Hope Harper Daddy's Monkey Business __link__ | Easy | 2026 |

Her father, Dr. Samuel Harper, was a former primatologist who’d been quietly drummed out of academia after an incident involving a capuchin, a grant committee, and a regrettable incident with a banana peel at a faculty gala. Now he ran “Harper’s Haven” – a roadside “sanctuary” that was really just their two-story farmhouse and the surrounding five acres of overgrown Georgia kudzu.

The real issue wasn’t the flyer. The real issue was that Hope, at seventeen, had already submitted early applications to three colleges far, far away. The personal essay was titled “Growing Up Human in a Non-Human World.” She’d written about responsibility, resilience, and the time she’d had to teach a howler monkey named Kevin not to throw feces at the mailman.

She had not written about the monkey business. Literally.

“It’s not what you think, Hope. It’s a rescue.”

Hope had long accepted her role as the only responsible primate in the household.

“Good,” Hope said, pulling out a chair. “Because I have some ideas. And they involve less feces-throwing and more actual planning.”