When American photographer Casey Cooper first met Mikah, a rescued spider monkey in Bolivia, he didn’t know he was about to form one of the most unforgettable bonds of his life.

It was about four years ago, deep in the Bolivian rainforest, where Mikah was being cared for by ONCA Wildlife Rescue—a sanctuary that rehabilitates wild animals rescued from the illegal pet trade. Mikah, once kept as a pet, was in the middle of a life-changing transition: learning to be wild again.

Cooper had arrived to volunteer. He’d worked with animals before, but something about Mikah stood out.

“I was really nervous,” Cooper said, recalling their first encounter. “She was a pretty large spider monkey, and I wasn’t sure how she’d react.” But then something remarkable happened.

“She gave me this weird look, walked straight over, jumped up, and gave me a hug around the neck. She just held on.”

That was the beginning.

From then on, Cooper spent nearly every day with her—sometimes up to eight hours. His job was to support her reintegration into a troop of wild monkeys, to monitor how she interacted with them, and—more importantly—to protect her when she felt unsure or overwhelmed.

“She’d come to me when things got rough,” Cooper explained. “I was her safe space.”

The other wild females in the troop were especially wary of Mikah. New adult females, especially ones of “alpha size,” were often met with hostility. Cooper kept a close eye, guiding Mikah away from tension, calming her when needed, and helping her slowly earn trust within the group.

Eventually, the wild troop accepted her.

It was everything Cooper had worked toward: Mikah no longer needed him. She had returned to the wild—strong, confident, free.

Still, walking away was hard.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see her again.

Years passed. Cooper continued his work, carrying Mikah’s story quietly in his heart. And then, recently, life brought him back to the rainforest—back to the place where their story began.

He wasn’t sure she’d be there. He wasn’t sure if she’d remember.

But she did.

As he walked through the trees near ONCA’s grounds, a rustle caught his attention. And then—there she was. Mikah.

“She was up in a tree. We locked eyes. And then she came down.”

She didn’t hesitate. She walked right up to him and wrapped her long arms around his neck—just like she had all those years ago.

Cooper was stunned. Overwhelmed. But Mikah wasn’t done.

“She made it clear that she was pregnant,” he said. “It was like she was showing me—‘Look at what I’ve become. Look at my life now.’”

The emotion hit hard. Cooper teared up. The connection was still there—unchanged by time or distance.

A friend captured the reunion on video, later posted to Cooper’s Instagram. It shows Mikah holding him tightly, not as a monkey to a stranger, but as an old friend to someone who once helped her find her way.

But even in that beautiful moment, Cooper knew what had to be done.

He didn’t linger. After their hug, he gently pushed Mikah away and walked off—because true wildlife caretakers know when it’s time to let go again.

“I wanted to acknowledge her, but I also knew I couldn’t stay,” he said. “She’s wild now. That’s what we worked for.”

Their story is a rare glimpse into the kind of bond that can form between humans and animals—not through dominance or ownership, but through patience, trust, and love.

Mikah now thrives in the rainforest, soon to be a mother herself.

And Cooper? He carries her with him still, as living proof that sometimes, even after years apart, love remembers. Connection endures.

And sometimes, a hug in the rainforest says more than words ever could.