The morning sun peeked through the tall trees, casting warm rays across the yard where Dad had prepared breakfast for the little monkeys. The air was calm, filled with the soft hum of insects and the playful chirps of birds. But inside the cozy wooden enclosure, a different kind of noise was building—one filled with squeaks, grunts, and sharp little cries.
“Oh no,” Dad sighed, looking up from his chair. “What are those two up to this time?”
The source of the ruckus was clear. Two baby monkeys—Mimi and Koko—were rolling, tumbling, and grabbing at each other, not out of play but in a serious quarrel. And what was the treasure at the heart of their conflict? Two milk bottles, identical in size and shape, but each seemingly far more desirable when it belonged to the other.
Mimi clutched her bottle tightly, tilting her head to sip from it. But the moment she saw Koko’s bottle half full, her eyes grew wide and jealous. “Mine!” she squeaked, darting forward.
Koko, not about to give in, hugged his bottle to his chest. His lips curled into a pout, his tail swishing with indignation. “No! Mine!” He screeched loudly enough to startle the nearby chickens.
And then it began—the great bottle battle.
The first grab
Mimi lunged first, tiny hands reaching for Koko’s bottle. She managed to touch it, but Koko twisted away and toppled backward into a pile of soft blankets. Not willing to surrender, he kicked his little feet and rolled right back toward Mimi. Soon they were both squeaking and wrestling in the middle of the floor, each determined to snatch what they thought was the “better” bottle.
Dad tried to step in. “Mimi, Koko, you both have your own bottles! They’re the same—look!” He held them up side by side.
But did the little monkeys care about reason? Not at all. To them, logic was no match for jealousy. Mimi wanted Koko’s bottle because it was his. Koko wanted Mimi’s for the very same reason.
The chase
When Dad set the bottles back down, the quarrel escalated. Mimi managed to grab Koko’s bottle, squealing triumphantly as she scampered to the corner. She sat proudly with both bottles beside her, ready to drink from whichever one she pleased.
Koko, however, was not defeated. He leaped after her, his tiny fingers reaching out. With a swift tug, he yanked one bottle free and scurried in the opposite direction.
Now, each monkey held a bottle—but of course, each wanted the one the other had.
The yard echoed with squeaks and cries as they darted back and forth, tails flying, bottles wobbling dangerously. Several times, Dad thought the bottles would slip and spill, but somehow the little monkeys managed to hang on tightly.
“Oh no,” Dad muttered again, rubbing his forehead. “Why can’t you two just drink peacefully?”
The tumble
Finally, the chase ended in a dramatic tumble. Mimi launched herself onto Koko’s back, and the two rolled across the floor like a pair of furry tumbleweeds. Bottles clattered against the wood as they wrestled, each squealing louder than the other.
For a moment, both bottles lay abandoned. Dad saw his chance. He swooped in quickly, snatched them up, and held them high.
But that only caused another problem.
Now Mimi and Koko weren’t fighting each other—they were both reaching for Dad, climbing his legs like little furry ladders, squeaking desperately for the bottles. Their little hands tugged at his shirt, their eyes wide with milk-hungry determination.
Dad’s idea
Dad knew he had to find a clever solution. If he simply gave them back the bottles, the fight would start again.
“Alright, little troublemakers,” he said gently, setting them both down. “If you want your milk, you’ll have to share.”
He sat in the middle of the floor and placed the two bottles down between them. Then he picked Mimi up and held her on one knee, placing one bottle in her hands. On the other knee, he settled Koko, giving him the other bottle.
For a brief moment, it worked. Both monkeys sipped quietly, their eyes half-closing in satisfaction. Dad smiled. “See? Easy.”
But of course, peace never lasted long with Mimi and Koko.
The switch
After a few gulps, Mimi peeked sideways at Koko’s bottle. His milk looked creamier somehow. She frowned, then stretched her little arm out, trying to tug it away.
Koko shrieked, hugging it tighter. But then he glanced at Mimi’s bottle and decided hers looked tastier. In a swift move, he dropped his own bottle and reached for hers.
The result was chaos again—bottles clashing, milk sloshing dangerously near the rims, and both monkeys squealing at the top of their lungs.
Dad quickly placed both bottles back on the floor. But to his surprise, something unexpected happened.
The surprise solution
The bottles, lying close together, tipped slightly. A small trickle of milk leaked out and pooled on the floor. Immediately, both Mimi and Koko stopped fighting. They stared at the puddle, their eyes suddenly wide and curious.
As if forgetting their quarrel entirely, they crouched down together, lapping up the spilled milk side by side. Their tails brushed against each other, their earlier anger melting away.
Dad chuckled softly. “So you’ll fight over bottles but share a puddle, huh? You silly little ones.”
After finishing the puddle, Mimi and Koko looked up at Dad, then at the bottles. But instead of fighting, they each grabbed one bottle and began drinking calmly—almost as if they had realized how much nicer it was to enjoy together than to quarrel endlessly.
The lesson
The rest of the morning passed peacefully. Mimi leaned against Koko, sipping her milk slowly, while Koko held his bottle with both hands, sneaking occasional glances at his sister but without jealousy.
Dad watched them with a soft smile. He knew that tomorrow there might be another quarrel—over bananas, toys, or even a simple stick. But for now, the little monkeys had learned something valuable: milk was sweeter when not spoiled by fighting.
He reached over and stroked their tiny heads. “Oh no, you two give me such headaches sometimes,” he whispered fondly, “but I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”
The two monkeys blinked up at him with sleepy eyes, their bellies full of warm milk, their quarrel forgotten. Within minutes, they curled up together in the blanket pile, hugging their empty bottles like prized treasures.
The yard grew quiet again. Birds chirped, the breeze rustled through the trees, and Dad finally leaned back with a sigh of relief.
Peace had returned—at least until lunchtime.
