Metamorphic Mars
By Animal Care Manager, Fallon Mullen
When Mars arrived at our sanctuary in 2018, he was just 12 years old — wide-eyed, uncertain, and transitioning from life in a laboratory. He was one of our very first monkey residents, and even then, something about him stood out. His gaze carried a mix of curiosity and worry, as if he wasn’t sure what the next chapter would hold.
Today, nearly eight years later, Mars is almost unrecognizable. The apprehensive and anxious rhesus macaque who once spun in circles and darted on two legs when overwhelmed has softened into a calm, confident presence. Watching him now — lounging in the sun, foraging, or enjoying a good grooming session— it’s hard not to feel a swell of gratitude. You can tell from his photos how much Mars cherished co-grooming with his previous sanctuary companions — and how relaxed he becomes when caregivers use a backscratcher to gently groom him now that he is singly housed. These are the moments that remind us why sanctuaries exist.
Every monkey who arrives here carries a story. Former pets often come to us having never met another monkey. They have to learn how to communicate, how to play, and how to trust. Many arrive with untreated health issues after years of inadequate care. Former laboratory monkeys, like Mars, have usually seen other primates and received regular veterinary attention — but they face different challenges as they adjust to sanctuary life.
Tens of thousands of monkeys are still bred for human use — in research, the pet trade, and entertainment. Many are taken from their mothers far too soon, their futures decided before they’ve had a chance to live freely. Because captive primates can’t be released into the wild, sanctuary is their next best chance — a place where they can finally just be.
Life in captivity can shape behavior in profound ways. “Stereotypies,” or repetitive behaviors like the pacing and spinning that Mars used to do frequently, are a way for monkeys to cope with stress or boredom. These behaviors are common, and with patience, enrichment, and compassion, they often ease over time.
Mars’ journey has been one of resilience. With staff attentiveness, spacious indoor and outdoor enclosures, and the quiet of sanctuary life, he’s learned to relax — to trust his environment, and himself. His transformation reminds us that healing takes time, and that sanctuary doesn’t just save lives; it restores them.
