Little Carl was walking along the train tracks of his Midwest home town in Iowa, here in the United States almost sixty years ago as a young kid living on a farm with his family, messing around carrying his Red Rifle BB gun that he had gotten for Christmas that prior year.
Quite often he shot at tin cans stationery targets sharpening his aim and killing nothing but time in the overly humid oppressive Iowan summer day. He was about to go home that day when he realized much his surprise something hopping along the train tracks. He could not make out specifically the animal but he started following it, causing him to be out late, much later than he was supposed to be out making him late for supper. He knew that would surely get him a whooping from his dad, but curiosity kept him following this animal for almost another hour as it was almost getting dark. He looked finally focused in and saw the animal was a monkey. Of all things this animal must have escaped a zoo or a circus because these things don't just run around secluded wooded areas in the Midwest United States.
He knew that if he went home and told his dad that he was late he get spanked for lying and being late, and maybe even further punished for coming up with a lame excuse. So quickly he aimed his little pellet gun, fired toward the monkey and it ran off. Carl never told his parents of the story of the monkey on the railroad tracks, never saw it again, and only mentioned it again to a friends about forty years later after a fast pitch softball game tournament game while having a beer with his teammates making them laugh hysterically at his amazing run in with the monkey as a kid.