Dad never planned to become the official bath attendant. It just sort of happened. One day, Monkey Xuka rolled through mud like it was the best idea ever invented, and the next day, Dad was standing by a small basin of warm water, sleeves rolled up, wondering how his life had led to this exact moment.
Xuka sat on the edge of the basin, soaked in dirt from head to toe, looking extremely proud. Mud decorated his ears, his tail, even the tiny crease above his nose. He chirped happily, as if to say, Yes, I did this on purpose. Dad sighed—but there was a smile hiding in that sigh.
“Alright, Xuka,” Dad said softly. “Bath time.”
Xuka froze.
The word bath meant many things to Xuka. It could mean warmth. It could mean splashing. It could also mean betrayal. He leaned back dramatically, clinging to Dad’s shirt with muddy fingers, eyes wide, pretending to be suddenly weak and fragile.
Dad laughed. “Nice try.”
He gently lifted Xuka and lowered him into the basin. The water was warm, just the way Xuka liked it, but that didn’t stop the initial protest. Xuka squeaked loudly, kicking his legs, sending tiny waves over the edge. Water splashed Dad’s shirt immediately.
Round one: resistance.
Dad held Xuka securely, one hand supporting his back, the other steadying his legs. “Easy, buddy,” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
Xuka paused. He looked down at the water. He dipped one finger in. Then another. His tail swayed slowly, curiosity replacing fear. The squeaks softened into questioning little sounds.
Round one: surrender.
Dad used a soft cloth and gently wiped Xuka’s arms first. Mud loosened and swirled away in the water. Xuka watched closely, fascinated. He lifted his arm higher, as if helping. Dad raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now you’re cooperating?”
Xuka responded by splashing the water with both hands.
So much for calm.
Water went everywhere. Xuka laughed—actually laughed—showing tiny teeth, eyes bright. Dad shook his head, already soaked. “I should’ve known.”
As Dad cleaned Xuka’s chest and belly, Xuka leaned back, relaxing completely, trusting Dad without hesitation. His earlier drama vanished. He was enjoying this now. The warmth, the attention, the gentle movements—it felt good.
Dad carefully washed Xuka’s head, avoiding his eyes. Xuka closed them tightly anyway, making a face like he was enduring a great hardship. When Dad rinsed gently, Xuka peeked with one eye, checking if the danger had passed.
It had.
Mud was gone now, replaced by clean, soft fur. Xuka looked smaller somehow, lighter. Dad lifted him slightly, turning him around to wash his back and tail. Xuka grabbed Dad’s wrist, holding on firmly, as if saying, Don’t drop me. Also, don’t stop.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
No splashing. No squeaking. Just the sound of water and slow breathing. Xuka rested his head against Dad’s arm, eyes half-closed. Bath time had turned into comfort time.
Dad felt it too—that calm, gentle connection. He washed the last traces of dirt away and then slowly lifted Xuka out of the basin, wrapping him in a soft towel. Xuka immediately clung to it, rubbing his face into the fabric, making happy little noises.
Round two: towel attack.
Xuka tried to bite the towel. He wrestled it. He rolled inside it like a burrito, tail sticking out one end. Dad laughed openly now, drying him gently while avoiding the tiny, playful grabs.
“You’re impossible,” Dad said fondly.
Xuka answered by climbing up onto Dad’s shoulder, towel still half-wrapped around him, peeking out like a tiny king surveying his kingdom. Clean. Warm. Victorious.
Dad dried Xuka’s ears carefully, one by one. Xuka tolerated this with dignity—for about ten seconds—before shaking his head wildly, flinging tiny water droplets everywhere. Dad closed his eyes just in time.
“Really?” Dad said.
Xuka grinned.
After the bath, Dad sat down, Xuka curled against his chest. The baby monkey groomed Dad’s sleeve with serious concentration, as if returning the favor. His fingers moved gently, thoughtfully. This was important work.
Dad watched him quietly, heart full.
Bathing Xuka wasn’t just about getting rid of mud. It was about trust. About patience. About understanding that sometimes, chaos comes first, and calm comes later. It was about knowing when to hold firm and when to let things splash.
Later, Xuka fell asleep, clean and warm, thumb tucked into his mouth, tail wrapped loosely around Dad’s arm. His breathing was slow and steady. The day’s adventure—mud, protest, bath, towel battle—was complete.
Dad didn’t move. He stayed there, holding Xuka, letting the moment last just a little longer.
Because one day, Xuka would be bigger. One day, he wouldn’t need help with baths. One day, the basin would be empty.
But for now, Dad was the one who bathed Monkey Xuka.
And honestly?
He wouldn’t trade it for anything. 🐒🛁💙
