It was a quiet Sunday afternoon in the countryside. The sun filtered through the leafy trees, casting soft shadows on the wooden porch. Birds chirped lazily, and a light breeze drifted through the open kitchen window. Inside, Lala, a playful and curious baby monkey, was having her usual afternoon wander around the house.
Lala had been adopted by Farmer Cutis just a few months ago. Ever since, she had become the heart of the household—sweet, mischievous, and always eager to learn. With her big brown eyes and quick little hands, she could charm even the most tired visitor. But as anyone who knew Lala could tell you, her curiosity often got the best of her.
On this particular day, the house was calm. Farmer Cutis was outside tending to the garden, and Lala was left to explore indoors. She had already finished playing with her puzzle blocks and snacked on some banana slices. Now she was pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor, searching for something new and exciting.
That’s when she spotted it.
High up on the wooden shelf above the kitchen counter, behind a few dusty jars, sat a tall glass bottle. Its deep, reddish hue shimmered in the filtered sunlight, and the golden label reflected like treasure. It looked mysterious, elegant, and clearly very special. Lala was instantly fascinated.
She tilted her head to the side and blinked slowly. What could it be? It wasn’t milk, and it didn’t look like juice. She had never seen a bottle like that before. Whatever it was, she had to know.
Climbing had always been one of Lala’s special talents. With barely a sound, she leaped onto a chair, then the countertop, and finally reached the shelf. She reached out with both tiny hands, trying to touch the glittering bottle. Her fingers brushed the label. She squeaked in excitement.
Just then, the bottle shifted. It wobbled.
Lala froze. But instead of retreating, she tried to steady it. Big mistake.
With a sudden clink, the bottle tipped over, tumbling toward the edge. Lala reached to catch it—but she wasn’t quick enough. The wine bottle fell, hit the edge of the counter, and shattered onto the floor with a loud CRASH.
Dark red liquid splashed everywhere—on the floor, on the cabinets, and even on Lala’s furry little feet. She jumped back in fright, eyes wide and heart racing. She hadn’t meant to break it. She just wanted to look!
The smell was strong and sour. Lala sneezed, then sneezed again. The wine soaked into the rug and made the entire kitchen reek. For a moment, Lala stood frozen in shock, then scurried to a corner of the room and sat down, looking guilty and confused.
Outside, Farmer Cutis heard the crash. He rushed inside, his boots clunking on the wooden floor. The scene in the kitchen made him stop in his tracks.
Broken glass was everywhere. A pool of red wine spread across the tiles. And in the corner, his precious little monkey sat trembling with a red-stained tail and big, scared eyes.
“Lala!” he exclaimed, both surprised and worried. “What in the world happened here?”
Lala whimpered and lowered her head, as if she knew she’d done something very wrong.
Farmer Cutis sighed and carefully picked his way through the glass. He lifted Lala gently into his arms, checking to make sure she wasn’t cut. She was fine—just a little wet, a little stained, and very shaken.
He set her down in the sink and gave her a warm rinse. “You silly little thing,” he said softly. “That bottle wasn’t for you. That was for the town’s harvest festival next week!”
Lala blinked up at him with remorseful eyes, then reached out to hug his arm. She didn’t understand what wine was, but she understood that she had disappointed her favorite human.
After cleaning up Lala, Farmer Cutis set her on the porch to dry in the sun. She sat quietly, watching him mop up the sticky mess inside the kitchen. The glass shards sparkled in the trash bin. The sweet smell of grapes lingered in the air.
Later that evening, Farmer Cutis prepared dinner. He gave Lala her favorite mashed sweet potatoes and a warm cup of milk. As they ate, he looked across the table and chuckled.
“You know,” he said, “you’re too clever for your own good sometimes.”
Lala didn’t know what he meant exactly, but she nodded. She had learned a very important lesson: not everything shiny and interesting was meant to be touched—especially not bottles on high shelves.
The next day, Cutis visited the village store to buy a new bottle of wine. When he returned home, he made sure to store it in a locked cabinet, far away from curious hands.
Lala, on the other hand, had a new hobby: drawing. With Farmer Cutis’s help, she now spent her afternoons sketching pictures with crayons and paper. Her first masterpiece? A bottle, red and tall, with a big “X” drawn through it.
Every time Cutis saw it pinned to the fridge, he laughed. “Smart girl,” he’d say. “Trouble taught you well.”
From that day forward, Lala became just a little more careful. She still explored, still played, and still got into the occasional mess. But when it came to the kitchen shelves, she kept her distance. After all, she didn’t want another “wine disaster” on her record.
And Farmer Cutis? He kept loving her just the same—mischief and all.
