Among all the monkeys I’ve cared for and loved, there are two who will forever hold a special place in my heart—Robin and Lucky. Their names might sound cheerful, but their lives were filled with hardship, pain, and moments that tested even the strongest hearts. They were tiny, fragile, and innocent souls who deserved nothing but kindness, yet fate seemed to test them again and again.
Robin was the smaller of the two, a shy little baby with soft brown fur and the gentlest eyes you could ever imagine. From the moment I first held him, I could feel how delicate he was. He was weak, often trembling in my hands, but he tried so hard to be strong. Every morning, he’d reach for food with tiny fingers, holding it close as if afraid it would disappear. Despite his frailty, he always greeted me with quiet trust, as though he knew I was his only hope.
Lucky, on the other hand, was braver but no less unfortunate. His name came from a wish—a hope that maybe, despite everything, luck would finally be on his side. He had been rescued after a fall from a tree, his small body covered in scratches and his spirit nearly broken. But inside him burned a spark of determination. Even when he was in pain, he would try to climb, to explore, to live. That courage made him special.
Together, Robin and Lucky were inseparable. They clung to each other constantly, sleeping curled up in the same corner, sharing warmth and comfort. When Robin cried from hunger or fear, Lucky would wrap his little arms around him as if to say, “Don’t worry. I’m here.” Watching them together was heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. They had nothing—not strength, not good health—but they had each other.
But life in the wild, even under care, can be cruel. Robin’s health began to fail first. He grew weaker with each passing day, no longer able to hold onto me or play with Lucky. His eyes, once full of gentle curiosity, became dull and tired. I did everything I could—fed him softly, kept him warm, stayed by his side—but nature had already made its decision. The day he closed his eyes for the last time, Lucky sat quietly beside him, refusing to move. He touched Robin’s hand gently, as if trying to wake him. It was one of the saddest sights I have ever witnessed.
After that, Lucky was never the same. He stopped playing, stopped eating properly, and would sit alone for long hours, staring into the distance. The bond they had shared was more than friendship—it was love, pure and innocent. Losing Robin had broken something inside him. I tried to comfort him, but his spirit was too heavy with grief.
Both of them taught me something no words can fully express—that even the smallest creatures feel love, pain, and loss as deeply as we do. Their time on this earth was short, but their impact was lasting.
Robin and Lucky may have been unfortunate in life, but in their hearts, they carried something far greater—the strength to love in the face of suffering. And though they are gone, I will never forget them. Their memory lives on in every gentle moment I see between other monkeys—the trust, the care, and the fragile beauty of life itself.
