It's hard to believe that Monkey loves museums. Yet he does. He finds them educational, invigorating, entertaining, and edifying. [In that order, he doesn't think so.]

"There are all kinds of museums," he tells Lukáš who is somewhat less excited to be dragged here. "The best one's are interactive 'cuz they don't have guards to keep you from enjoying the exhibits.

"The worst ones are where security follows me thru every room."

SB Museum of Natural History is going to be great because already Opice has gotten told he could sneak over the fence and get a closer look / foto op.

He likes the shape of the whale's face. It's a lot like his.

"We both have pronounced proboscises. You can tell a lot about a being by its mouth. Massive mammal muzzles are a sure sign of intelligence."

NOT WITHSTANDING disobeying "Do Not Touch" signs. Monkey asked for permission before this foto was taken. Exhibits are fragile, even if they're big as a cetacean or rock solid as a dinosaur.

Speaking of mastodon fossils, Monkey grabs the handle of the shovel thinking he can pull it out of the stone and become king of the archaeologists.

"Excalibur, I have found it!" he exclaims pulling and tugging and mixing his Californian and Arthurian (unnatural) history.

Don't worry. He's plush, not buff. And everyone knows the shovel-in-the-concrete story is a curator's joke played on new docents and under-graduates.

"It is?" Luke asks.

"Wait a minute," Opice frets peering into the tank full of tentacles. "You mean the mythical giant squid of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is folktruth?

"Is it safe in this stasis chamber? It can't get out, right? I'm not afraid of it if it's pickled to death.

"You know, for a giant, it's kinda small. I mean, it's bigger than I am, except on the internet where I'm huge.

The Czech Plush-one stretches out to the show the world his size relative to a baby giant.

"I'm King Kong compared to this cephalopod. I fear not this toothless Architeuthis. 'I am the ape man. I am the walrus.' Ah, ah, ah-CHOO!"

"Let's move on. I think I'm allergic to calamari."

We don't go far before Opice climbs atop another case to ape. Here he finds a sea otter displayed floating on it's back atop an artificial kelp forest.

"Look at me!" one of them calls.

A mother bear and her cub in another tableau turn to see who's making all the ruckus. Her scrutiny makes Monkey nervous, as any scrutiny does.

He reverts to an old, nervous habit: thumb sucking.

"No I'm not. Sucking my big toe doesn't count. Besides, there's more juice in it."

That's it for Santa Barbara.

Monkey's snuggled himself back in my pack and he's ready to fly home.

"But not in the bin! Don't you put me in that overhead bin! If you try stowing me in that dark, lonely cabinet I'm going to make such a fuss!"

We compromise. The suitcase goes overhead and Opice in my carry-on hides under the seat in front of me until (after a long air traffic control delay) we're airborne and on our way home.

Then Monkey gets the window seat and it's my turn to ride in the backpack.

The pilot dips a wing over an oil rig as a fly-by  bye-bye.