On one of the first official data collection days that Katie – my wonderful research assistant and new very good friend (we practically spend 24/7 together) – and I had in the field, we spent watching a notoriously hard to locate monkey group, B2. I love this group more than any of the other ones, mainly because most of its members are incredibly fluffy, have really fuzzy face ruff, and the juveniles are very playful. For example, I have seen Guam (a young juvie female) jump display on several occasions. Jump displaying is a “tough” behavior that is mainly performed by males who are showing off how scary and strong they are to other group and extra-group monkeys that are in the vicinity, whereby the monkey will jump with their limbs stiff from one branch to another, shaking leaves and making noise. Although Guam’s jump displays are more like a series of tiny hops that resemble the giddy bounce-bounce of a little Disney cartoon lamb, it was still impressive to see that she at least tried … even if her efforts were amusing rather than intimidating. Guam is also very curious about people. She is always one of the first monkeys to appear around us researchers when we arrive, and she often gazes and sticks around in the trees around us more than any of the other B2 monkeys. In addition to her distinctive B2 fuzzy face ruff, her bubbly brow is also slanted downwards on the sides, which makes her look constantly worried or concerned. She is cute as pie! She is also a very talented little infant handler … well at least she doesn’t drop any of the infants she holds, so that’s good!
On one of these first few observation days, we were in a hard to see area of B2’s range. The monkeys were fairly high up in the trees, right above our heads. I was trying frantically to indentify all of the individuals interacting with the focal infant, to see the behaviors performed and received by the infant, and to catch all of the approaches and leaves done by other monkeys towards the infant, amongst all the overlapping leaves and patches of dense foliage. Eeesh … just describing it makes my eyes squint, and my back, neck and arm muscles hurt as if I am pointing my binoculars straight up! During these first few days I was calling out behavioral codes to Katie while also recording them into my Dictaphone so that we could compare the two methods of data collection later in the evening. At some point during that day I had just completed a focal animal sample and I was trying to ID monkeys, when all of a sudden I felt a hard and slightly painful jab on part of my left hand, which was holding the Dictaphone. Yes, yes… Don Quixote, the new alpha male (a larger monkey with proportionally larger feces) had shit directly above me, his crap splattering all over part of my hand and on my Dictaphone, getting right between all the small buttons and crevices of the machine. Now I don’t mean to anthropomorphize too much, but I swear Don Quixote meant to hit me with his fecal bomb. Right after IT happened I looked up at him, and I thought I saw a glint of sadistic amusement in Don Quixote’s beady little eyes. He knew what he had done and he was pretty damn proud of himself. I only thank goodness he – like all other colobines – is a strict vegetarian; the poop of folivores is less volatile I think… it’s just grass.
What’s really “crappy” (pardon the pun) is that although I had a bit of water to wipe up the mess, I was out of hand sanitizer… then I ate my lunch with my hands an hour later. Oh well… no biggie… apparently you aren’t a real primatologist unless a monkey has shit one you a few times. I admit it has happened to me in the past, but I have never had monkey pooh get on my data collection equipment. Doesn’t Don Quixote know that Dictaphones are expensive!? Next time, he better watch where he aims. Preferably, I would like him to poop directly in front of me (not on me) so that I could collect a fecal sample for genetic analysis. :)
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