The Fear of Monkeys - The Best E-Zine on the Web for Politically Conscious WritingThe Moor Macaque - Issue Thirty-Five
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The Moor Macaque  from Christiano Artuso The Moor Macaque is endemic to the tropical rainforests and grasslands of the island of Sulawesi in Indonesia. Their diet consists of they eat figs, bamboo seeds, buds, sprouts, invertebrates and cereals. They have brown to black body fur with a pale rump patch and pink bare skin on the rump and are about 55 centimetres in height. They are sometimes called a "dog-ape" because of their dog-like muzzle, although they are no more closely related to apes than any other Old World monkey. Adult male moor macaques do not interact frequently, although the interactions that occur frequently involve affiliation rather than aggression, with greetings being the most common form of interaction. The greetings enable males to show their willingness to invest in the relationship, and may represent one way for adult males to ease social tension and build social bonds. The moor macaque is threatened mostly due to habitat loss from an expanding human population and deforestation to increase agricultural land area. The population is estimated to have decreased from 56,000 to under 10,000 from 1983 to 1994. In 1992, Supriatna et al. conducted an extensive survey and found only 3,000-5,000 individuals of the species. The survey estimated densities to be 25-50 individuals per kilometre. Several Sulawesi macaque species are endangered, and information on their ecology and behaviour is desperate needed if conservation plans are to be effective.

   


Collector

by

Ken Poyner


Don't get too attached to the girl.

You know we cannot keep her.
Probably, she has a mother
Somewhere, a father
Somewhere. You don't
Know where she has been or what
Sort of diseases she may have
Picked up. Surely, she belongs

To someone. A girl that age
Can wonder off, go feral
For only so long. Some family
Is out looking for her now, I would bet.
I do bet. You cannot make a home
For every stray you run across.

So many strays,
And our home already balanced.

It is a noble gesture, but not practical.
Think of the upkeep. The feeding.
The baths. The education. The endless
Moral instruction. You
Would have to clean up after her,
Everyday, everyday. And then the ruckus
That would come when she hits menarche!
I know you think that to keep her
Is the right thing to do, but we are not
Well suited as a home for lost ragamuffins.

We are all about routines, and an ordered life.
It is too much responsibility. No matter
How huge your heart. But tonight
She can sleep in the garage. We might leave
A blanket and one of your sister's outgrown
Fanciful stuffed animals. Tomorrow,
First thing, after pancakes and peanut butter,
Perhaps an orange juice and maybe milk,
Off she goes and this whole meeting will be forgotten.

She can take the stuffed animal with her.



After years of impersonating a Systems Engineer, Ken has retired to watch his wife of forty-one years continue to break both Masters and Open world raw powerlifting records. Kenís two current poetry and two short fiction collections are available from Barking Moose Press, Amazon, and Sundial Books in Chincoteague, where Ken and Karen go to escape irreality.
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