KILLDEER 



TF YOU don't know the little killdeer plover, 

 •■■ it is surely not his fault, for he is a noisy 

 sentinel, always ready, night or day, to tell you 

 his name. Killdee, ktlldee, he calls with his 

 high voice when alarmed — and he is usually 

 beset by fears, real or imaginary — ^but when at 

 peace, his voice is sweet and low. Much per- 

 secution from gunners has made the naturally 

 gentle birds of the shore and marshes rather 

 shy and wild. Most plovers nest in the Arctic 

 regions, where man and his wicked ways are 

 unknown. When the young birds reach our 

 land of liberty and receive a welcome of hot 

 shot, the survivors learn their first lesson in 

 shyness. Some killdeer, however, are hatched 

 in the United States. No sportsman worthy 

 the name would waste shot on a bird not larger 

 than a robin ; one, moreover, with musky flesh ; 

 yet I have seen scores of killdeer strung over 

 the backs of gunners in tide-water Virginia. 

 Their larger cousins, the black-breasted, the 

 piping, the golden and Wilson's plovers, who 

 travel from the tundras of the far North to 

 South America and back again every year, 



have now become rare because too much cooked 



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