Little baby monkey Ricky was having a tough morning.
His tiny belly rumbled as he wandered near the feeding station, eyes locked on a basket full of milk bottles. The sweet, creamy scent filled the air, and Ricky’s mouth began to water. His little feet shuffled closer, heart hopeful.
But the bottles weren’t for him—not yet.
He sat beside the basket, eyes wide, his face full of desperation. As he peeked in, he saw the warm milk inside and let out a soft, trembling cry. He was so hungry… and the milk was just sitting there, inches away.
Why wasn’t someone helping him?
He whimpered louder, one hand resting on the basket, the other rubbing his belly. His lips puckered, searching for comfort, his voice rising with every passing second.
Caretakers nearby finally noticed his tiny cries. “Oh no, Ricky’s waiting,” one said kindly, hurrying over.
But to baby Ricky, every moment felt like forever.
As the bottle was pulled from the basket and gently brought toward him, his cries turned to eager chirps. His little hands reached out, grabbing the bottle and hugging it tight.
He drank quickly, eyes fluttering closed, his whole body relaxing as the warmth filled him from the inside out.
Peace returned to his tiny world.
He leaned back, milk dribbling from the side of his mouth, looking perfectly content now. The basket no longer made him cry—it had become his favorite place to wait.
