Ah, the innocent days of my youth. The days when I thought that a satellite phone/internet would be necessary here in The B.F. The days when I thought I’d use the $1200-plus worth of Erno Lazlo and Amore Pacific cosmetics. These days I can wash pots and pans with sand, and wash my face with a bar of soap that I've found on the ground. Perhaps this explains why The B.F. is aging me so. Good bye, Neiman Marcus.

I own a broom. Several, actually. But I do own a regular, USA-type broom with a long handle. Or I did, until recently. The other day I snapped the broom handle as I diligently tried to bring down the business-end of the broom on a chicken’s head. The chicken won. Scoffed at me. And the broom handle snapped. Can you picture that? When did I develop this intense hatred of hens?

So I have a mouse problem, it’s true. But before we delve into the mouse (or mice), picture this:
Several months ago I found a tooth (or teeth) in my courtyard. Imagine your back molar, roots and all. Now imagine the tiny molar (and roots) of some tiny creature. Now imagine three tiny molars fused together (some bizarre plan of Mother Nature), still attached to the roots. The molars are each about the size of a lentil, but the roots are about a half-inch long; so at some point in this tiny, unknown animal’s life, some serious roots extended up into its jaw. Got the picture?

I was so fascinated by this treasure that I brought the teeth (tooth?) inside and proudly displayed it atop my $48 wooden box from Williams Sonoma. The treasure was snowy white, so clearly the petite animal had little time to use these tiny teeth before they fell from its head. What animal has teeth like this?

You’ve seen the floorplan of my little hut. You know I’ve got this unknown room, which I use as a storage area. It was in this area that I first spied the mouse. Children were called to eliminate the mouse. It was quite hilarious as they tried to guard the entrance to the bedroom so that the mouse wouldn’t flee under the bed. They assured me that the mouse ran out the front door. So, clearly the children were mistaken . . . and/or, clearly there is never just one mouse.

So when I returned from my lengthy sojourn in Ouaga and began to stow my bags in the closet area, I spied something scurrying around a box. OK. Everything out of the closet. Time to remove all mouse refuge areas. With everything out of the closet, I spied a hole near the floor with a large amount of dirt. I mean a large amount of dirt. As I swept out the dirt with the broom (which was still intact at that time), I created a pile about the size of a sheet of copy paper, and about five inches tall. That was one determined and busy mouse. But wait.

Also in the pile of dirt was a tooth. The tooth! Some mouse had climbed to the top of my bookcase, had the gall to boldly walk on my $48 Williams Sonoma box, take the tooth, and try to flee the area with the tooth. Why would a mouse do that? Shouldn't a hungy mouse have been more interested in the hundreds of tiny roaches? Are mice not carnivores? We can only speculate.