Some of you may be old enough to remember; but, when I was fifteen, comic books were a big item for kids. There was Marvel, DC and Action comics, and of course the great MAD Magazine. Well, as I recall, I was a Marvel comic connoisseur where my favorites were Spiderman, Dare Devil, Thor, Hulk and the Fantastic Four. After reading each comic, I would peruse the mail order items listed on the back page of the magazine and dream of owning some of the wonderful possessions.
I believe it was in an issue of Spiderman that I took a major step in my young life and decided to purchase one of the items listed. One of the Ads displayed a bad photograph of an adult hand with the palm up, providing a pedestal for a small primate. Below the picture was written the exciting phrase. "Own a Squirrel Monkey for Just $21.95!"
I decided that I would do it! I would save up the money and buy my very own squirrel monkey as a pet. How cool it would be to take my monkey out for a walk on a leash like a dog. My friends would be amazed at my unique pet, and I would be the talk of the neighborhood. Of course, my parents would never agree to me having a pet monkey. So, I would have to purchase this on my own and not involve my folks.
It didn't take me long to save up the money, a couple of weekends of mowing lawns and I had more than enough. I couldn't have the monkey delivered to my house, since my parents were unaware of my plans and it would be difficult to explain when the shipment arrived. I sent the payment out in cash to the address provided in the comic book Ad and listed my best friend's residence as the return address. Tim was my closest friend and he lived around the block from my house.
Six weeks went by and on a Saturday, the telephone rang. My parents were entertaining relatives, my Aunt and Uncle when the call came through, so I answered the phone.
"Hi Jeff," Tim spoke excitedly, "It's Here!"
"What's Here?", I responded.
"Your monkey, dummy," Tim remarked, "and they want $7.50 for the delivery."
I hung up the telephone receiver, grabbed ten bucks from my bedroom and peddled frantically to Tim's house on my bicycle. When I got there I found a delivery man from REA Air Express waiting on Tim's porch with a small cardboard box shaped like a rabbit hutch.
"Are you Mr. Jeff Tuthill?" asked the delivery man.
I nodded in acknowledgement and handed him my ten dollars. He set the box down on the porch and gave me back $2.50 in change, asked me to sign for the delivery and drove off in his van. I looked at the box, peering through the small chicken-wire screen in the front, trying to get a look at my new pet monkey. It hung back in the shadows and chirped wildly like a baby bird screaming to be fed.
"So, what's next," Tim queried, "how you gonna get this past your parents?"
"I'll sneak the monkey into my basement," I answered, "I've got the key to the basement door. Besides, my parents are busy entertaining company, my Aunt and Uncle are visiting."
I walked my bicycle back to my house carrying the chirping box while Tim followed along, both of us eager to see what the animal looked like that was hidden inside. It took us approximately ten minutes to reach my house and sneak the monkey into the basement through the cellar door. Our basement was partitioned into two rooms; one finished off with paneling and a drop ceiling, and the other room that contained the oil furnace was unfinished.
As a child I kept many pets; hamsters, gerbils, Dutch-toy rabbits, and many stray birds from time to time. In addition, we had two dogs and two cats as family pets, so by some standards we maintained what could be classified as a menagerie. I kept some of my small animals in the unfinished part of the basement and there is where I brought my new monkey. I placed the small box into an empty hutch cage that I used for the Dutch-toy rabbits and opened the lid. The monkey sprung out like a Jack-in-the-Box, chirping incessantly. The cage also had a lid that opened from the top. I quickly lifted the lid and removed the shipping container from the cage.
Inside the box I found a small leash that might be used for a cat and as I looked at my chirping squirrel monkey, I noticed a belt around his belly. I decided that I'd name my monkey Chipper, since he chirped so much like a bird. At that moment, I thought I better give my new monkey some water, figuring that he might be quite thirsty.
Before I go any further with my story, I must tell you that I knew nothing about caring for monkeys. I had not read up on their habits, expected life-spans, or eating preferences. At the time I believed that all monkeys ate bananas or other fruit, and I didn't even know if there was a difference in caring for a squirrel monkey versus a capuchin or another breed. In short, I was stupid about monkey care. Subsequently, I became very informed about monkeys, which was a big help during my adult years, when it came to rearing children.
As I opened the lid to the cage to place a dish of water inside, the monkey jumped out and leapt to the plumbing hanging down from the ceiling. Instinctively, Chipper used the plumbing like monkey bars and rapidly swung his way across the basement ceiling. He was making his way toward the finished room of our cellar and the dropped ceiling. Once Chipper got into those channels above the ceiling tiles, he would be lost for hours, maybe days and I could not let that happen.
In a panic I grabbed Chipper's dangling tail and yanked him off of the pipes with my right-hand. Caring for your Monkey - Lesson 1: Never pull on your monkey's tale. Chipper dropped onto my right shoulder, screaming and in what I can only describe as Attack Mode. He repeatedly sunk his fangs into me like a drill press, working his way down my arm, breaking flesh with every bite. I went into immediate shock as my arm spouted blood from multiple wounds.
Finally, I reacted to defend myself, grabbing Chipper at the nape of his neck and throwing him back into the cage. The monkey jumped up and down like a miniature King Kong with his mouth red from my blood. He had his drink and it wasn't from the water dish. Tim stood there in my cellar, silently awe struck, while the silence was broken by Chipper's screams and my father's voice from upstairs.
"Jeffrey," shouted my father from the basement door, "what are you doing to that rabbit?"
"It's not the rabbit," I answered, "it's a God Damn Monkey and it just bit the Hell out of me!"
"A Monkey," remarked my father, "bring it up here this minute!"
I wrapped my bleeding arm in sheets and Tim lifted the cage to carry it up the basement stairs. Instead of my parents being terribly upset with me, they fell in love with my new pet Monkey. After some minutes of them ogling Chipper, my father drove me down to the Emergency ward, where I received 28 stitches for my monkey bites. Buying Chipper was definitely a life changing moment for me at fifteen years of age.
The End
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Submission Name: A Life Changing Experience
