I have found more joy in my chickens. They are like little girls. They stand with their little heads crooked to see what mom is up to, and prance about being lovely and grab a snack and run run run. I have also found more grief. As I held my first banty of my own ever, freshly killed by a neighbors dog. A thing she trusted because I had made such a pet of her that she feared no evil. It is the epitome of life and death and generations as we watch the beauty of it and see the wide eyed curiosity of them, watch them accept new family and setting pecking order(running back to you when they get their little heads pecked) and then feel pain for them when they lose a lady or a strong rooster to a predator or illness after you fight so hard to save them. You really just have to have chickens to understand it. I imagine "dog people" or "horse people" feel the same about their little fur babies as we feel about the little feather babes, though.