The forest is never quiet for long. Among the constant calls of birds and rustling leaves, drama often unfolds in the most unexpected ways. For Cahmroeun, a lively young monkey, a simple moment of feeding turned into a loud, unforgettable scene when a chicken boldly stole his favorite food.
It was midday, and the troop had gathered near the edge of a clearing where scraps of fruit were scattered. Cahmroeun spotted a piece he loved most—bright, juicy, and fresh. With excitement, he grabbed it quickly, clutching it close as if it were treasure. His eyes sparkled, and his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. This was his prize, his treat, his joy.
But trouble was near. A village chicken, bold and quick-footed, strutted closer, eyeing the food in Cahmroeun’s hands. Unlike most forest animals that feared the monkeys, this chicken was unusually daring. It pecked at the ground, moving step by step, until its gaze locked firmly on Cahmroeun’s precious fruit.
At first, Cahmroeun ignored the bird, convinced that his strength and sharp cries would be enough to keep it away. He took a proud bite, glancing at his troopmates as if showing off. But in a flash, the chicken darted forward, wings flapping noisily. With a sharp peck, it snatched the fruit right from Cahmroeun’s grip.
The young monkey froze in disbelief. His eyes widened, his hands reached out desperately, but the fruit was gone. The chicken clucked loudly, almost mockingly, as it scurried away with its stolen prize.
Then came the explosion. Cahmroeun screamed—high-pitched, furious, and heartbreaking. His cry pierced the forest, startling even the other monkeys. He jumped up and down, slapping the ground with his hands in frustration. His tiny chest heaved with anger, his face twisted into a mask of rage and sorrow.
In his frantic jumping, his foot slipped on the dirt. With a loud thud, he fell hard to the ground. The impact stunned him, and his cries changed from furious shrieks to pitiful sobs. He lay there for a moment, whimpering, holding his side, as if the whole world had betrayed him.
His mother rushed over, alarmed by his screams. She scooped him into her arms, grooming him quickly to calm his trembling body. But Cahmroeun wasn’t finished expressing his pain. He wailed again, pointing toward the chicken that now pecked proudly at the stolen fruit, oblivious to the chaos it had caused.
The troop gathered, some curious, others sympathetic. A few juveniles giggled at the strange sight—a monkey defeated by a chicken—but the mothers watched with pity. They knew how much a favorite food could mean to a little one, how deeply betrayal could sting, even if it came from something as small as a bird.
For Cahmroeun, the moment was more than a lost meal. It was humiliation, anger, and sadness wrapped together. His loud cries carried far into the trees, a reminder of how fragile happiness can be in the wild.
And as his mother rocked him gently, grooming away the dust from his fall, the lesson lingered: in the forest, nothing is guaranteed—not even your favorite food.
