It was one of those warm, easygoing afternoons in the little monkey sanctuary where the air smelled like ripe bananas and damp leaves, and the only thing louder than the breeze was the constant chatter of curious young monkeys. Among these energetic youngsters was Tiko—a fluffy, bright-eyed baby monkey whose curiosity was famously bigger than his body.
Tiko was known for many things. For climbing too high. For touching things he shouldn’t. For trying to ride on older monkeys’ backs without permission. But today, he added a new item to his list of chaotic talents:
He discovered his teeth.
It began so innocently—like most of Tiko’s misadventures did.
That morning, while Tiko munched on a piece of sweet papaya, something strange happened. His teeth made a little click sound. He paused mid-chew. His eyes widened. He tried again—click. And then again—clack clack. He froze, slowly lowered the papaya, and stared at the world with the kind of realization that changes a monkey’s entire personality.
“I can make noise with my mouth!” he squealed, completely enthralled.
Without warning, Tiko raced across the clearing, chattering and clacking his teeth at anyone within bite-distance. Older monkeys flinched. Babies blinked. Birds flew off. Even the sanctuary dog, Bruno, lifted his head and gave Tiko a very confused look.
Of course, the one monkey who was absolutely not entertained was Tiko’s mother, Lela.
She was grooming herself peacefully, thinking it would be one of those rare, calm days. But that illusion shattered when Tiko somersaulted into her lap, grabbed her cheeks, and loudly bit his own teeth together right in her face.
CLACK!
Lela jumped as if a coconut had fallen on her tail. “TIKO!” she scolded. “What was that?!”
Tiko grinned proudly, showing off every tiny white tooth. “Mommy, listen! My mouth makes music!”
He clacked again.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Lela rubbed her temples. “That’s not music, sweetheart. That’s… noise. Very loud noise.”
But Tiko wasn’t listening. Oh no. His world was full of possibilities now. He ran off again, this time clacking his teeth at every leaf, every rock, even at his own reflection in a puddle. He was so fascinated by the sound that he forgot to pay attention to anything else—like where he was going.
This led to the first problem.
Tiko ran straight into Coco, the grumpy older monkey who hated loud noises.
“CLACK!—”
“NO.” Coco’s voice boomed like thunder.
Tiko skidded to a stop, blinking. “But—”
Coco leaned down. “Do that again, and you’ll lose the privilege of having teeth.”
Tiko gulped dramatically, clutched his cheeks, and ran in the opposite direction.
The second problem happened just minutes after.
Tiko returned to Lela again, pawing at her arm urgently. “Mom! Mom! Mom!”
“What now?” she asked warily.
“I think my teeth are broken!”
Lela’s heart lurched. “Broken?! What happened?!”
“When I do the ‘clack clack,’ it hurts now!”
Lela sighed deeply and inspected his mouth. She gently pried it open—Tiko tried clacking again, but she tapped his cheek and he stopped.
She tilted his little head toward the sun. “Your teeth aren’t broken, silly. You’re biting too hard.”
“But I want loud clacks!”
“You’re not supposed to bite your teeth together on purpose,” she explained with patience she wasn’t sure she actually had. “Teeth are for eating, not banging.”
Tiko blinked. “Why not?”
“Because you can hurt yourself! And annoy everyone in a five-tree radius.”
She pointed to Coco, who was glaring from a distance.
Tiko swallowed hard.
“Let mommy teach you something,” Lela said.
And with that, she decided it was time Tiko learned a lesson—one she hoped he’d remember longer than five minutes.
She picked up a small nut from the ground. “You see this? You crack nuts with teeth. You don’t crack your teeth with teeth.”
Tiko nodded slowly, as if absorbing ancient wisdom.
She continued, “When you bite down too hard, your jaw hurts, your teeth hurt, and sometimes you can even chip one. And trust me— you don’t want to spend the day at the vet getting it fixed.”
Tiko shuddered.
“So… no more clacking?”
“No more clacking.”
Tiko sighed dramatically but accepted his fate.
At least for about three seconds.
Because problem number three arrived almost immediately.
As soon as Lela turned around to pick up more leaves, Tiko spotted his best friend, the baby monkey named Minki. She was sitting on a branch, eating mango, minding her own adorable business.
Tiko smirked.
He climbed up behind her silently.
Leaned close to her ear.
And…
CLACK!
Minki jumped so high she dropped her mango.
“TIKOOOOOOO!” she shrieked.
Lela spun around, alarmed. “What did you do now?!”
“He did the scary mouth thing again!” Minki wailed.
Tiko burst into giggles. “It was funny!”
Lela marched up the tree so fast Tiko almost fell off the branch.
“Tiko,” she said, voice low and serious, “you are done clacking today.”
“But—”
“No. Teeth. Clacking.”
“But I’m bored!”
Lela rubbed her head. “Then find something else to do.”
And just when she thought the chaos was over…
Tiko tried to clack one more time—but this time, he accidentally bit his own tongue.
Hard.
His scream echoed through the entire sanctuary.
“MOOOOOOM!”
Lela rushed to him. “What happened?!”
“My tongue!! I bit my tongue! It’s broken! It’s going to fall off!”
“It’s not falling off,” she sighed, even though Tiko was rolling dramatically on the leaves.
“It hurrrrrts!” he whined, clutching his jaw.
She had to fight the urge to say “I told you so,” but she settled for a gentle explanation instead.
“Tiko… this is exactly why you don’t bite your teeth together for fun. You hurt your tongue, your jaw, your teeth—everything!”
Tiko sniffled. “I don’t like the clacking anymore.”
“Good,” she said, relieved.
Minki climbed down and patted Tiko’s head sympathetically. “You learned your lesson?”
Tiko nodded, cheeks puffed out, tongue sticking slightly from his mouth in dramatic sorrow.
Later that afternoon, Lela gave him a soft fruit to soothe the soreness, and he leaned against her quietly—finally quiet, finally calm.
“Mom,” he mumbled, “I got a fun lesson today.”
She raised a brow. “Fun?”
He nodded. “Fun but not fun. Funny but not funny. Lesson but also pain.”
Lela laughed. “That sounds exactly right.”
He curled against her chest, sighing. “No more biting my teeth.”
“Good boy,” she smiled, hugging him close.
And that was the day Tiko learned—through mischief, chaos, a few scares, and a painful tongue—that teeth are meant for chewing food…
Not for making music.
And the entire sanctuary slept better that night because of it.
