What Happened Next When Libby Tried to Hug BB Lily in the Forest Also
In the soft shade of the forest, where sunlight peeked gently through the trees and birds called above the canopy, a moment of unexpected tenderness unfolded. Libby, a gentle but often misunderstood female monkey, had been watching BB Lily—the youngest and most adored baby of the troop—for some time. Lily, barely more than a few months old, was known for her playful energy, wide curious eyes, and her precious bond with her mother, Joyce.
Libby, though not Lily’s mother, had always been drawn to infants. Perhaps it was her own motherly instincts, or maybe a longing for a bond she had never fully experienced. She was not known to be aggressive or dominant—just quiet and observant. And on this particular morning, something stirred in her heart when she saw Lily playing by the roots of a fig tree.
Lily was hopping clumsily over small vines, letting out soft chirps and squeals of joy. Mama Joyce sat nearby, foraging but always keeping a watchful eye. Libby, sitting alone at a distance, slowly crept closer. Her movements weren’t threatening—they were cautious, respectful. She made a soft cooing sound, gently approaching the tiny baby monkey.
Then it happened—Libby reached out slowly, her arms stretched in a clear and peaceful gesture. She was trying to hug Lily.
Lily, used to being loved and cuddled, paused and looked up at Libby. She tilted her head and let out a soft squeak, unsure but not scared. Libby gently wrapped her arms around the baby, pulling her in for a tender embrace. It was not rough. It was careful, almost trembling—like Libby herself didn’t quite believe she was allowed this moment.
For a few seconds, the forest was still. Birds chirped high in the trees, leaves rustled in the breeze, and Libby just held Lily close. It was a simple, beautiful moment.
But then, a loud cry shattered the calm.
Mama Joyce had turned just in time to see her precious baby wrapped in someone else’s arms. In the wild, even a kind gesture can be misunderstood—especially when it involves a baby. Joyce shrieked, leaping forward with incredible speed. She bared her teeth, her eyes wide with fear and fury, and rushed toward Libby.
Libby, startled and scared, immediately let go of Lily. She backed away with both hands raised, making submissive vocalizations. She hadn’t meant harm—only to share a little affection—but Joyce wouldn’t hear it. She reached Libby and gave her a sharp push, sending her scrambling backward into the underbrush.
Lily, unharmed but confused, ran back to her mother and clung to her chest. Joyce hissed protectively, turning her back to Libby and rocking her baby while murmuring soft grunts of reassurance.
The other monkeys gathered nearby, drawn by the commotion. Some looked at Libby with curiosity, others with judgment. A few mothers chattered in concern, unsure whether Libby had crossed a line or simply wanted to connect. The troop’s dominant female stood quietly nearby, observing but not intervening.
Libby, now sitting alone again, groomed herself slowly. Her eyes glanced toward Lily, who was now playing again, safe in her mother’s arms. There was no hate in Libby’s gaze—just sadness and longing.
What happened next? Not much, at least not outwardly.
Life in the forest continued. The troop moved forward through the jungle, and Libby followed from a distance. She wasn’t exiled or attacked again, but she remained cautious. Still, something had changed. Though the moment had ended in fear, it had started with a connection—a brief, fragile hug.
In the wild, trust is hard-earned and easily broken. Yet sometimes, even the smallest acts of kindness leave a quiet mark. Perhaps one day, Mama Joyce might understand Libby’s heart. And perhaps one day, Libby will get another chance to show it—gently, patiently, just like before.
Because sometimes, even in the jungle, love speaks in the form of a hug.
