Paul is in the United States for his father's funeral and I'm home alone...unless you count two spider monkeys and a Golden Retriever. And in anticipation of me cleaning Chiquito's cage, we added a sliding bolt on the INSIDE of the cage door. That way I can lock Chiquito out in the double-door area (designed to prevent escapes) while I'm cleaning.
There are a total of four doors (one from the garage into the escape hall, one at each end of the escape hall to the outside, and one from the escape hall into his cage), all of which have to be locked. This makes the logistics of entering the double door area via the garage and bringing in the hose from the outside more complicated than it sounds...not to mention that using the escape area to contain Chiquito means there is no other barrier between him and entry to the house (unless I want to lock myself out of the five remaining doors and close all the windows). It just never occurred to me that we would have to keep a monkey "out" when we designed the house.
Chiquito would like to participate in the cleaning, as shown in these photos taken when I was inside his cage and he was in the hall, but I don't feel confident about handling his enthusiasm. I've seen Paul aim the hose at him when he got too rambunctious...
There are a total of four doors (one from the garage into the escape hall, one at each end of the escape hall to the outside, and one from the escape hall into his cage), all of which have to be locked. This makes the logistics of entering the double door area via the garage and bringing in the hose from the outside more complicated than it sounds...not to mention that using the escape area to contain Chiquito means there is no other barrier between him and entry to the house (unless I want to lock myself out of the five remaining doors and close all the windows). It just never occurred to me that we would have to keep a monkey "out" when we designed the house.
Chiquito would like to participate in the cleaning, as shown in these photos taken when I was inside his cage and he was in the hall, but I don't feel confident about handling his enthusiasm. I've seen Paul aim the hose at him when he got too rambunctious...
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It always feels like a scene from a French movie as I go in and out the various doors, put Chiquito's food dish at the end of the hallway, let him out, and drag the hose into his cage. He grabs a piece of food and joins me before I have a chance to lock him out, so I wait until he goes back for something else to eat, bang the door closed, and slide the bolt. I glance out to make sure I put the clips on all of the other doors, but one of them is around a corner and I can't see it. (Note to self for future cage design.)
I don't mind cleaning cages. In fact I considered it a privilege when I volunteered in the Brazilian tapir exhibit at Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle...and the pay is still the same.
I don't mind cleaning cages. In fact I considered it a privilege when I volunteered in the Brazilian tapir exhibit at Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle...and the pay is still the same.
My foot gets "groomed."
This morning turns out to be much like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. I bonk my head on one of the tires hanging from the ceiling. I peer out into the hallway yet again to confirm that I put the clips back on the latches, although this time I try to see the reflection (in a window) of the door that's around the corner - with no luck.
Chiquito is ecstatic when I finally open the door. He whinnies and hugs my head, offering me a pectoral sniff, and I shuffle out into the hallway to get the plastic chair wearing a monkey on my face. Then he sits on the chair while I carry it into the cage, I squeeze onto the seat beside him, and we share some quality time.
Today my foot got sniffed, licked, and nibbled. On the off chance that it was spider monkey foreplay, I dug into my pocket for raisins and Chiquito was easily distracted.
We'll all be glad when Paul gets back, but I'm not really home alone. I have good company.
Chiquito is ecstatic when I finally open the door. He whinnies and hugs my head, offering me a pectoral sniff, and I shuffle out into the hallway to get the plastic chair wearing a monkey on my face. Then he sits on the chair while I carry it into the cage, I squeeze onto the seat beside him, and we share some quality time.
Today my foot got sniffed, licked, and nibbled. On the off chance that it was spider monkey foreplay, I dug into my pocket for raisins and Chiquito was easily distracted.
We'll all be glad when Paul gets back, but I'm not really home alone. I have good company.
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