As I was walking down the Stanton Street early one Sunday morning. I saw a chicken a few yards ahead of me. I was walking faster than the chicken, so I gradually caught up. By the time we approached the Eightennth Avenue, I was close behind. The chicken turned south on Eighteenth. At the fourth house along, It turned in at the walk, hopped up the front steps, and rapped sharply at the metal storm door with its beak. After a moment, the door opened and the chicken went in.