It was chaos in the jungle clearing. Naughty little Chichi was at it again—swinging from vines he wasn’t supposed to touch, knocking over fruit bowls, and now, refusing to sit still. His tiny face was scrunched in defiance, lips quivering, eyes darting toward the shadows where Dad stood, arms crossed and very angry.
Linda, the troop’s gentle caregiver, stepped in quickly. She had seen this before. Chichi was pushing limits, and Dad’s temper was close to boiling. The air was thick with tension and toddler tears.
First, Linda tried the soft voice. “Chichi, come here, sweetheart. Look what I have…” She waved a shiny red berry in the air, one of Chichi’s favorites.
He turned his head and let out a stubborn, high-pitched whimper.
Next came the silly face trick. Linda puffed out her cheeks, crossed her eyes, and gave a big raspberry sound. For a second, Chichi’s lip wobbled like he might giggle—but then he remembered he was supposed to be mad. He let out a sharp cry and stomped the ground instead.
Dad stepped forward, brows furrowed. Linda quickly raised a hand—not yet. She pulled out her last resort: a small toy woven from grass and twigs, Chichi’s comfort toy, usually hidden for emergencies.
Chichi paused mid-sob. He blinked at the toy, his angry little body slowly softening. He reached out hesitantly.
Linda knelt and held it out gently. “Just take it, Chichi. It’s okay.”
He snatched it and collapsed into her lap, still sniffling but quiet now.
Dad exhaled and walked away, still frowning but relieved. Linda rubbed Chichi’s back, whispering softly.
She had tried every trick—and it worked. For now.
