Rex, ne bark pas. Et ne manges pas les poussins. Moments ago there was a terrible commotion in the courtyard. Sounded like the worst cat fight you’ve ever heard. The poor orange kitten . . . or so I thought.

Naturally, such a racket could not be ignored, thus I ventured outdoors with the flashlight. Where is everyone?! Oh, wait . . . it’s Friday night. I'm under curfew, safely in the hut; Elizabeth is probably at church; Martin & Louis are on vacation still; and Leon is probably hosting an event for my new neighbor, an older woman from France. So only the vieilles in the courtyard are available to break-up this savage battle. And what is the source of this commotion? Hens! Hens and chicks . . . and Rex!

Evidently hens and chicks have escaped from their coop, and Rex is having a field day . . . or a buffet. This is odd to me because Rex and Dori peacefully coexist with chickens during daylight hours. I suppose that when it comes to canines and chicks, all bets are off after the sun sets. In any event, hens and their chicks are separated from each other, Rex has a feather stuck on his snout, and I can’t tell who’s missing nor which chicks belong with which hen. And although the vieilles seem quite concerned, I don't see anyone trying to protect the poultry.

Have you ever tried to catch a chick? I have . . . and quite frequently of late. Hens, however, are a different story altogether. They have barbed feet. They’re little dinosaurs . . . crafty and dangerous. But someone must intervene and stop this bedlam. Tantie Mamoonia is outdoors with her tiny light . . . great pendulous breasts swinging in time with her searching torch.  Tantie Mamoonia. I have no idea whether that’s her real name, but it's what Martin calls her, nor do I know what language she speaks, ever . . . but this large, aging woman never wears anything above the waist – got the picture? Anyway, Tantie doesn’t seem as fearful of the hens as she does of the dark corner of the courtyard in which lies the chicken coop. She snags a hen and tosses it in the open coop door, only to have the hen pop right back out when the door won’t close completely. Ah, Burkina architecture and design.

With all the clucking and barking, it's quite evident that reinforcements are needed, so Sada comes to help. Sada plays sentry at the coop door while I snag four chicks, two in each hand. Chicks aren’t nearly as fast after dark; and Sada has captured a hen by its tail. Allow me to be candid; there’s not much more fun in this wide world than snatching a hen by her tail feathers, flinging her inside a coop, and slamming the door. Ah, but the chicks must be placed inside, too. Yet each time the door is opened to toss in another couple of chicks, out pops a really, really angry hen.

Ladies of the courtyard, you evidently don’t work with a lot of chicks. Leave this to the Nasarra. I plop to the ground inches from the door, ready to impede any hen's attempted departure . . . and I repeatedly catch and toss back inside the little red hen. Just snag that squawkin' gal by her tail and toss her . . . hard! Red hens are the worst when it comes to speed; but white and black speckled hens are the crankiest. Finally, six chicks and two hens are returned to the coop; Rex is severely scolded and appears duly remorseful, despite the feather that remains on his nose; and cleverly I use pieces of wood and broken concrete to brace closed the raised door. Easy. Quick trip to the shower to wash my hands, and I’m ready to continue watching 30Rock. But wait.

Sitting on this new sofa (it's really just a bench covered with fabric . . . and a donkey brought it today from my site mate's hut) I can’t hear what Lemon & Jack are saying because there’s too much chirping. Either chicks have escaped (not possible -- my evil plan to close the coop was genius), or chicks have yet to be gathered and reunited with their moms. Naturally, it’s the latter, so more chick chasing ensues. Again, they’re slower after dark, so it’s not a difficult task. Still, I’m covered in chick dander and who knows what else from retrieving truant chicks and moms.

Now come on. You knew this tale had to involve at least one hen, right? Wonder who was in charge of closing that coop tonight? Was I really rooting for Rex? Does Rex know how to open doors other than the one to my hut? And who is this new French woman living in the little round hut, sharing my latrine for the next six weeks? We can only speculate.