The Fear of Monkeys - The Best E-Zine on the Web for Politically Conscious WritingThe Brown Titi Monkey - Issue Fourteen
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Get To Know

The Brown Titi Monkey, photo from Christian ArtusoThe Brown Titi Monkey is a New World primate who lives in the northern Amazon rainforest of Colombia to Brazil and Peru. They have a head and body length of 23-46 centimetres and a tail which is longer than the head and body. The tail is always furry and is not prehensile. Diurnal and arboreal, titis predominantly prefer dense forests near water. They easily jump from branch to branch, earning them their German name, Springaffen (jumping monkeys). They sleep at night, but also take a midday nap. Titis are territorial. They live in family groups that consist of parents and their offspring, about two to seven animals in total. They defend their territory by shouting and chasing off intruders, but rarely engage in actual fighting. Their grooming and communication is important for the co-operation of the group. They can typically be seen in pairs sitting or sleeping with tails entwined. They eat mainly fruits, although they also eat leaves, flowers, insects, bird eggs and small vertebrates. Titis are monogamous, mating for life and the female bears a single young after about a five-month gestation. Twins occur rarely, having been documented in only 1.4% of all births. While the second infant usually does not survive, cases where neighbouring groups have adopted infants are known, suggesting that twins may be reared successfully under certain circumstances. Often it is the father who cares for the young, carrying it and bringing it to the mother only for nursing.

   


Sleep Apnea or Agent Orange:
Let's Hear It for Monsanto!

By

Donal Mahoney

 

Zenobia Jackson told Officer Murphy that her husband, Rufus, was "a wonderful man when he was awake" but for years he had been jerking "something terrible" during his sleep and had kept waking her up. He'd swing his arms, she said, like those martial arts men he liked to watch on television. When the bouts were over, he'd give her a big kiss on the forehead and go to bed.

"Oh, he was just a doll," she said, "when he was awake."

In the last month, however, Rufus had fallen out of bed three times "fighting" in his dreams. In the morning he'd tell her he'd been dreaming that he was back in Vietnam. Sometimes he dreamt he was shooting at burglars breaking into their house in the old neighborhood. That's why they had to move to a different neighborhood and why he bought a gun, a little pistol he kept under his pillow just in case he heard someone in the house.

"You can't be too careful these days," he told her. He even taught her how to shoot the gun one night when no one else was on the tennis courts in Sherman Park. He said she was real good. "Not many women," he said, "can aim straight. They could have used her," he said, "in Vietnam."

But last night, she said, when Rufus was dreaming again, he swung his arms at least ten times, like he was chopping sugar cane back in Louisiana before they moved North. He caught her with an elbow to the eye and then another to the nose just as she was ducking. "That's why I look the way I do," she told Officer Murphy.

Long ago, she had stopped trying to wake Rufus when he was thrashing about. It was because of the pistol under his pillow. He had reached for it one night right after she had shaken him. She had screamed and that woke him up and he wasn't too happy about it. He said he couldn't get back to sleep the rest of the night. And he wasn't lying because she was awake all night, too, listening to him grumble and curse.

Just a week ago, she had taken him to a sleep clinic where he had stayed overnight. The doctor said he might be suffering from sleep apnea but she had never heard of anyone with sleep apnea thrashing and kicking about like her Rufus. She had a lady friend in the choir at church whose husband had sleep apnea but all he did was "snore too loud," her friend said, no thrashing about.

"So that's how it happened," Zenobia told Officer Murphy, who was busy taking notes. Rufus had reached under the pillow for the pistol and she had to stop him.

"Two in the head," she said, "and he be dead."


Donal Mahoney has had work published in Fear of Monkeys and in other print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/

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