It was a peaceful morning in the meadow—until Jody’s world crumbled.
The baby monkey stood in the tall grass, eyes wide, arms outstretched, watching as Mama bent down… and hugged someone else. Not him.
His breath hitched. His lip trembled. Then came the explosion.
Jody let out a furious cry that echoed across the field. He dropped to the ground with a dramatic flop, tiny fists pounding the soft earth as he unleashed his tantrum. The other babies paused, ears perked. Even Mama froze for a second, startled by the sheer volume of his fury.
“Why not me?” his body seemed to scream.
Rolling onto his back, Jody kicked and wailed, face scrunched in betrayal. He had been standing right there. Right there! But somehow, Mama had reached for someone else first. To a baby like Jody, it wasn’t just a small thing—it was everything.
Mama approached carefully, holding her arms out, but he twisted away, still mid-tantrum. His fur was puffed out, his cheeks damp with tears, his voice raw from crying.
He wanted a hug—but only if he was chosen first.
Linda, the gentle caretaker nearby, crouched down beside him. “Jody… come here, sweet one.” But even her calm tone was no match for the storm.
After several minutes, his cries softened into sniffles. He peeked up, seeing Mama now kneeling with open arms, waiting just for him.
Finally, slowly, he crawled over and melted into her chest, burying his face in her fur.
The tantrum faded, replaced by deep sighs and soft hiccups. All he had wanted was that simple comfort—to be picked up, to be loved first.
