The following story that I'm about to tell may (or may not) be true. In fact, I CAN say that some of it is completely true. It will be up to you, dear reader, to decide for yourselves what, if any of it, is false.

Growing up where I did (just outside of Colorado Springs, Colorado), I didn't have much opportunity for interaction with monkeys of any kind. In fact, not counting the few times which I was forced to go to the stinkin' zoo as part of a school field trip, I can't say that monkeys were at all a meaningful part of my life WITH THE DISTINCT EXCEPTION of one fateful summer afternoon in late June, 1986. Before we get to the meat of such things, I should provide you with some background...There was a family that lived not TOO far from where we lived which had two pets: a large dog and a medium-sized monkey. This particular family lived in a house on a corner lot which didn't have a particularly tall fence which meant that, if their monkey was outside (which it often was), it didn't take much effort at all to see the thing. I can't say that I know what breed either animal was, but I can say that the dog was not terribly well behaved. We'd often see the stupid thing wandering around the neighborhood and, when we did, my dad would call out to it, yelling "say dog, where you live?" Dad would then answer himself, in his "other dog" voice, replying "where 'de monkey live." In stark contrast, though, to the dog's rebellious nature, this family's monkey was particularly well-behaved and stuck to his jungle gym apparatus which had been constructed in their backyard. This summer afternoon which I mentioned earlier found me riding my bike down to the nearest fireworks stand with the intent of picking up some crazy jacks, smoke bombs and whatever else I could afford to buy for a little pre-4th of July incendiary frivolity. The route to said stand from where I lived took me by the house "where 'de monkey live" and, when I rounded the corner up by the high school that day, I could make out that, down the road, there was a group of 4 kids, older than I was at the time, taunting the monkey. As it turned out, these kids were lighting firecrackers (which are illegal 'round these parts), tossing them toward the monkey and then taking great delight as the firecrackers exploded which, of course, was causing the monkey all sorts of consternation and grief. Upon witnessing all of this, I, being the upstanding little fat kid that I was at the time, WANTED to help the monkey but, knowing that if I intervened I'd just receive a solid beating for my trouble, simply crossed the street (like a coward) and continued on my merry way. As I got closer to the scene, just about to pass the group, I saw one of the evil heathens produce a tube of some sort from his backpack and load a bottle rocket (also illegal) into it. Predictably, this bottle rocket was then aimed and fired at the monkey and THAT'S right about when all Hell broke loose...

I guess that the monkey was used to being shouted at from all those years living on the corner there. I guess also that this monkey could handle a few taunts and a couple of small explosions here and there. After all, as I mentioned before, this WAS a particularly well-behaved monkey. A bottle rocket, though, with it's unpredictable flight pattern and it's spewing flame and it's exploding in the air, turned out to the breaking point for this particular monkey on this particular day...Without warning, the monkey leapt from it's perch in that backyard and onto the kid who had shot the rocket, screeching and flailing, tearing at his hair and his clothes, smacking him, scratching him and, in general, just beating the living shit out of him. The others, being the loyal sorts that they were, ran like hell toward a nearby park once the carnage esued, not so much looking for help for their fallen companion but simply to save themselves from this suddenly crazed monkey's wrath. As I watched, awestruck, from across the street, that monkey slapped and scratched and yanked and tore at nearly every square inch of that kid, making me realize that my crossing the street had been the correct decision after all. After about a minute of that monkey unloading his can of whoopass on his deserving victim, he ceased the beating and hopped back into his backyard, happily chattering away from his usual perch. A couple of people had come out of their houses to join me in watching the monkey assault and, now that it was over, they had gone inside presumably to call 911. I, on the other hand, took the opportunity to cross the street and get a closer look at this monkey's handiwork and I have to say: I've never seen such physical devastation before or since. The kid was pretty well tore up and bleeding quite a bit from various places on his body. He was conscious, however, despite his injuries and I could just make out his faint pleas for assistance once he realized that I was standing next to him. I knew, certainly, that I had to do SOMETHING and so, after taking a quick look around to make sure that nobody was watching me, I quickly relieved that fallen juvenile delinquent of his backpack full of (illegal) fireworks. I then hopped on my bike and rode off (into the sunset), looking back only to give that brave little monkey a big thumbs up to which he replied with a happy monkey wave...

That turned out to be the best 4th of July EVER...

Labels: holidays, indignities, lame stories, me roots, tales of triumph