Mokie See, Mokie Do

A couple of day's ago, I caught a short segment of a TV documentary about monkeys (rhesus monkeys, I think) and I have been thinking about it ever since. The show focused on a troop in which one of the females had a new-born baby, perhaps only a few days old. I will call him "Mokie" here.

Mokie appeared to be a tiny, fragile, wobbly little being -- all arms and legs and a large, big-eyed head. He clung as well as possible to his mother, who was closely and constantly surrounded by other female and young, adolescent monkeys romping and playing.

So far, nothing extraordinary. But then things really got interesting. It soon became apparent that Mokie was one of the most, if not the most, highly coveted monkeys in the troop. His aunts, siblings, and young cousins were intent on having him for themselves, and they kept trying every trick in the Book of Monkey Ruses to get their hands on him.

His aunts were particularly effective. Their favorite ploy involved the monkey social skill of reciprocal grooming. First, Aunt A would sidle up beside Mokie's mother and begin to pick through the fur on her head, neck and shoulders, supposedly to remove any lice, fleas or other parasites embedded there. Since this behavior apparently mandates that the mother monkey then perform the same ritual on Aunt A, Aunt A soon lowered her own head to allow the mother monkey to reciprocate.

This, of course, meant that the mother had to release her grasp of Mokie. At this point, Aunt A or one of the other aunts nearby would subtly put their hands around Mokie and pull him away.

As you would expect, Mokie's mother didn't let this go unnoticed. She quickly grabbed him by his hind legs and started pulling him back toward her.

But Aunt A didn't instantly yield. What resulted was a tug-of-baby between the aunt and the mother. Mokie hung helplessly in mid-air, his big eyes bulging with fear, as the two females tried to win control of him. I guess baby monkeys must be pretty tough, because Mokie never screamed, and he appeared to be almost rubberband-like, indeed exhibiting a high degree of elasticity.

Fortunately, the two grown monkeys seemed to know just how forceful this tugging could become without injuring Mokie. After a few moments, the aunt finally let go, allowing the mother to pull Mokie back to her chest.

This scene repeated itself again and again as the various aunts or adolescent monkeys tried to refine their methods of monkeynapping.

All the while, Mokie seemed fully bewildered by the entire affair. When possible, he tried to escape from all of them, including his mother, as best as he could on his wobbly, new-found legs. But he never got more than a couple of steps away. Either his mother, an aunt, a sibling, or a cousin would quickly grab him up and claim him for their very own, at least until his mother regained possession of him.

As fascinating as all of this was, it brought up an even more intriguing question, namely why exactly did almost every monkey in the troop want to have Mokie for their own? My first thought was simply because he was so cute and adorable. But I quickly discarded that thought. That line of illogic had too many holes in it, with the main one being that I had know idea whether a monkey's idea of cute is the same as a human's.

So I came up with a list of further questions:

Is the monkey in possession of Mokie considered more valuable to the troop as a whole? In other words, do the monkeys try to get hold of Mokie in order to increase their own status within the troop?

Does being in possession of Mokie give the possessor a sense of purpose in life? Hmmm, sort of doubtful, since that would mean that most monkeys out there go around feeling that they have no purpose in life. Having seen troops of monkeys from time to time, I never came away with the impression that they were concerned about their purpose, or lack of it, in life

Does the monkey in possession of Mokie feel more needed or more loved? Who knows. This line of thinking would first seem to suggest that virtually all the monkeys in the troop feel lonely, unneeded, or unloved though fully accepted within the troop. But who knows whether a monkey feels any of these things (even though I personally think they do).

Is the holder of Mokie offered more free food or benefits than she would receive otherwise? Could be, because such treatment would increase that monkey's chances of survival under unfavorable circumstances.

Does the holder simply enjoy the warmth of having another being close up against her? Probably not, since most monkeys already live in warmer climates (the Arctic Monkeys not included).

Do monkeys have a "motherly gene" that automatically compels them to want to be a mother as soon as they see a baby monkey?

Does being in possession of Mokie automatically dissuade the chief male monkey in the troop from wanting to copulate with that female? In other words, does that female want to avoid having sex? Actually, this is plausible, because being a pregnant monkey and then having to care for the baby until it reaches a certain age would certainly put a female monkey under a lot more stress than remaining motherless.

Would a female monkey from Mokie's troop also try to gain possession of a baby monkey from a distant troop? Hmmm. This question brings up all sorts of issues regarding the genetic drive to further only your own genes. Maybe Dr. Leakey could answer this.

Do other animals exhibit the same behavior? Maybe some, but certainly not all of them. Which thus raises the question as to why some animals do and why some animals don't. Or is this really nothing more than my original question above?

Is this behavior the result of some pointless genetic mutation that embedded itself long ago even though it serves no purpose at all? Oh me. This is getting way, way out there. This question feels like it belongs in the same category as questions such as "Why do monkeys exist?" and "Why do humans (and, most disturbingly, myself!) exist?"

What would be the impact on monkey populations if this behavior ceased to exist? Would monkeys eventually vanish from the face of the earth? Or would they somehow become even more prevalent than they already are?

How would monkeys from the troop respond to a human baby or a kitten or a baby anteater or a baby platypus? Restated, do monkeys know just to stick to their own species?

Now I am really confused. Even after all these questions, I am no closer to an answer than when I began. All I can definitely say is this: If I, too, were presented with the opportunity to gain possession of Mokie, I would do so in the blink of an eye. Just don't ask me why.