Someday when I'm gone and others are tasked with settling my estate, the question will be asked: Why did she take so many pictures of chickens?

I suppose most people will understand the logic behind my taking thousands of photos of cats, dogs, butterflies, flowers, sunsets, deer, horses and pretty scenery.

But chickens?

I've been interested in chickens since I was in college. While visiting a friend's farm for the first time, I discovered just how interesting the little cluckers can be.

In addition to raising cows and pigs, the family farm included a barnyard full of Rhode Island Reds.

As a child, my toys included farm play sets, all of which included little plastic chickens – in white. Illustrations in books I read showed similar pictures.

I was shocked to learn chickens come in a wide variety of colors and patterns.

A year or two later, I ended up spending the summer living at that same farm. I picked out a chicken to turn into a pet.

Whenever I did barn chores, I would carry around my pet chicken and give her special attention.

Her behavior toward me changed as a result of all the attention. She looked forward to my arrival in the barn and liked to strut about behind me, even if I was in areas where the chickens usually didn't go.

Nowadays, I have a neighbor who raises chickens. Of course, this family lives a mile and a half from my house so the term "neighbor" is relative.

I've gotten to know them because I walk 4 miles a day and their house is along my preferred route.

Being a bit of the obsessive photographer, I usually take my camera with me when I walk. My neighbor's chickens always give me ample opportunity for interesting photographs.

They live on several acres bordered by woods and other farms. Because the chickens are allowed to roam as they please, any number of colorful roosters and hens can be seen crossing the street when I pass by.

Why did the chicken cross the road. I don't know, but I had a camera so I took a photo.

I've come to recognize a few of them individually. My favorite one is a golden brown rooster with feathers that go all the way down his legs to his feet.

He crows about as much as any of the other roosters, but I have a hard time taking him seriously because his feathered legs force him to waddle when he walks.

When he runs, he looks even more ridiculous. I've taken some shots in rapid succession, just so I can watch him run on my computer at home.

Chickens are definitely individuals with personalities as diverse as their feather colors.

Still, there's something to the stereotype of the clucking hens. No matter what you say or do, the hens are always clucking.

They wander around aimlessly, sometimes with little chicks following behind, just pecking and clucking until a car comes and then they all run. I find it quite amusing.

The roosters make their fair share of noise, but it is less constant. The stereotype of the rooster crowing once first thing in the morning is ridiculously inaccurate, however. They crow often and at all hours.

Knowing I enjoy both photography and their chickens, my neighbors have given me permission to come onto their property for close-up shots.

One day I was following my favorite waddling rooster back to the coop and all the other chickens came running.

My neighbors actually weren't home though it was, obviously, feeding time.

One little hen, looking up at me with inquisitive eyes, decided to see how close she could come. Finally, when she was within about 18 inches of my shoes, she pecked at my sneaker.

I guess if you spend time with a bunch of hens, you have to expect to get pecked.

I just laughed and asked her if she thought my shoelaces tasted good. She didn't answer – or peck again.

I think she was confused because, in her mind, bipeds (people) are bringers of food and I was just not doing the job expected of me.

Fortunately I wasn't offended. Actually I found it interesting to be surrounded by a bunch of chickens, even with their unrealistic expectations.

Still, I could not do what they wanted, so I just turned around and headed back to the road to follow my regular path.

They were confused enough that I think they were quiet for a brief moment before they resumed their usual clucking.

Humans, in my opinion, have a tendency to look down on other creatures.

It's not uncommon to hear a phrase such as "just an animal" when we're speaking of our furry and feathered friends. I don't think that's a fair assessment.

"I am different, not less," Temple Grandin, author of the book "Animals in Translation," says. Although autistic, she has become a respected consultant on animal behavior for the livestock industry.

"Nature is cruel but we don't have to be," she says.

Personally, I think we can learn a lot from trying to see life from the perspective of other creatures-even chickens.

Even if they don't teach us anything profound, they are at least entertaining.

Johanna S. Billings

editor

Whitehall-Coplay Press

Northampton Press

Catasauqua Press