First Posted: 8/29/2014

So you think you want a monkey?

Most people want things that they have no true understanding of. So comes into the picture of my mama’s want and desire for a pet monkey. Until you’ve owned a monkey, you have no true idea what a monkey is all about. I never owned a monkey; I just hated Mama’s pet monkey.

You see, it all started about 1947 when my mother was just a young girl. She had been taken to her first picture show by her grandpa. It was a Tarzan movie, with Johnnie Weissmuller.

She fell in love with the monkey from the movie. After the movie, she worried grandpa to death about that monkey. She had to have a monkey. This desire for a monkey actually went on for years.

The monkey would not come into the picture until after I was born. You would have thought that she would have been just as happy with me, because I clung to her like a baby monkey when I was little.

Sometime in about 1958, my great uncle came into the picture. He was what old Marines referred to as a China Marine because he had served his 20 or 30 years in China or other parts of Asia.

He had not been home in 18 years, so to say the least, the extended family looked up to him.

I don’t care much for tattoos, but he had a grand one on his chest. It was the picture of a monkey, and when he would flex his chest muscles, the monkey would move. Now, for a child who had never seen anything like it, it was a real show. The show did not stop with me — it revived my mother’s desire for a pet monkey.

At this point, Mama did not worry Grandpa about the monkey. It was Dad’s turn. You see, during those days, there were ads for spider monkeys in the back of magazines. I think they cost $29 or there about.

Dad was not going to spend $29 on that monkey — or any other, for that matter. Mama had gave birth to my baby sister 6 months before, and the though of the monkey went out the window. She had her own little monkey to deal with.

Dad had been stationed at the Marine Air Wing at Cherry Point, and after about two years there, he was to be deployed to Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines . Now, Mama did not know much about the Philippines, but she knew there was jungle — and monkeys. Again, she started worrying Dad to death about a monkey. Letter after letter she sent to Dad was saying something about a monkey.

Dad came home a little over a year latter on leave. Lo and behold, he came home with a baby monkey. I can’t tell you that baby monkey came out of the Philippines; all I know is that he came home with Dad. When it was a baby, it was cute and near about loveable, but that would not last long.

As it turned out, that monkey was not to be a little spider monkey. It was to be the monkey from hell.

Don’t let anybody tell you that animals are dumb — they aren’t. During the day, that monkey stayed out, and it did love my mama. Truth be known, Mama cared more about that monkey than she did us kids! Now, she would not admit to it, but the monkey got away with everything.

I guess the baby beast was about a year old or so when things started to go bad. Now, Mama did not let him run wild at night — he stayed in a cage in the shed. That was the problem: He did not want to be in a cage.

You see, up until that point, Mama had a bed for him in one of the dresser drawers. Like I said before, that little beast loved Mama, and that was part of the problem — he always wanted to be with her. The other problem was size. He got big and real quick.

That monkey that started out about the size of a grapefruit was now the size of a small beagle — one with fangs and claws. It was at this point in our relationship that the monkey decided that he did not like me.

I have talked about my first bully in the first grade. The monkey was actually to be the first time I would have to deal with a bully.

I had just came across the yard from my grandmother’s house with a butter biscuit in hand. I guess I had taken about two bites of that biscuit, when the monkey jumped on my back. This was not a problem to begin with, as the monkey from time to time would jump on to my shoulder and just sit there.

I was just a little boy, not much bigger than the monkey. This day, I guess the monkey was hungry. He started to grab at the biscuit. You have to understand me and a butter biscuit — I’ll fight you over one, and I did. That monkey got mad.

Have you ever fought a monkey? You’re not going to win, I don’t care how big you are. That little beast started pulling my hair and making sounds that he never had in the past.

The monkey bit me in the top of the head, scratched the back of my neck and it was all over. I did not give him the biscuit; I threw it and ran from the little demon. Now, here this monkey is sitting on his butt eating my butter biscuit, and Mama comes out.

She starts yelling at me. “What have you done to my monkey?”

I’m at a loss for words, I’m the one bleeding, I’m the one in shock from the first (but not last) monkey attack. The monkey runs to Mama, the monkey gets hugged and babied.

After that, I hated the monkey and he hated me. But it gets better. When I would see the monkey in the yard, I would throw rocks at him. Dumb animals? I don’t think so. Remember: Monkey see, monkey do.

It did not take that monkey any time until he would throw rocks back, but he picked up big rocks. That critter even learned how to throw rocks with both hands.

How many people do you know who have been busted in the head by a monkey throwing rocks? Only to have your mama say “you started it?” Cute and cuddly? You keep on believing that B.S.

I’ve got the scar on the top of my head to disprove that fact. Day after day, me and that monkey went at it. It got so bad you could call my name and the monkey would flip out and start screaming. He would hide either on the roof or in the bushes, jump out and grab me, I was traumatized by that damn monkey. To this day, I still don’t care for monkeys.

By the time Dad came home from the Philippines, that monkey was bigger than a beagle. Then the whole truth came out. That baby monkey had came from a circus outside of Camp Pendleton, California . Seems one of Dad’s Marines took it upon his self to get it for Mama.

Since Dad had been gone for so long, he took an extended leave. That worked for Mama and the kids, but the monkey was not happy, as he did not get the attention from mama that he had while Dad was gone.

It had gotten cold in the monkey’s shed, so Mama brought the monkey into the house.

Somehow, the monkey got out of his cage and made his way into the bedroom.

Sometime overnight, the monkey somehow got under the bedcovers with Mama and Dad.

I guess the monkey did not like Dad either. The demon beast decided to bite Dad’s thumb, near ‘bout took it off. So off to Union City at 4 in the morning we go to get stitches.

The monkey, well, he went to the dog pound. I did hear a story some years later about and old farmer who thought he wanted a monkey.

So he bought the monkey from the dog pound. The monkey from hell.

If you think you want a monkey, think about it long and hard. That monkey turned out to be what is called a howler monkey. They don’t make real good pets. Want a pet? Get a puppy. They won’t take your biscuit.

Robert Lee is a concerned citizen and former U.S. Marine who owns and operates Rockingham Guns and Ammo.