Among the "Selected Articles" collected by Prosper Rajaobelina in 1949 is this tale of "The Wise Owl and the Chicken." The speech of animals, like that of humans, may recall "La Fontaine's Fables." Some might say it is a story inspired by the banks of rivers here and there, not counting only "One Thousand and One Nights," but the presentation is truly rooted in the wisdom and traditions of the riverside people. The owl, with its black and white feathers, has long been recognized as a proverb meaning "wise from youth" or ancestral clothing. The article reveals the customs and fragments of exchange: the Vazimba practices that were abandoned when the Vazimba left; the superstitions of healers, diviners, and fortune-tellers, which the article addresses with irony, and severely criticizes as false wisdom. The saying "it is forbidden for chickens to flap their wings on Friday" may stem from the practice of chickens being taken to market, with Friday being the most famous day. It is a day name that entered later because it resembles an Arabic word. Also mentioned here are things that may have entered after the 16th century, a period when Europeans discovered what they called the New World, America. Final note: when exactly did the hummingbird or the owl arrive here; and are the owl and the parrot truly native? Here is the "Tale, which is just a tale": The child of Ikalamavo, a hen, fell gravely ill, and her mother searched desperately for medicine, asking for help from healers across the land and villages. The father, unable to bear the suffering, and the mother unwilling to see her child die on earth, called upon the Vazimba practices, going to sacred places for invocation, following the advice of the Hummingbird, but the illness only grew worse. Then, in desperation at the home of the Owl in the forest, Ikalamavo, while weeping in mourning clothes, asked for help. The Owl replied: "My strength is already spent, and this is too much for me to bear. The people's deeds have exhausted the life force of life itself. So Ikakiosy, dear Ikala, know that a healer can do this, a seer of these things, a diviner of two worlds, not one who merely takes payment for divination—only the source of life itself can save. He is saved, dear Ikalamavo! There on the stone path, take a female guinea fowl." When Ikalamavo went to write down the prescription, Ikakiosy quickly replied: "Your child was chosen by God's chicken, and God is angry. Place the sick one outside the village when the sun leaves the horizon; there, no grass or herbs should be placed to shield him from that day's sight. And you stand at the edge of the forest, holding the child. That is my will, and my will is this day and this day, so it shall be with your child. Go and try, do not thank, do not flap wings on Friday, Friday is the day your chickens fly." But when Ikalamavo went to the edge of the forest, a parrot suddenly swooped down from the mountain above. It seized the child of Ikalamavo in the afternoon and carried it away. Thus was the life of that chicken chick! The mother went mad and cursed herself, cursing her lineage