It started as a quiet morning on Uncle Phong’s small but lively farm. The birds chirped gently, the chickens clucked as they pecked at the ground, and the sun slowly rose over the green hills. Uncle Phong was sipping his hot tea on the porch, enjoying the peace. Everything seemed normal—until he noticed something unusual.
Bibi, the youngest and most playful monkey on the farm, wasn’t jumping around or chattering like she usually did. In fact, she was curled up in a tight ball under the banana tree, her eyes half-closed and her breathing slow.
“Bibi?” Uncle Phong called softly as he walked over. The little monkey barely moved.
He knelt down beside her and gently placed his hand on her forehead. His heart sank.
“She’s burning up,” he whispered. “Oh no.”
Bibi, a cheeky little thing with soft brown fur and bright eyes, was usually full of energy. She would steal mangoes, play tag with the chickens, and swing on ropes Uncle Phong had tied for her in the trees. Everyone on the farm loved her dearly.
Uncle Phong gently picked her up. Her body was limp, and she didn’t even protest—another worrying sign. He carried her into his small house and laid her on a soft towel in a basket near the window.
He checked her temperature with a small animal thermometer. It read 104°F (40°C). That was dangerously high for a monkey her size.
“Poor Bibi,” he said, brushing her fur back from her face. “You’ve got a terrible fever.”
He quickly prepared some cool water and soaked a cloth to place on her forehead. Then he offered her a slice of banana—her favorite snack. But Bibi turned her head away weakly.
“She’s not eating?” Uncle Phong said, alarmed. He tried giving her a spoonful of coconut water. Nothing. She wouldn’t drink either.
Uncle Phong’s worry grew deeper. “I have to help her. I can’t let anything happen to her.”
He immediately called Dr. Linh, the local veterinarian. “Come quickly,” he said. “Bibi has a high fever and refuses to eat or drink.”
Dr. Linh arrived in less than an hour, carrying her medical kit. She examined Bibi carefully and nodded seriously.
“She’s dehydrated and weak,” the vet said. “We need to bring her fever down and get her fluids. I’ll start an IV drip.”
With steady hands, Dr. Linh inserted a tiny needle into Bibi’s arm and hooked her up to a small IV bag. The clear liquid slowly dripped in.
“She might have a virus,” Dr. Linh said. “It could be something she picked up from the wild birds or even something she ate.”
“Will she be okay?” Uncle Phong asked, his voice tight with worry.
“She has a strong heart,” Dr. Linh said kindly. “But we have to act quickly. If she doesn’t start drinking or eating soon, it could get serious.”
That night, Uncle Phong didn’t sleep. He stayed by Bibi’s side, gently changing her forehead cloth, adjusting the IV, and softly whispering to her.
“Remember when you climbed on my head just to steal my hat?” he said, trying to make her smile. “Or when you snuck into the kitchen and ran off with my rice cake?”
But Bibi didn’t respond. She lay still, her little chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
By morning, she still hadn’t eaten.
Uncle Phong prepared fresh fruit, sweet yogurt, even a small bit of warm porridge, hoping the smell would tempt her. But she remained uninterested.
Then he had an idea.
He reached for Bibi’s favorite toy: a soft, squeaky monkey with a bright red ribbon. He gently placed it next to her. Her eyes flickered open for a moment.
“That’s it,” he said, encouraged. “Stay with me, Bibi.”
Later that day, a small miracle happened. Bibi stirred and turned her head toward the bowl of coconut water. With great effort, she stuck out her tiny tongue and took a few sips.
Uncle Phong’s eyes filled with tears. “Good girl! That’s my Bibi!”
Dr. Linh came to check on her again. “She’s still weak, but that’s a good sign. Keep her hydrated and warm. She might start eating soon.”
Uncle Phong followed every instruction. He wrapped her in a soft towel like a little baby, carried her around in a sling on his chest, and sang gentle songs. Slowly, Bibi began to improve.
By the third day, she took a few bites of banana. Then she reached out and grabbed Uncle Phong’s finger.
He laughed through his relief. “That’s the strongest handshake I’ve ever felt!”
Within a week, Bibi was back on her feet, though she was still a little tired. She climbed to the top of the porch rail and sat there like a queen, watching the chickens march by.
“Welcome back,” Uncle Phong said, handing her a mango.
She squeaked happily and took it.
News of Bibi’s illness and recovery spread throughout the small village. Children brought her cards with drawings, and neighbors dropped off fruit and treats.
“She’s a fighter,” one old man said. “Just like her uncle.”
Uncle Phong smiled, holding Bibi close. “She may be small, but she has the heart of a lion.”
From then on, Uncle Phong was extra careful. He kept the farm cleaner, made sure Bibi’s food was fresh, and even built a small shaded play area just for her with soft cushions and plenty of clean water.
Bibi learned something too. She stayed closer to Uncle Phong after that, no longer sneaking off for hours or eating things she found in the wild.
Their bond had deepened during those hard days, and it became clear to everyone—Bibi wasn’t just a monkey on the farm. She was family.
And Uncle Phong? He never stopped watching over her with the gentle eyes of someone who had once almost lost something very dear.
