The baby monkey stared at the pile of logs with the kind of serious focus usually reserved for very important life decisions. His tiny brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a determined line, and his tail flicked sharply behind him. To anyone watching, it looked almost comical—such a small creature taking such a big problem so personally.
But to him, this mattered.
Very much.
The logs were too far away.
Not far in a dramatic, impossible sense—just far enough to be annoying. Far enough to interrupt his plan. Far enough to challenge his pride. The baby monkey shuffled forward, stepped onto one log, then looked at the next one sitting just out of reach.
He froze.
No.
That wouldn’t do.
He glanced around as if checking whether anyone else had noticed this outrageous inconvenience. A few monkeys nearby were busy with their own business, grooming or resting, completely unconcerned with his logistical nightmare.
Unacceptable.
With a small grunt, the baby monkey grabbed the nearest log with both hands and tugged. It didn’t move. He tried again, planting his feet wider this time, leaning his whole tiny body backward.
Still nothing.
He paused, breathing hard, then looked at the log like it had personally offended him.
“Move,” his expression seemed to say.
The log did not listen.
Behind him, another monkey—older, lazier, and clearly uninterested in manual labor—sat comfortably on a different log. He watched the baby monkey’s struggle with half-lidded eyes, chewing slowly and looking entirely unbothered.
The baby monkey noticed.
Oh, he noticed.
He shot the older monkey a sharp look, one filled with judgment far beyond his years. That one wasn’t helping. That one wasn’t moving. That one had chosen the easy life.
Fine.
Let the bastard stay there.
The baby monkey turned back to his task.
He repositioned himself, this time pushing instead of pulling. His hands pressed against the rough surface of the log, fingers slipping slightly. He leaned forward, putting all his weight into it. The log shifted—just a little.
His eyes widened.
Progress!
Encouraged, he pushed again, letting out a strained little sound as the log scraped against the ground. It moved another inch. That was all he needed to know. Victory was possible.
He pushed again.
And again.
Each movement was small, but together they added up. The baby monkey stopped occasionally to rest, sitting back on his heels, chest heaving. He wiped his face with one hand and glanced over at the older monkey again.
Still sitting.
Still watching.
Still useless.
The baby monkey snorted softly and shook his head. Some monkeys just didn’t understand the importance of initiative.
After a short break, he stood back up and resumed pushing. His movements were awkward but determined. The log scraped forward another few inches, now close enough that he could almost step from one to the next.
Almost.
He tried to step across, stretching his leg carefully. His foot barely touched the edge of the other log before slipping off. He landed back where he started, arms flailing slightly to keep balance.
He froze, embarrassed.
No one laughed. No one reacted at all. Still, his pride stung.
He glanced at the older monkey again. That one raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.
That was it.
The baby monkey turned back to the logs with renewed intensity. If they wouldn’t cooperate willingly, he’d make them. He grabbed the log again, this time pulling it toward him with short, sharp tugs. The log resisted at first, then finally slid forward into the perfect position.
Yes!
He stepped onto it confidently now, standing tall despite his small size. From here, he could reach the next log easily. He took a careful step, then another, testing his balance.
It worked.
The baby monkey paused at the top and looked around, chest puffed out slightly. He had done this. Alone. No help. Just effort and stubborn determination.
He glanced back one more time at the older monkey.
Still sitting. Still not impressed. Still very much staying where he was.
Good.
Let him stay there.
The baby monkey didn’t need approval. He had results.
He continued across the logs, hopping down on the other side with a satisfied little sound. His tail swayed happily behind him as he explored his newly accessible area. Everything felt different from here—higher, clearer, earned.
After a moment, he turned back and studied the path he had made. The logs sat closer together now, neatly aligned, exactly how he wanted them. He nodded to himself, clearly pleased.
From behind, a soft sound caught his attention. The older monkey had shifted slightly, adjusting his position, still very much planted where he was.
The baby monkey sighed dramatically.
Some never learn.
He trotted back toward the logs, climbed up again, and repeated the crossing—just because he could. This time, it was easier. Smoother. His movements were more confident. The effort had paid off.
He stopped midway and sat down, legs dangling, enjoying the view. The breeze brushed his fur, and sunlight warmed his face. He felt big. Capable. Independent.
All from moving a few logs closer.
The older monkey watched silently, chewing and blinking slowly. Maybe there was a hint of respect there. Maybe not. Either way, the baby monkey didn’t care anymore.
He had proven something to himself.
Sometimes the world doesn’t line up the way you want it to. Sometimes things are just a little too far away. And sometimes, others will sit back and watch while you struggle.
That’s okay.
Move the logs yourself.
And if someone wants to sit there doing nothing?
Let the bastard stay there.
You’ve got places to go. 🐒💪🪵
