and perfectly still.
Rummm…
