It's been a while since I had a baboon in my kitchen. They used to be regular visitors, looking for a gap to get a quick meal without getting their hands dirty. There was a lone male, Eric, the pioneer of house raiding, who was almost expected on a daily basis. His long, shiny grey fur looked like an advert for shampoo as it blew in the wind, while he sat on the neighbour's roof, daring me to turn my back so he could slip past into the kitchen. He would yawn as if bored with waiting, revealing an impressive set of fangs just to remind you that he was actually a wild animal. We used to be able to frighten him off with pot lids or other loud noises, but eventually he became so socialised that nothing scared him. Our little white yappers chased him down the garden once and he casually leaned back as he sat on the wall, reaching out for Monty, who was snapping at his heels. Fortunately he changed his mind and left him - I was in a panic because baboons have been known to disembowel dogs in an instant. A small white dog was once found on its owner's roof (alive), proof that baboons have a sense of humour!
They don't chase baboons anymore. A quick whimper will let us know that they're in the vicinity and then the dogs hide indoors. I am quite sure that they have been given a backhander and now have a healthy respect for these animals.
My house has been ransacked frequently over the last 20 years or so, always my fault through carelessly leaving something open. While the destruction can be annoying, I still regard it as an occasion for celebration that these fascinating creatures are still managing to survive despite man's encroachment on their territory. We have many videos of the troop foraging nearby; while the male stands lookout and the mothers gather food and groom each other, the youngsters play as all children do, running back to mommy when things get too rough. We are privileged to have them pass through here.
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