Squirrel monkey chirps filled a small ranch-style building in north Gainesville, Florida – a chorus that made Kari Bagnall’s smile swell even wider.
She covered her grin with a medical mask, calmly walked to the middle of a climate-controlled room and greeted each of the 26 monkeys. There were about three to each large cage.
Poppit and Pixel jumped over each other when Kari passed by. Gizmo looked up with wide eyes. Pip let out a tiny chirp.
Then there was Oak. Despite pain from rheumatoid arthritis, his energy was about as high as the others’.
Bagnall stopped interacting with the other monkeys to look directly at him. She squinted, homed in on his hands and then shifted her shoulders back with satisfaction.
“He looks good,” she said.