The Orangutan Incident

When I was younger I was fascinated by monkeys and apes. I used to play on my swingset and the jungle gym at school pretending I was a primate. By the time I reached high school, I had decided that I wanted to be a primatologist so I could study these animals up close. I devoured all the information I could get my hands on. Books, videos, magazine articles, spending hours at the zoo observing the behavior of different species. I took biology and physiology classes in school, trying to prepair myself for the field. Little did I know that nothing could prepair me for what was ahead. Finally I graduated and managed to get into a college in Ohio that offered classes geared toward this area of interest and where I could receive an undergraduate degree in veterinary science and hopefully one day a graduate degree in primatology. After my first year, a unique opportunity arose. A professor at the college was planning a trip down to Borneo to visit a wildlife conservation there. The main inhabitants: orangutans.

Of couse I lept at the opportunity and scraped together every penny I had to join the expedition. When we arrived in Borneo I could barely contain my excitement. Pongo Pygmaeus in their natural environment, interacting with each other and with humans, with whom they share 97% of the same genetic makeup. How awesome! Everyone opted to sleep inside the resort-like hotel on the premices, but I wanted to be outside with the apes. Ignoring the threat of other wild animals that might be on the prowl, I hung my hammock and drifted off to the sounds of the jungle.

Something woke me up in the middle of the night and it took me a second to get my bearings. Someone or something was tapping me on the shoulder. At first I thought it was the professor, telling me to come inside the hotel. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the flat nose and dark round eyes of an orangutan. I fell out of my hammock and the creature just looked at me. It hopped up and down a few times and then turned and scurried into the dense underbrush. I concluded that he wanted me to follow him so I did. For what seemed like hours I pushed through the wet greenery of the forrest, now losing sight of the ape, now catching up to him, but not too close, as he waits for me. Eventually we came to a clearing where the moon shone white on the tall grass.  Furry auburn mounds dotted the landscape and I soon figured out that they were more orangutans, grooming each other, nursing their young, digging in termite mounds and munching on fruit. I couldn't believe my fortune. The folks back at the camp would never believe me. That is if I could find my way back to the camp. I was hopelessly lost in the midst of a rainforest and the one ape whom I had followed now blended in with the crowd and none of them seemed to be paying me any attention. I panicked, but just for a moment. I was sure that there would be a search party out for me first thing in the morning. Unless they assumed that I was attacked by a viscious jaguar and my lifeless carcass dragged into the woods to be devoured. No one came to find me that day. Nor the next. Days dragged into weeks and weeks into months. At least they seemed to. I lost all track of time. I had no watch, no compass, no matches, not even a pocket knife. I became fully dependent on the orangutans' way of life. Climbing in trees to pick fruit. Digging in the dirt for insects. I slept on the ground except for when the family group sensed danger and then we would take to the arbors. The animals never really accepted me as one of their own, thinking back, but they stopped ignoring me and somehow seemed to patronize me. Once in a while I would notice them glancing in my direction with looks of pity and sometimes when we were huddled together they would pet me and pick the bugs out of my hair. One day we wandered near a human encampment. I could smell the stench of their garbage and their cooking fires and something inside told me to turn around and run the other way. Another part of me said to run as fast as I could to the nearest restroom and payphone and vending machine. Before I could decide either way, a blood curdling screech rang out from behind me. I spun around and through the leafy underbrush I saw the flash of yellow and black. A jaguar! I did not hesitate. Picking up a large stick I raced to the scene. The jungle cat had one of the mother orangutans and her baby hopelessly cornered. The jaguar pounced and in mid-air I struck it as hard as I could with the club. The predator was stunned for only a second and then it crouched and prepaired to change its attack... in my direction. What happened next is all a blur. I remember looking into a pair of bloodthirsty green eyes and feeling a hot searing pain across my chest and then hearing a gun shot. I woke up in a rudamentary hospital bed, feeling cleaner than I had in a long time. Eventually I made it back to the States where I was checked over my several doctors and endured an extended stay in a phyc ward. Needless to say, my interest in primates was sufficiently sufficed and I took up drawing and painting instead. That led to art school where my new friends of course found out about my past goals of becoming a doctor of primatology and thus landing me the nickname Doc. And the name just stuck. To this day I feel kind of funny when I eat bananas, but the real doctors say that it should pass with time.