Bobby drinks milk, 😋

Bobby was one of those baby monkeys who could make anyone smile just by existing. He had soft golden fur, big bright eyes, and a habit of making tiny happy noises whenever something excited him. And nothing in the whole world excited Bobby more than one thing:

Milk.

Warm milk. Fresh milk. Sweet milk. Any kind of milk.

For Bobby, milk wasn’t just food—it was comfort, happiness, love, and joy all in one little bottle.

Every morning, when the sun slowly rose and the garden filled with soft orange light, the caretakers would prepare a warm bottle just for him. They didn’t even need to call him. The moment Bobby heard the sound of milk being poured into his bottle, he would perk up instantly.

His ears twitched.
His eyes widened.
His tail lifted straight up like a tiny flag.

And then—zoom!

Bobby dashed across the grass on all four limbs, making adorable squeaks as he ran. He always arrived in front of the caretaker and sat up straight, like a tiny gentleman, waiting for his milk.

That morning was no different. The air was fresh, with the scent of banana leaves and morning dew. Birds were chirping everywhere. But Bobby only cared about one thing.

The caretaker smiled and crouched down.
“Good morning, Bobby. Ready for your milk?”

Bobby’s whole body bounced in excitement. His little hands reached up eagerly, as if he wanted to grab the bottle right away.

But the caretaker gently said, “Sit first.”

Bobby plopped down immediately—though his tail couldn’t stop shaking.

The caretaker gave him the bottle.

The moment the bottle touched Bobby’s hands, his eyes sparkled with pure happiness. He hugged it with both arms, brought the nipple to his mouth, and immediately began drinking with loud, satisfied slurping sounds.

Slurp… slurp… glurp…

It was the cutest sound anyone could hear.

His cheeks puffed slightly as he drank. His eyes half-closed from comfort. One of his feet tapped the ground gently, like he was dancing without thinking about it.

Around him, the garden began to wake up. The chickens scratched at the dirt. A small puppy stretched and yawned. A goat walked by and looked at Bobby like he was wondering why milk made him so happy.

But Bobby was in a different world—the magical milk world, where everything was warm, soft, and cozy.

The caretaker sat beside him, gently stroking his back while Bobby drank. They loved watching him because Bobby had a special way of drinking milk that made everyone laugh—he always hugged the bottle like it was the most precious thing in the universe.

Sometimes, he even wrapped his tail around the bottle, as if afraid someone might take it away.

Halfway through the bottle, Bobby paused for a moment. He adjusted his position, sat cross-legged like a tiny monk, and continued drinking. His tiny belly slowly rounded out as it filled up.

Another caretaker walked by and said, “Look at him—he’s so serious about his milk!”

Everyone laughed softly, not wanting to disturb him.

After a while, Bobby gently lowered the bottle and looked at it, as if checking how much was left. He frowned a little. Still some milk there. Good. He lifted it again and continued drinking even louder, making everyone giggle.

But Bobby didn’t care. Milk time was the best time.

When he finally reached the last few drops, he tilted the bottle up, trying to get every bit. A small drip landed on his nose. Bobby blinked, went cross-eyed for a moment trying to see it, then licked it off with a tiny pink tongue.

The caretakers burst out laughing.

Bobby looked proud.

When he finished the entire bottle, he placed his little hands on his round belly and sighed softly, as if saying, “Ahhh… perfect.”

Then he let out a tiny burp.

Everyone laughed again.

The caretaker picked him up gently. “Full tummy, huh?”

Bobby leaned against their chest, warm and relaxed. After drinking milk, he always became extra cuddly. He rested his head against the caretaker, holding their shirt with his tiny fingers.

For a moment, the world felt peaceful and soft.

But Bobby wasn’t done yet.

As soon as he recovered from his milk-drinking happiness, he became curious again. He climbed onto the caretaker’s shoulder, peeked around, and looked at the bottle. Maybe… just maybe… there was more milk?

The caretaker laughed. “No more. You already finished a whole bottle!”

Bobby tilted his head with the cutest confused expression. He tapped the empty bottle. No sound. He tried tipping it. No milk. He sniffed it one more time, just in case.

Still nothing.

He made a tiny disappointed squeak.

The caretaker giggled and kissed the top of Bobby’s head. “You’ll get more later. Not now.”

Bobby accepted that. With a small huff, he climbed down and sat on the grass, rubbing his belly with both hands. His little round stomach made him look like a fluffy milk ball.

The other animals approached him. The puppy sniffed him. The goat walked closer. Even a curious chicken stood next to him.

Bobby looked at them as if saying, “I drank my milk. What did YOU do today?”

They didn’t understand him, but his proud little face made the whole garden brighter.

A bit later, Bobby felt energized again. Milk always gave him strength. He ran around the yard, climbed a small branch, jumped down, grabbed a leaf, and swung from a low vine. His confidence returned. His joy returned.

And then—he found a small bowl of water.

Did Bobby jump into it?

Yes.

Did he splash around until he soaked himself completely?

Also yes.

The caretakers shook their heads. “Bobby, you just drank milk and now you’re taking a bath?”

Bobby squeaked happily and splashed harder.

After playing for a while, Bobby returned to the keeper’s lap, tired but satisfied. He curled up into a small ball. His eyes slowly closed. His breathing softened.

Milk. Playtime. Warmth. Safety.

That was Bobby’s perfect life.

As he fell asleep, the caretaker rubbed his tiny head and whispered, “Sleep well, little Bobby.”

And Bobby dreamed sweet dreams—probably about more milk.