The afternoon heat hung heavy over the roadside ditch where baby monkey Lola lay hidden in tall weeds. Her tiny body shook with every shallow breath, and blood‑matted fur clung to a jagged wound along her flank. No one knew how she was hurt—perhaps a fall from a tree or a brush with a passing motorbike—but the injury was deep, angry‑red, already buzzing with flies.
A faint, broken whimper slipped from Lola’s lips every few minutes, each sound weaker than the last. She tried once to sit up, but her back leg collapsed beneath her, and she sank into the dust again, eyes glazing with exhaustion.
A farmer on his way home heard the soft cries and knelt to part the weeds. What he found stole his breath: a baby so small, so miserable, that his heart cracked in an instant. He wrapped Lola in his shirt and hurried to the nearest rescue post, whispering, “Hold on, little one,” as her head lolled against his chest.
At the clinic, caregivers cleaned the gash with warm saline. Lola winced but did not fight; she had no strength left. An antibiotic salve cooled the raw flesh while a tiny splint steadied her fractured leg. Warm fluids dripped slowly into her vein, and the pain in her eyes softened just a shade.
That night, Lola rested in an incubator, wrapped in gauze and soft fleece. The hum of the heater filled the room, and a gentle hand stroked her forehead. Though still in pain, her breathing steadied, and she drifted into the first peaceful sleep since the accident.
Her future remains uncertain—days of medicine, bandage changes, and careful feeding lie ahead—but Lola is no longer alone. Love, patience, and hope now surround her wounded body, giving this brave little soul a fighting chance.
