The sun was just beginning to rise when Phong noticed something unusual. His little companion, Bibi the baby monkey, was curled up in a tight ball on her favorite pillow. Normally, she would be the first one to jump into Phong’s arms, squealing with excitement for breakfast. But today, she barely moved.
Phong tiptoed toward her and gently reached out. “Good morning, Bibi,” he whispered, rubbing her tiny head. Her eyes opened slowly, and she let out a quiet, tired sound. Phong’s smile faded. Something wasn’t right.
“Are you okay, girl?” he asked, crouching beside her.
Instead of leaping onto his shoulder like she always did, Bibi stayed still. Phong offered her a small banana, her favorite treat. But to his shock, she turned her face away and curled up tighter. That had never happened before.
Phong frowned. “You’re not hungry?”
He tried again with a slice of mango. No luck. She refused it, too. A small knot formed in Phong’s stomach. Bibi never refused fruit. She loved food more than anything—except for maybe playing in the garden or riding on Phong’s back when he worked around the farm.
Worried, he scooped her up and held her close. Her fur felt warmer than usual. “You’ve got a fever,” he muttered, pressing his hand gently to her forehead.
That’s when real concern set in. Phong loved Bibi like family. Ever since he had rescued her after a storm separated her from her mother, they’d been inseparable. She followed him everywhere—whether he was planting vegetables, fixing the chicken coop, or just taking a walk through the village. She was more than just a pet. She was his friend, his shadow, his joy.
Phong wasted no time. He wrapped Bibi in a soft towel and jumped on his motorbike, heading straight for the village vet.
The vet, Dr. Hien, examined Bibi carefully. After checking her temperature, listening to her heartbeat, and inspecting her mouth and eyes, she gave a soft sigh.
“She has a mild infection,” Dr. Hien explained. “Nothing too serious, but she needs rest, fluids, and this medicine twice a day.”
Phong nodded. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Back home, Phong prepared a special dish with mashed bananas, warm milk, and a drop of honey. He even added a little of the medicine, hoping Bibi wouldn’t notice. But as soon as he brought it near her, she sniffed once and turned away.
“No, Bibi, please,” he said softly. “You need to eat.”
He tried again. She looked at him sadly, then closed her eyes.
“Come on, it’s just a little banana,” he coaxed.
But no matter how gently he spoke or how delicious he made the food look, Bibi refused to eat. Phong grew more desperate with every passing hour. He tried apples, yogurt, even her favorite rice balls. Nothing worked.
Worse still, when he tried giving her the medicine with a dropper, she squirmed and spit it out. Phong sat back on the floor, exhausted and confused. He looked at Bibi, who was still curled up on the pillow, breathing softly.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.
By the second day, Phong was frantic. Bibi looked thinner. Her eyes were dull, and she had stopped making her usual chirping sounds. Phong barely ate himself, spending all his time by her side, stroking her back, telling her stories, and pleading with her to take just a bite of something.
He called Dr. Hien again. “She still won’t eat. I’m really scared.”
Dr. Hien offered a few more suggestions. “Try feeding her with your hands while holding her. Sometimes the comfort helps. And if she refuses medicine again, bring her back and we can try an injection.”
That night, Phong sat on the floor with Bibi in his lap. He held her close and gently spooned a little warm milk near her lips. Slowly, she opened her mouth and took a sip. Phong felt a wave of relief wash over him.
“Yes! That’s my girl!”
Encouraged, he gave her a bit more, just a teaspoon at a time. Then he tried a tiny piece of mashed banana. She took it slowly, chewing weakly but without spitting it out. Phong smiled for the first time in two days.
“Good job, Bibi. Just a little more,” he said.
Once she had eaten a bit more, he gently gave her the medicine, mixed with warm water in a tiny bottle. This time, she didn’t spit it out.
By the third day, Bibi was starting to move around again. Her fever had gone down, and she reached out for Phong’s hand. Her eyes were still tired, but they had a bit more life in them. Phong felt tears prick his eyes as he whispered, “You’re getting better.”
Over the next few days, Phong stayed close, feeding her every few hours and carefully giving her medicine. Each small improvement—her first happy chirp, her first little hop from the couch to the floor—filled him with joy.
Finally, a week later, Bibi jumped onto his shoulder like old times, wrapping her little arms around his neck. Phong laughed out loud and twirled around the room.
“You’re back, you little monkey!”
Bibi squeaked and nuzzled his cheek, then reached out for a banana slice.
Phong watched as she munched it down happily. The confusion and worry that had weighed on him like a stone for days finally lifted. She was eating. She was better. And she was still his Bibi—strong, silly, and full of life.
From that day on, Phong never took her health for granted again. He always kept a close eye on her, made sure her food was fresh, and kept her medicine on hand—just in case. And every time she ate with her usual enthusiasm, he smiled, remembering the time she scared him more than anything ever had.
