One day, Ziggy, the young and ambitious monkey, left home to go make his fortune in the wide, wide world. He danced across the jungles grasses with a spring in his step. He was going to conquer the world.

Full of vim and vigor, Ziggy climbed the tallest banana tree that grew on top of the highest hill he could find. He felt safe and slept all through the night.

When morning came, and the sun rose waving her rosy fingers across the sky. Ziggy opened his eyes and saw the wide world around him. He was on top of the world. He was the king of all the jungle. He had conquered the world. He spent that whole day on top of his castle looking proudly over all of his kingdom. When night fell, he feared no evil, for he, on the top of his hill, was the overlord of every creature, great and small.

In the morning, the sun rose again, and Ziggy saw the sun’s glowing shape come up out of the east over the distant silhouetted blue mountains.

“What mountains are those?” Ziggy asked himself.

“Those are the Forbidden Mountains of Mysterious Things of Insanity!” murmured a low voice from behind Ziggy. Ziggy turned suddenly to see who had said that. He saw nothing, but the trunks of the tall, green laurel trees.

“Who said that?” asked Ziggy.

“I did,” said a lump of brown moss hanging hundreds of feet above his head, “I aaaammm Hhhans the slaaaawwwth,” it said in a low drawl. Then as slow and calm as the rotation of an hour hand, he said, “I don’t theeeeenk it isssss ssssssuch a sssmmmarrrt ideeeeeea,” he stopped and cleared his throat then continued, “fooooooor you toooo evennnn theeenk of those mountainssss yawnder.” He blinked his eyes, and then slowly scratched his back, “Whhhhhhhooooo aaaaaaare youuuuuuuu?”

“My name is Ziggy,” said the little monkey, “I am the lord of this jungle, because I am the master of the tallest hill that rises so far above the canopy.

“Ooooh” said the sloth, “Aaaarrre you now? Wellll, I have livvvved up herrre since welll before you werrre borrrnnnnn. And no onnnnne everrr called meee the lord of the junglllle.”

“Well,” said Ziggy, “That might be because this is not the highest point in the forest. Those mountains over there that you can see in the sunrise,” the sloth slowly turned its head and looked towards the mountains. Ziggy continued, “I need to go see what is up on top of those mountains if I am to succeed.”

“Mmmmmm” buzzed the old sloth, “Baaaad things in those mountainnns. I would saaay don’t goooo theerrrre, Ifff I werrrrre yoouuuuu.” But the sloth was too late, Ziggy was already down off the hill and running for the mountains. He ran all day, and all night, and all the next day too. In the afternoon of the third day he came upon a clearing in the jungle. There were some old stone ruins under the leafy trees, and in the cool of the shade there was a pool of clear water. An old, scruffy-looking tapir was bathing in it with his back towards Ziggy. As Ziggy approached, he could hear the old Tapir half singing and half humming to himself in a deep bellowing voice like the sound of great sousaphone:

“I give you a toast! Ladies and Gentlemen! I give you a toast! Ladies and Gentlemen! May this fair land we love so well, in dignity and freedom dwell!” then his voice changed to an operatic tone and he looked up as he placed his forefoot over his heart, “While worlds may change and go awry, Whilst there is still one voice to cry!! There will always be an England! While there’s a country lane! Wherever there’s a cottage small, beside a field of grain! There will always be an England, while there’s a busy street!! Wherever there’s a spinning wheel: a million marching feet!!”

Ziggy crept closer, and the huge beast continued, “Red, White, and Blue!!! What does it mean to you? Surely you’re proud! Shout it out loud! BRITONS AWAKE!!!!”

Ziggy tripped over a log and fell right into the pool.

“Good Lord Nelson!!” cried the startled tapir, “How long have you been creeping up on me?”

Ziggy sat up and wrung out his tail. “Not too long. I heard you singing. What is your name?”

“My name is Smythe, Commodore Smythe of His Royal Highness’ Imperial Navy,” said the old tapir. His hair was white, but Ziggy could tell that in the Commodore’s youth it was a fiery red.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said the monkey. “I am Ziggy and I am going to those mountains over there in the east.”

The old sailor looked “Oh, laddie, you don’t want to be doing that. You’re better off here, ‘round reasonable folks. They say all kinds of tygers and other big game live up there. Do you have a gun?”

“No.”

“Then you shouldn’t be going up there. I would give my elephant gun, but you don’t look as though you could handle it. Take my advice, laddie, and don’t go up there unless you’ve got the best native guide around. One that speaks Swahili, I’d say.”

But, the old Tapir’s words were pointless, The little monkey scurried away. In one ear, and out the other as they say.

After a few more days of scurrying under the forest leaves, the little monkey came to the mountains. The view from the mountain was spectacular! He could see to forever and beyond it to the edges of the world.

“Surely, I am the greatest of all creatures,” thought Ziggy.

“Hey look! A monkey!” called a voice from the bushes, “Get it!”

Just then, a man with a paper bag reached down and grabbed Ziggy. He took him down the mountain to his house. He put Ziggy in a cage, and took him in his car to the market where he was sold to a pet dealer. He was put into a box, and shipped out of Panama to Havana, and then to Baltimore. He was bought by an unemployed immigrant, and the lord of the jungle spent the rest of his day holding a tin cup, and dancing to the music of an organ-grinder for the amusement of a crowd, and for the occasional saltine cracker.

The moral of the story is: “The grass isn't always greener on the other side of the fence.”