In the warm yard just beyond the forest’s edge, Lady Luna — the tiny monkey with the biggest attitude — perches on top of an old wooden fence post. Her tail twitches behind her, her bright eyes locked onto an unexpected visitor: a big, curious dog sniffing around the troop’s resting spot.
At first, the dog is harmless enough, wagging its tail and poking its nose through the bushes. Some of the younger monkeys squeak and hide behind their mothers. But not Luna. No one scares Luna — not even a dog twice her size.
She puffs out her little chest, rises to her full tiny height, and lets out a sharp, shrill screech that echoes through the clearing. The dog freezes, startled, ears flicking back in confusion. Luna doesn’t stop. She leans forward, tiny fists clenched, and screams again — louder this time, as if she’s daring the dog to come any closer.
The other monkeys peek out, eyes wide at the sight of fearless Luna. She hops closer to the edge of the fence, stamps her tiny feet, and lets out one final, ear-piercing screech.
That’s enough for the dog. Startled by this tiny ball of fury, he gives one last sniff, then turns tail and lopes away, back through the bushes and into the field beyond.
For a moment, the clearing is silent — then the troop bursts into gentle chattering, almost like laughter. Luna hops down proudly, flicking her tail with a satisfied squeak as if to say, “I told him!”
Mama monkey scoops her up, giving her a quick, proud groom. Even the older brothers glance at Luna with new respect — today, the littlest lady proved she’s as brave as any big monkey around.
