Monkey See, Monkey Die

by Cynthia Baxter

  I clicked on the first one, the website of a well-known newspaper, and started to read about the billions of dollars that change hands around the world each year as a result of the illegal wildlife trade, estimated to be second only to the illegal trade of narcotics.

  * * *

  It is estimated that approximately seventy percent of these animals are endangered species. Others are threatened species, and the illegal activity contributes to their demise. Some are sold as pets, while others, particularly mammals, are frequently used for meat. Some animals are used for traditional medicines. For example, the horns from African and Asian rhinos are said to cure fever, the musk of the Siberian musk deer is used to treat heart disease, and the bile of Asiatic black bears supposedly helps arthritis. Still other animals are considered trophies.

  * * *

  Things are even grimmer than I imagined, I thought.

  I moved on to another website, one that belonged to an animal conservation organization that focused on primates. I was greeted by a montage of photographs of grinning baby chimpanzees, powerful gorillas, and intelligent-looking baboons. While the primates in the photos were enough to make anybody smile, the text below was anything but uplifting.

  * * *

  While laws in nine states make keeping primates as pets illegal, there are currently no federal laws that regulate ownership. An estimated fifteen thousand primates are currently kept as pets in private homes in the United States. While the Center for Disease Control has prohibited importing them as pets since 1975, people have simply bred them from primates that were already in this country. Despite the difficulty of meeting the complex needs of primates, especially their social and emotional needs, anyone can buy lemurs, gibbons, and other endangered primates for as little as $2,000. The fact that others can be sold for $50,000 induces primate traders to persist despite all the negative factors, including the detrimental effects on the animals.

  * * *

  I skimmed the rest, then returned to the Google page and clicked on one more website.

  * * *

  Wild animals are meant to live in the wild, not in captivity as pets. Their owners can rarely provide them with the diet and the level or type of exercise they need to flourish, especially since there is usually no choice but to keep them in cages—the equivalent of being imprisoned. In addition, animals require an appropriate social system. Without the chance to live normally among other members of their species, they often become bored and lonely, suffering detrimental mental and emotional effects.

  It can also be difficult to find a veterinarian who is able to treat exotic pets, especially if it is an illegal animal. If the animal bites someone or proves to be a nuisance in some other way, such as noise, it will invariably be confiscated. If the animals escape, they are rarely able to survive.

  Animal diseases transferred to humans are another problem. In fact, zoonotic diseases account for three quarters of all infectious threats that are currently emerging. Of the six diseases the Center for Disease Control views as the top threats to national security, five are zoonotic.

  * * *

  I realized that my heart had started to pound violently and that my stomach was so tense that I actually felt sick. That didn’t stop me from clicking on to one more website, especially since I hoped that this one would provide some good news.

  * * *

  Attempts at Regulating the

  International Animal Trade

  The Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES), also known as the Washington Convention, is an international agreement between governments that was put in place during the 1970s. CITES regulates and in some instances restricts trading in certain animals either because they are endangered or threatened or because they present the possibility of becoming an invasive species—that is, a species that is not native to a particular ecosystem and which is likely to harm human health or cause economic or environmental harm.

  Created by representatives of 80 governments, today 172 nations have agreed to participate voluntarily. CITES currently protects approximately 5,000 animal species and 28,000 plant species from overexploitation through international trade. Animals include such groups as primates, cetaceans (whales, dolphins, and porpoises), sea turtles, and parrots. Plants include corals, cacti, and orchids.

  * * *

  I was so absorbed in what I was reading that I didn’t even notice that Nick was staring at me until he said, “Jessie? Are you okay?”

  I glanced up, startled. In a hoarse voice, I asked him, “Did you know you can buy a tiger over the Internet?”

  Before he had a chance to reply, I continued, “Listen to this. ‘Over a three-month period of monitoring the Internet, our organization found thousands of endangered animals, as well as animal products, for sale on the Web. They included a tiger priced at seventy thousand dollars and so-called medicines whose ingredients included parts from leopards, elephants, and rhinoceros. During one particular week alone, we discovered that more than nine thousand were being sold, either through chat rooms or websites specifically dedicated to the animal trade.’ ”

  Pausing to look up at him, I said, “No wonder the illegal animal trade has grown into a multibillion-dollar industry. Apparently it’s second only to the international drug trade.”

  “Wow,” Nick said. “I’d heard about it, of course, but I had no idea it was operating on such a huge scale.”

  “Me either.”

  Still, while I hadn’t known much about the details, I knew the cost it extracted on individual animals, the ecology of their natural habitats, and even the people who insisted on acquiring monkeys or lions or tarantulas because they thought the animals were cute or that owning one made them cool.

  I’d also known that there was plenty of money to be made by dealing in exotic animals. Especially the illegal ones.

  What I didn’t know was whether Donald Drayton really was subsidizing his expensive lifestyle by doing something so contemptible. But I’d never been more determined to find out.

  The Web research I’d just done on the illegal animal trade not only made me anxious to find out for sure what Donald Drayton was up to, it had also inflamed me. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from feeling as if I’d gulped down a two-liter bottle of coffee—which made it hard to put everything I’d learned into some cohesive form.

  Yet I knew I had to pull myself together. Tonight was the wedding shower that was being held in my honor. The one Suzanne had ordered me to act surprised about.

  Nick and I had arranged to go out for dinner while she set everything up in Betty’s living room. I was supposed to appear at the front door promptly at eight o’clock—without Nick, since this was girls only.

  As I sashayed toward the front door of the Big House, I made a point of adopting a casual pace. For some reason, I couldn’t help throwing in a swagger that made me look like an extra in a Western.

  I even hummed a little as I turned the key in the front door. Not that I’d ever hummed before in my life. Of course, I don’t usually enter the house through the front door either. Not when the back door, the one that opened onto the kitchen, was so much closer to where I parked. Still, if I was going to do my best to convince all my breathlessly expectant guests that I was completely shocked over finding a full-fledged wedding shower taking place in Betty’s living room, I figured I might as well go all the way.

  I’d barely stepped into the foyer before a loud chorus of “Surprise!” surrounded me. Even though I’d known it was coming, somehow the sudden burst of noise still managed to make me leap about four feet into the air.

  “Oh, my God!” I cried, clutching my heart with both hands. Instead of playing a cowboy, I seemed to have segued into the role of damsel in distress.

  “What is all this?” I squealed. “A wedding shower? For me? I don’t believe it!”

  Glancing around, I saw that all my friends were there. All my female friends anyway. They stood crowded together i
n front of Betty’s grand piano, their faces lit up with glee. The sight made me glad I’d knocked myself out playing the part of guest of honor on the verge of having a heart attack.

  Even Max and Lou were there, although thank goodness Suzanne hadn’t insisted upon dressing them up in tuxedos, the way Betty had at her wedding. This was one time I had no desire to be upstaged by my incredibly cute dogs.

  My cats either. Fortunately, Tinkerbell, who deserved some kind of cuteness award even on her worst Bad Fur Day, was hanging out with the rest of the girls, no doubt enjoying all the excitement. I noticed that Cat had hidden under the piano bench, but even she couldn’t resist looking on. What female can resist a wedding shower?

  “You guys! Who put you up to this?” I demanded. As if I didn’t know.

  Predictably, Suzanne stepped out of the crowd. For the occasion, she had donned a minidress so tiny I suspected she’d filched one of Betty’s place mats.

  “Surprise, Jessie!” she exclaimed. “You had no idea, right?”

  “None whatsoever!” I only hoped that none of the party guests had plans to torture me to make sure I was telling the truth.

  Now that I’d had a chance to look around a little more, I saw that Suzanne really had done a fabulous job. She’d strung pink and white crepe-paper streamers across the ceiling, prom style. From the point at which they crossed in the middle of the room, a cascade of pink and white balloons bobbed happily. The decorations would have looked like somebody had planned a sweet sixteen party if it wasn’t for the white crepe-paper wedding bells. Another clue was the white veil that somebody had plopped on the marble bust of Socrates on a Greek column in the corner of the room.

  The large rectangular cake on the dining room table could also have passed for a sixteen-year-old girl’s high-carb fantasy, since it was thickly iced with white frosting and smothered with pink sugar roses. But someone, probably Suzanne, had drawn a few wedding bells with pink icing, although from where I was standing they looked kind of like amoebas.

  Suzanne had also arranged all the gifts on the coffee table, small ones in front, big ones in back. Not the most original arrangement, but it showed that at least she’d put some thought into it.

  “You did an amazing job,” I told her sincerely. “Thank you so much.”

  “Enough with the empty praise,” she whispered, scowling. “I have something really important to discuss with you. In the kitchen. Now!”

  Turning to the crowd of guests and smiling, she said, “I’m just going to steal away our bride-to-be for two minutes. We have some important details to discuss in the other room.”

  With that, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away.

  I had a feeling that the “really important” something had to do with her, not me. So I wasn’t surprised when she closed the kitchen door behind us, whirled around to face me, and announced, “We broke up.”

  “Why?” I was truly surprised. “You’re crazy about Kieran! And he’s clearly crazy about you!”

  “Why do you think?” she shot back. “It’s because of her!”

  “Kieran’s been seeing someone else?” I asked, bewildered.

  “Of course not!” Suzanne shot back. “It’s not another woman that’s the problem. It’s that . . . that animal!”

  It took me a few seconds to realize that the animal she was referring to really was an animal—rather than another person. An obnoxious future mother-in-law, for example.

  “You broke up with Kieran because of his dog?” I cried.

  “Skittles is not just any dog,” she snapped. “You saw that for yourself last night, didn’t you? That beast refuses to accept me. She hates me!”

  I had to admit that Suzanne had a point. Kieran and Skittles were extremely close. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t room in his heart for a female of the human variety.

  “Isn’t there some way you can win her over?” I asked. “Everybody has their price. Maybe Skittles’s is filet mignon.”

  “Kieran only allows her to eat the official state trooper diet,” she replied bitterly. “The one for dogs, I mean.”

  “Then how about taking her on an outing?” I suggested. After all, if Skittles had been a jealous stepchild, Suzanne could build goodwill by taking her to the zoo or Chuck E. Cheese’s or someplace easy like that. Of course, when it came to winning over a German shepherd, I couldn’t think of anyplace appropriate. A park? A beach? A beer garden?

  “Kieran doesn’t allow other people to socialize with Skittles,” Suzanne said. “It’s against police regulations.”

  I’m no psychologist, but I was starting to see that there was more to this love triangle than simply the tension between Suzanne and her four-legged rival. Kieran was also playing a major role in this ongoing conflict.

  “Suzanne,” I said gently, “I’m getting the feeling that it’s not only Skittles you’re angry with. I think you might also be a little P.O.ed at Kieran.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she shot back. “Like you said, I’m absolutely crazy about the man! It’s that stupid dog who’s the problem! If it wasn’t for her, things between us would be perfect!”

  O-kay, I thought. Short of Dr. Phil miraculously making an appearance at this particular moment, I don’t see that I’m going to get very far with this.

  “I’m really sorry,” I told her sincerely. “But we’d better get back. There’s a roomful of people waiting for the festivities to begin.”

  I was actually relieved that I had someplace else I was supposed to be, even though what stretched ahead of me was a long evening of oohing and aahing over salad tongs and silver candy dishes. Sure enough, I’d barely had a chance to sit down before somebody called out, “Jessie, open your presents!”

  Suzanne, who’d already made the transition from spurned lover to hostess, clapped her hands for attention. “Okay, people!” she commanded. “Let’s all sit in a circle. Jessie’s going to open her gifts.”

  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that she pushed her way through the crowd so she could take the seat next to mine. It also happened to put her closest to the presents.

  “Okay, we’ll start with this small one,” she announced. She picked up a small box wrapped in paper printed with yellow-and-white daisies.

  As I reached for it, however, she pulled it away, then ripped off the card taped to the top. “This is from Amy,” she read. “Amy, raise your hand in case anybody here doesn’t know you. Everybody, Jessie and I both know Amy from college. We were all at Bryn Mawr together.” Turning to me, she said, “Okay, Jessie. You can open it now.”

  I opened my mouth to protest that my shower was beginning to feel like a gym class with a particularly sadistic gym teacher. But I didn’t want to offend her, even if the woman was coping with her heartbreak by acting like the dictator of a police state.

  So I dutifully tore off the paper, murmuring, “Now, what could this be?”

  I opened the lid and thrashed through a wad of yellow tissue paper. Not surprisingly, the rustling sound brought Max over. He raised himself by placing his two soft white paws on my knee and sticking his wet nose into the box. No doubt he hoped that the gift-giver had thoughtfully tucked in a little something for him. A Milk-Bone, perhaps, or maybe a new plastic friend for his beloved pink poodle.

  Instead, I pulled out a silver picture frame.

  “Isn’t this pretty!” I exclaimed. “Thank you, Amy. I love it!”

  “You’re welcome, Jess,” she said happily. “I thought it would be perfect for a picture of you and Nick.”

  “Right,” Suzanne commented loudly enough for everyone to hear. “So when the two of you break up, you’ll be able to look back on the good times.”

  A heavy silence fell over the room. In fact, it was as if a cloud of noxious gas had sneaked in under a crack in the door.

  And then someone laughed. “As if that would ever happen,” one of the other guests said. “I never saw any two people as much in love as Jessie and Nick!”

&nb
sp; “Here, here,” someone else agreed.

  I cast them both a grateful look.

  “How about another gift?” I asked. “This is fun!”

  Suzanne reached for a long thin box, this one robin’s egg blue. “This one’s from me,” she announced. “Open it next.”

  “It’s heavy,” I observed as I pulled at the tape, trying not to hit my helper Max in the nose. “What could this be—oh, look! A marble rolling pin! I love it!”

  “Good,” Suzanne replied. “I figured it would come in handy during your first fight.”

  “Why don’t we open some wine?” I suggested, thinking that maybe a drunken stupor would shut Suzanne up.

  “I have something even better!” she cried, her mood instantly improving. “Champagne. Lots of it. After all, special occasions like this one demand a little bubbly!”

  Anything, I thought. As long as it has the power to alter Suzanne’s mood.

  Within seconds, Suzanne had whipped out a tray of crystal champagne glasses that had probably been looted from one of Betty’s china cabinets.

  “Let’s do this the right way,” she insisted. Carefully she arranged the glasses so there was one on top, two in the next tier, and so on. When she was done, she poured champagne into the top one, filling it so that it spilled over the sides to fill the two below. I had to admit, it was pretty cool.

  Festive too. I hoped the champagne fountain would shift the mood.

  “I propose a toast,” Suzanne cried after the glasses had been passed around. She stepped into the middle of the room and held hers high in the air.

  We all raised our glasses.

  “To the bride and groom,” she continued. “Jessie, who’s been one of my closest friends since our days together at college, and Nick, the man who sooner or later is going to break Jessie’s heart!”