I'd just had one of my more productive weekends behind me. I constructed and oversaw the construction of a brick sandbox for my son. Mostly, this meant barking out orders at the hired help, sizing up their crafty masonry, and doing as little work as possible. How little good did that do me. My son is treating that sandbox as if it were a cow dung heap (which every other kid in Nepal would consider sacred), so it is still sitting there, waiting for him to grow up and get into the dirty and mushy games all other little toddlers seem to have been created for. So we’re stuck with an empty sandbox for now.
And yet, somebody in the neighborhood seemed to have noticed the new box.
An hour later, I am sitting at my laptop like I am now, by now growing accustomed to Nepali life and doing Nepali things, such as checking on the latest U.S. Presidential election polls. Moments later, Liebi rushes into the house, the screen door noisily whacking its frame behind it. This gets my attention, since my wife never rushes for anything. Out of breath, she explains that a monkey is in our backyard. Yep, I’m in Kathmandu, I’m thinking. Not a big bully of a cat, not the neighbor’s dog Fido digging a hole the size of a grave for his own toilet, not even a bear who’s ventured into our yard for easy pickings among yesterday’s trash. A monkey. My wife tells me that the driver, visually horrified by the ape, has locked himself into the car.
“You must chase him away,” she pleads, but adds on her way out, “and don’t forget the camera.”
I scramble to find the camcorder, luckily one of those ultra-modern light ones the size of a shoe, and follow her to the backyard. The driver, having safely locked himself into our car, points toward where the monkey has scurried off to, and I immediately make chase, not even sure whether I am following a little cuddly ape who can do no more than take your watch or some man-sized monster who can take no less than your life.
After a few meters at the double on the recently paved road outside, I slow down. Sitting by the side of the road, squarely on his ass, is a red-haired Rhesus, maybe twice the size of our five pound cat. When he sees me coming, he stares at me with this excruciatingly bored look on its face, as if he were listening to AM radio instead of checking out the guy whose property and livelihood he has just challenged. Deciding that I am as much a threat as a scorpion whose stinger has just been removed, he yawns, then leaps up the nearest wall and inspects the next backyard that might prove worthy of his terror. Another gaze back, and he vanishes behind the wall.
Later, we find out from the neighbors that this fella is very well known in our neighborhood. He is the monkey nobody messes with. He’s attacked several children, thrown all sorts of objects at people, and generally gone haywire in people’s gardens. And since PETA looks like a pack of blood-hungry werewolves in their attitude and demeanor towards animals compared to the Nepalis, it doesn’t appear that Curious George’s reign of terror will be ending anytime soon.
A formidable opponent, I’d say. You can chase a cat away, act like you’re throwing a stone to rid yourself of a dog, but what do you do with a monkey? Try to catch it? Adopt it? Buy a pet guard python? This is one of the smartest animals in the world, and one I am sure I haven’t heard the last of. Round one in Worldchump vs. Ape is a scoreless draw. No harm, no foul.
And yet, somebody in the neighborhood seemed to have noticed the new box.
An hour later, I am sitting at my laptop like I am now, by now growing accustomed to Nepali life and doing Nepali things, such as checking on the latest U.S. Presidential election polls. Moments later, Liebi rushes into the house, the screen door noisily whacking its frame behind it. This gets my attention, since my wife never rushes for anything. Out of breath, she explains that a monkey is in our backyard. Yep, I’m in Kathmandu, I’m thinking. Not a big bully of a cat, not the neighbor’s dog Fido digging a hole the size of a grave for his own toilet, not even a bear who’s ventured into our yard for easy pickings among yesterday’s trash. A monkey. My wife tells me that the driver, visually horrified by the ape, has locked himself into the car.
“You must chase him away,” she pleads, but adds on her way out, “and don’t forget the camera.”
I scramble to find the camcorder, luckily one of those ultra-modern light ones the size of a shoe, and follow her to the backyard. The driver, having safely locked himself into our car, points toward where the monkey has scurried off to, and I immediately make chase, not even sure whether I am following a little cuddly ape who can do no more than take your watch or some man-sized monster who can take no less than your life.
After a few meters at the double on the recently paved road outside, I slow down. Sitting by the side of the road, squarely on his ass, is a red-haired Rhesus, maybe twice the size of our five pound cat. When he sees me coming, he stares at me with this excruciatingly bored look on its face, as if he were listening to AM radio instead of checking out the guy whose property and livelihood he has just challenged. Deciding that I am as much a threat as a scorpion whose stinger has just been removed, he yawns, then leaps up the nearest wall and inspects the next backyard that might prove worthy of his terror. Another gaze back, and he vanishes behind the wall.
Later, we find out from the neighbors that this fella is very well known in our neighborhood. He is the monkey nobody messes with. He’s attacked several children, thrown all sorts of objects at people, and generally gone haywire in people’s gardens. And since PETA looks like a pack of blood-hungry werewolves in their attitude and demeanor towards animals compared to the Nepalis, it doesn’t appear that Curious George’s reign of terror will be ending anytime soon.
A formidable opponent, I’d say. You can chase a cat away, act like you’re throwing a stone to rid yourself of a dog, but what do you do with a monkey? Try to catch it? Adopt it? Buy a pet guard python? This is one of the smartest animals in the world, and one I am sure I haven’t heard the last of. Round one in Worldchump vs. Ape is a scoreless draw. No harm, no foul.
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