Nothing scared me like meeting my father-in-law. Clay was a large man, comfortable in camo overalls and an oversized beard. He had a reputation as a stone cold man. I heard the story of when he caught a neighbor's dog on his farm, snacking on a couple of hens; he shot the dog and fed it to his pigs. This story is not verified, but no one disputes it as entirely probable.
But we could not delay the inevitable, so my fiancee and I finally made the trip. He was reticent all the way through dinner, until he finally pulled me aside for a porch side beer. After a few sips, he finally said, "I should show you my Chin." I was about to tell him I wasn't that kind of doctor, when he let out a sharp, yodel-high yip.
From out of the brush, a tiny creature peeked out. Clay offered his hand as a perch. "Just got this here pocket monkey last week. Archie-cebus Achilles, in Latin. And I don't know what they call them in China. They say they been extinct forever, until some scientists brought them back, to see if they could. Once they did, they started selling them."
Chin swung by its tail off of Clay's pointer finger, staring intently at me. Clay explained how his pet was bred by injecting prehistoric DNA into a customized embryo that used sugar glider and guinea pig DNA to fill in the blanks. "I missed the sugar glider bandwagon, so as soon as I read about this, I snatched one up. I named him Chin because he's Chinese!... and I don't know if he's a she."
Clay asked me to examine his pet (a girl, I determined), and we talked about feeding habits and such. Chin had taken up permanent residence in Clay's beard (presumably comforted by Clay's basso profundo tones) Crickets and mealworms were fine for Chin, although she had a taste for whatever nibbles didn't make it in Clay's mouth. "And I haven't slept on my beard in a decade, so she's fine there." I gave what veterinary advice I could, and he promised to keep me updated on her progress.
As the summer progressed, Chin enamored himself to the entire family. By the day of the wedding, Clay had trained Chin to bear our rings. They were inseperable for years, up to the day he lost her. The only accounts I have heard are second hand: apparently, as Clay was feeding the pigs one particularly early morning, a half-awake Chin tumbled out of the beard without his awareness. He discovered Chin's absence too late. I haven't verified this, but I can tell you what I saw for Chin's backyard funeral: Mrs Clay wiping a tear off of Clay's clean-shaven face.
Inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Oldest Primate Finds its Place on the Tree of Life"
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